The Gregg Middle School Literary and Fine Arts Magazine—Wide-Open Spaces—began in the 2012-2013 school year as an extracur-ricular opportunity for students to pursue their interests in creativewriting, art, and the publication process. This annual online publica-tion provides any student who attends GMS the chance to sharetheir most honest works without having to conform to classroom ru-brics, teacher’s lessons, and quite frankly, the rules of writing(although we do require no errors in grammar and spelling). Suchfreedom is a breath of fresh air for our busy students who work tire-lessly to excel in their daily academics.Wide-Open Spaces is produced by Mrs. Kunkelman and the LiteraryMagazine Club members who are considering a future in the crea-tive arts or publication field. We accept all genres of prose, poetry,and art. Our vision is to celebrate the idiosyncrasies of being a mid-dle-school student within the context of its varied landscape, honingin on all of the beauty and chaos. With our aim to publish the best ofthe best, we hope that you will consider entering your submission forfuture publications.
Dear Readers,Oftentimes in publications, themes will inadvertently become present, inevitablyconnecting key ideas and emotions between writings and art without priorcollaboration. In this volume of Wide-Open Spaces, three themes immediately riseto the surface: resiliency, change, and self-awareness.It is through being resilient that both our characters and students have been ableto—like elastic—spring back into shape in the face of obstacles. Brenna Gould’smain character, Olivia, in Dream Vacation is beyond resilient in her display ofperfect patience.It is through change that we, as humans, come to recognize our place in theuniverse. For instance, in Aniyah Mack’s short story Change, the main characterdoes not believe in change, but comes to a very heart-felt discovery when sheultimately allows change to open her eyes to new possibilities. Or as in TeyhaKennett’s blackout poem Everything Changed, sometimes change is a brightlyshining gem glowing for all to see.And, it is through self-awareness that we (sometimes) become better versions ofour former selves, or maybe we only become aware of who we are withoutimprovement. As in the speaker of Meghan Ford’s poem Destroying Voices,sometimes merely the realization of our shortcomings is as far as we will get interms of moving forward.Nevertheless, these themes and others are reminders to our readers that beinghuman is a universal condition. That, no matter your individual experience, there isbound to be someone who can relate with you. With that said, it has been an honorreading the selections enclosed in this year’s edition. I am extremely proud of allour contributors, along with the 1st (Aniyah Mack), 2nd (Ashton Kirkpatrick), and3rd (Natalie Peyton) place winners of Wide-Open Spaces Writers and Artists ofExcellence. Even more so, it has been a true joy working with the Wide-OpenSpaces Magazine Crew on another fantastic publication.It is without further delay that I introduce this year’s volume of Wide-Open Spaces. Iam confident that you will enjoy—perhaps even connect with—the pieces foundwithin.Yours,Jacquelyn Valencia KunkelmanLiterary & Fine Arts Magazine AdvisorGMS 6th & 7th Grade English Language Arts
Emma Tracy is a seventh grader who Austin Brown is a seventh grader whowants to change the world by being a wants to become a neurosurgeon and helpNeonatologist. Emma’s favorite writer is contribute to the health of the world. Austin’sAnn M. Martin. Emma’s favorite genre of favorite writer is Thanhha Lai. Austin’s ownwriting is historical fiction/realistic fiction. writing (Human Spirit; The Jewel of TheEmma has been an advocate for the World; You found it) is featured in this year’sdesign we used for this magazine, and magazine. Austin enjoys writing, and hasshe is irreplaceable. made a great addition to the literary crew.Grace Farish is a seventh grader who Jason Schoener is a sixth grader whowants to be a video-game designer. Grace’sfavorite author is Mark Walden. Grace’s wants to protect our nation by being afavorite type of music is remixes. Grace was sniper for the SWAT team. Jason’s favoriteour main graphic designer and helped genre of writing is action. Jason’s favoritecontribute to the look of our magazine. book is Percy Jackson. Jason was a designer and was a great help to our club.
Gabrielle Burris is a sixth grader who Vincent Taylor is a seventh grader who wants to either be a marine biologist or wants to either be a video-game designer, an author, or a steel drum player. Vincent’s favoritean entertainer. Gabrielle’s favorite writer writer is Robert Frost. Vincent’s favorite genre ofis Raina Telgemeier. Gabrielle’s favorite writing is humorous writing. Vincent has helped us tremendously in the behind-the-scenes work music artist is News-Boys. Gabrielle of the magazine. He has been fantastic! enjoys music and literature and has helped make this magazine truly great.Kaylin Ayers is a sixth grader who wants Vanessa Ward is an eighth grader who wants to be a DJ at Coachella. Vanessa’sto change the world through food by becoming favorite actor is Lilly Collins. Vanessa’sa pastry chef. Kaylin’s favorite author is Raina favorite music is dubstep. Vanessa was ourTelgemeier. Kaylin’s favorite genre of writing main photographer and helped us to create ais mystery. Kaylin has helped us choose the visual magazine that helped connect ideas.best examples of what our student body cando, and has been a great addition to ourclub.
9 Everything Changed Tehya Kennett 7th10 Raised In Mystery Vincent Taylor 7th11 Your NBA Teams Ashton Kirkpatrick 7th12 The Jewel of the World Austin Brown 7th13 The Hidden Truth Bobby Sanchez 7th14 Ballora Aidan Dillman 6th15 The Path Natalie Peyton 7th16 The Legacy of Daphigus Alyssa Mcarty 7th17 Boston Terrier J.J. Marsar 6th18 Tick...Tock Lauren Jonas 7th19 The Choice MaKayla Creel 7th20 Blossoming Alana Gillis 7th21 Coma Dakota Bailey 8th22 Change Aniyah Mack 7th23 Your Baskeball Teams Ashton Kirkpatrick 7th24 Nature Is Cole Elwood 7th25 The Doll Leah Rachels 7th26 Unicorn Frappuccino Emma Tracy 7th27 Closer Colin Gamba 7th28 Only Fate can Decide the Victor Grace Farish 7th29 NHL Playoffs Ashton Kirkpatrick 7th30 Blackout Poetry Jayda Dangerfield 7th31 Artemis, My Dear Enemy Jason Shoener 7th32 Life in the Marsh Grace Farish 7th33 Life Franklin Bennett 7th34 The Expedition J.J. Marsar 6th35 John Duggan Daniel Garcia 6th36 The Last Eliminated Steven Taylor 7th37 War Jumper Riley Bennett 7th38 Untitled Aniyah Mack 7th39 They Are Coming Layne Schelest 7th40-41 Human Spirit Austin Brown 7th42 An Island Sunset Grace Farish 7th43 Lying Emma Tracy 7th44 War… Kyla Grantt 7th
45 Blaze the Cat Summer Braden 6th46 Alienated Jordan Johnson 7th47-48 The Fall Avery Stone 7th49 SS2 Franklin Bennett 7th50 The Baby Macy Allen 7th51-54 Amelia Sidney Truluck 7th55 Flowers Alyssa McCarty 7th56 Be Unique Jacob Waddell 7th57-58 The Twinkle on Westward… Hailey Brandt 7th59 Elephants Kaylin Ayers 7th60 The Selfish Heart Alyssa McCarty 7th61-63 The Fourth Attack Sidney Truluck 7th64 Through the Window Royce Kinchloe 6th65-6 Dream Vacation Brenna Gould 7th67 The Maze Lauren Jonas 7th68 Peripheral Madness Ethan Hearn 7th69 I’m Fine Nathan Violette 7th70 Away From It All Vincent Taylor 7th71 I Have Been Kind Alyssa McCarty 7th72 Dangerous Games Natalie Peyton 7th73 Books Andrew Weidmuller 6th74 Electric Love Vanessa Ward 8th75 Blackout Poetry Austin Brown 7th76 Untitled Aniyah Mack 7th77 What a Dream Anonymous 7th78 Untitled Vanessa Ward 8th79 44 Hundred Miles Away Rosie Valmores 7th80-81 Different Seasons I’ndia Wilson 6th82 The Punishment McClendon Hughes 7th83 Painting Grey’s Vanessa Ward 8th84 The Clarinet Player Angel Trotter 6th85 Destroying Voices Meghan Ford 7th86 Mako Gabrielle Burris 6th
87 Beauty Natalie Peyton 7th88 Storm Natalie Peyton 7th89 This Side of Paradise Vanessa Ward 8th90 I Ran Away Once Rosie Valmores 7th91 The Mind Lauren Jonas 7th92 143 Brook Avenue Natalie Peyton 7th93 She Was A Sin Macy Allen 7th94 Spanish Moss Grace Farish 7th95 The Mountain Emma Tracy 7th96 As He Left Natalie Peyton 7th97 What She Became Natalie Peyton 7th
Tehya Kennett | Poem
Vincent Taylor | Prose I was raised someplace I wasn't supposed to. Not knowing my real origin. Always told lies. Never told the truth. Now I know the truth, and I don’t know if I can switch. I was stolen as a newborn. Not knowing my real parents. Raised in mystery. I'll ask and ask about the time when I didn't know life. When I was too young to understand. Understand that this was not the life that was sup- posed to be. Always just ignored. I'll ask and ask about my origins. Always just ignored. I was loving someone who I was never meant to love. My real parents were mourning about their terrible loss, with me so oblivious to their feel- ings. No police or investigator could find me. I always dreamed of being a po- lice officer. Those high dreams denied. Rejected by the person I called moth- er. So I just settled with being an artist. I would paint and color and draw and sketch, so completely oblivious to the truth. Not even knowing my real name. My memories and thoughts were not supposed to be. They were not my own. Finally, I know the truth. My life was not my own. My mother was not my own. My thoughts were not my own. My memories were not my own. Nothing was supposed to be. I was supposed to be with loving par- ents. Not just an ignoring mother. Now I know the truth, and I can't decide my next move. Do I go with my real parents, that I never even meet until now, or with my kidnapper, that I still know and love. I'm being brought to interviews and nightly features, but all I want is peace. I don’t want to asked questions about and spoken to about something that I didn't even cause. Something that I had no control over whatsoever. Now I've made my choice. I don't want to be with my real parents. I don't want to be with my kidnapping fake mother. I just want to be completely alone. I want to live alone, away from everyone. Alone for peace. Alone to think. Alone to be the person I make myself, not the one that somebody else made me.
Ashton Kirkpatrick | Art
Austin Brown | Poem Money, driven by greed, stank of oil. Oil; the jewel of the world. Or, the greatest fault of our lives. The oil is loyal. Businessman—with blazing eyes—set the stage for the war on oil. Black gold, worth more than what we are told. Black gold, crippling our environment. Black gold, creating spoils. Diamonds, silver, iron are all nothing compared to our precious jewel. Controlling our world and what are actions are Controlling who we are, and what we will do for the black liquid It’s thick tar-like texture not refreshing, nor it is it cool. What will you do for oil? What will you do for our gold? What will you do for your life? Will you sacrifice your life for oil's cost? Black gold, the story of oil in our lives. It will define us, And it will end us. The jewel of the world: oil.
Bobby Sanchez | Prose The children were playing, the adults were speaking with one another. It was a normal day at the park. But one family stood out from the rest as they all played and went about their day together. It was no surprise to the other adults. This was a family that connected better than most. The would all laugh and play. The parents frolicked just as their children. It was a family bond that every- one was jealous of. It was a normal night at the Smith's house. The clock read 8:30 pm, the children were ready for bed. As they were tucked in, Lucy and Grady said \"goodnight\" to their mother and father. Lucy drifted asleep while Grady sat wide awake. The clock now read 11:45 pm, later than Grady had ever been awake. He began to hear rustling downstairs. He ventured to the stairwell, hoping to hear what was going on. As he slowly crept down the stairs he started to hear voices, very familiar voices. But one voice was very different from the others, very deep... and raspy. He heard footsteps coming closer and closer. Grady stumbled to the top of the stairs, but still peeking around the corner. He saw his mother and father in all black clothes and masks. The deep- voiced man followed closely behind. The three people left the house. Grady quickly darted down the stairs and peered through the blinds. He watched a black Cadillac pull out of the driveway. He got startled as he saw another un- seemly car in the driveway. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder. He quickly jolted around to look at the person who had grabbed his shoulder. He was shocked to see that it was his uncle Pete. They awkwardly stared for about five seconds as Grady noticed the symbol on his shirt. Uncle Pete grabbed him and led him to the living room. They talked until his parents arrived. When Grady's parents walked into the living room, he noticed that they too had the symbols. \" Wrap it up!! We are going to be late.\" Grady's mother said. She took Grady by hand and walked out to the car \"I'll explain later, honey, don’t worry.\" She kissed him on the cheek. At this point Grady was still speechless. The car ride was silent. As they arrived they gave Grady a badge just like theirs except, but at the bottom it said \"NEW MEMBER\". They walked in to see hundreds of men, women, and children. They all saluted to the phrase \"ONA\" and made a path for Grady. In one synchronized voice, the crowd said \"Welcome Grady, we have been waiting to see you.\" His mother continued to say \"We expect great things from you.\" They sat him on a throne and gave him a crown that read \"ONA\" and had the symbol from his family's shirts. \"Welcome, we await your orders Sir.\"
Aidan Dillman | Art
Natalie Peyton | Poem As you walk the path of life You notice it is not straight There are parts with no pavement And parts covered in moss Life is not an easy road It has bumps in it And cracks And parts that make you want to turn around But you must keep strong You must walk the path You have to push through Life isn’t an easy road It has pain It has joy It has loss And it has tears It has parts that are joyus too Parts with new pavement And parts with flowers on the sides At the end Of the tough parts You will think back, and say “That wasn’t so hard” But it was Because life is not an easy road
Alyssa McCarty | Prose The house was dark and aged. That's all I remember before I was swept away by the cool breeze that guided me north. The only thing keeping me on my way instead of going back to the dreary house, was the faint smell of soup. I hadn't eaten in days, and I was famished. The neighboring village was about a mile away so I knew that a bit of walking awaited me. It was a ruthless winter, but I had somehow survived the harsh, bitter snow. The tall pine trees were covered in ice, in a way they looked majestic to me but I knew that in reality they were what brought me the most danger. I started this trek in order to accompany my father whom was in the hospital due to a stroke. The hike began with an easy start. Blue skies, white clouds, warm sun, and flowers dancing in the breeze. A normal day. Day two began a bit differently. Grey skies, dark clouds, cold breeze, and white snowflakes drift- ing freely towards the solid earth below my feet. That's when I knew how fast I would need to move. When I eventually reached my destination the aroma of soup still lingered in the air. I couldn't help myself, I followed it. The sweet perfume of food ob- tained strength. I was close and vaguely excited. When I approached the height of the smell, I entered a wooded area with a log cabin precisely in the middle of the trees. I approached the cabin and pushed the door open. The soup tasted bitter and spoiled, but I was so hungry I could have cared less. Af- ter the first spoonful, I saw a flash of light and three shadows dancing against the walls. My grandmother had told me stories about this. She called it, The Legacy of Daphigus. From that point on I knew that my life was going to be especially unusu- al. Time past by me like a raging storm and I knew within my heart that some- thing had changed. Something that would burn inside of me for the rest of my life, something that may even lead to finding my father. He died that day. If I had not found that ghastly cauldron, my father may be here with me as a bab- ble on. If it killed me, I would use my power to my advantage and find my fa- ther. Whatever it takes. The power that once terrified me in the depths of the night would now help me discover the afterlife. The shadows in my bedroom at night would find my father, and I would help them. I will pursue The Legacy of Daphigus!
J.J. Marsar | Art
Lauren Jonas | Poem Tick...Tock When does it stop? When is time off? Tick...tock Your life, a clock Black or white? Which way is right? Tick...tock Your life, a clock Make your best decisions Be perfectly precisioned Tick...tock Your life, a clock Your life, a clock Can't be of deception Yet, strive for perfection Tick...tock Your life, a clock Pushed to be all these, All I wanted to be was free Tick...tock No life, no clock
MaKayla Creel | Prose It is a lie! It has to be, a dream maybe? I just want it to end. Make it stop! There has to be a way! I hear \"them\" calling my name. I don't want to die! It's like peer pressure, except they are not people. They are demons. Demons who like the sound of my scream. Screaming because of the terror and thoughts they bring to my head. Are they even real? I can't make it stop! They keep \"talking\" and saying things only I can hear. Things like, \"Christine, just commit suicide. You are a problem for every- one you love! If you really love them, go away, it will help those around you.\" I can't listen to them, I won't! At least I'll try. They keep putting images in my head. I keep seeing and talking to my dead mom and sister. I live alone because my dad left in the middle of the night, about 2 years ago. The police had a search party but they can't find him any- where. My mom and my sister died in a car accident. My mom only 25, and my sister only 6 years old. When I talk to them it's like we are all here again, but we only talk about one thing. Doing something so I can see my family perma- nently again, committing suicide. Of course I don't want to, but I do miss them so much! I want to be able to hear my mom and sister talk and laugh again. I know it's the demons, but what if it is true? What if I can see them again? I have to try at least. I keep seeing my mom, my sister, and even my dad. Maybe, he is dead to? They all said they live happily together and miss me. The demons keep getting inside of my head. The demons are winning. I have made my decision. It is my choice. I miss my family, and I can't wait to see them again…
Alana Gillis | Art
Dakota Bailey | Poem I wake, tied up in a chair. My ears open up to the sounds of screams and terror. Where am I, Where am I? I thought. Unable to see that death is near. Slowly but closely I untie the rope. The room goes quiet but still alive, due to the terror that’s in my eyes. I don’t know why this is happening to me. But all that’s left is to run and scream. I bump into something then fall flat on my feet. I look up to see a guy with an axe and sheets on his head. The axe swings, then goes into my soul. I wake up again with my hands on my chest. I see a bright light shimmering on me, but behind the light is a doctor who says I’ve been in a coma for eight and a half weeks.
Aniyah Mack | ProseIt was stupid.Thinking the human race would change. But she changed that. It was the year three thousand sixteen: the Earth was eliminated of its recourses be-ing left as a sandy, barren land. Most houses detonated, wooden planks spread out in thesand, human bones sticking out of the golden-like dust, but if you looked hard enough, youwould see a little girl with black hair and blue eyes planting a seed into a rain boot filled sur-prisingly with rich soil. Every day, the little girl would come out of an almost completely de-stroyed brick house spitting on the soil as a replacement for water. She never lost any hopethat the seed would grow, even though it was only a sprout by the time she was fifteen. Theusual blue eyes were slightly more dim than usual; her skin pale. The little girl came out ofthe house slowly sitting criss-cross in front of the sprout, hands in her face letting out shakybreathes. After hours of no movement, the little girl ran back into the rundown house andcame out a few minutes later; a backpack with sewn patches, two water bottles- in which Iguessed were the last supplies she had left- and what I could only guess was what littlefood she had left in the broken down house. Running towards the sprout, she stopped andsmiled brightly at it. She was smiling. And if the sprout could smile, I imagine it would giveher the same tired smile. Scooping the boot up slowly and tucking it under her arm, shewalked away from the rundown brick house that stored all of her memories- each steppromising a new life if she was willing to go through the hardships. That was the last time Isaw her. Now it was the year three thousand thirty-four and even though the girl- most likely inher twenties by now- left she was different. Instead of giving up she tried to make Earth alivable planet like it once was. But I didn't know if she was living or dead by this point. Iwould have gone to look for her unfortunately the universe has other plans for I am chainedto this barren area for eternity, but that is another story for another time. Then, somethinggrabbed my attention. Trees, how I didn't see it before was shocking but there they werestanding tall and healthy. It was a start but the human I had met years ago still had to figureout how to bring the human population to what it used to be. How would the girl solve this? Iasked myself amused. The next day my question was answered, as I was staring lazily atthe abandoned brick house a little girl showed up black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. Butshe seemed to have more fat on her bones and her facial structure was different than what Iremembered. The little girl stared at the house- what was left of it- and started calling out.To who? I don't know, not even to this day, but little did I know that it was the same humanwith the rainboot. Relief flooded over me when I saw her carrying the same bookbag even ifher hair grew longer and she was taller than before I still could tell it was her. She too staredat the broken down brick house and smiled at it. Patting the girl's head she made her wayback through the trees, the little girl following closely behind. But she left something behind.A note written neatly. It answered all my questions with a simple sentence.\"I did it.\"It was stupid.Thinking the human race could never change.
Ashton Kirkpatric | Art
Cole Elwood | Poem As the vivid sun grows, Images start to sprout Through the generations; People think they are distinct— That they are better. When the wind blows, The trees protect but Eventually gets taken down— Though they have lots Of support eventually Will get taken over. The grass overrun The slimy worms infest Soon the worms will Seek protection from The wicked hawks.
Leah Rachels | Prose He fumbles in his pocket for his keys. He just moved from New York to a little town called Moonyville. His new house is off in the country where the closest neigh- bor is a couple miles away. It's an adjustment , but he likes his quiet, little home. He walks up the front steps to the porch and slips the key into the lock. He opens the door and there's a lamp on. He doesn't remember leaving the lamp on, but he just shrugs it off. He walks into the kitchen to grab a quick snack before going upstairs to bed. He walks up the stairs to find every door closed. He walks up to his bedroom door and turns the knob. It is locked. He doesn't think he locked it before he left. He finds the key to the door and slips it inside the lock. It doesn't turn at first, but he fi- nally gets it on the fifth try. He opens the door and to his horror he sees nothing. His bed is gone, hi wardrobe, his desk, his bookshelf. He rubs his eyes in disbelief. He opens them again to see his room still empty. However, it is not completely empty. Something catches his eye. There's a little doll sitting in the corner. He turns on the light and walks over to the doll. It isn't one he's ever seen. It has a porcelain face with pale skin and rosy cheeks. It has hazel, glass eyes. Her hair is long, curly, and a dirty blonde color. She has a long white nightgown with lace at the bottom and the collar. She has a small, red mouth and a short, stubby nose. She is beautiful. He walks down the stairs with her in hand. He puts her in a glass cabinet in his dining room for display. He walks into the living room to make a bed on the couch because he has no bed to sleep on, but he's going to have to worry about that in the morning. He walks upstairs to sheets and a pillow and walks back downstairs to put them on the pull out. When he gets downstairs, however, the doll is sitting on the couch. That's strange, he thinks. He picks her back up and takes her back into the dining room to put her back in the cabinet. That's odd, the cabinet is gone and everything else in the dining room. He decides he needs to call someone now. He puts her on the couch and goes to the phone in the kitchen. He starts to dial the police, but when he turns around, he sees her on the fridge. He drops the phone, and runs into the living room to see all the furniture gone. He takes the doll, and puts her in a box. He locks the box, and buries it in the backyard. He rushes back into the house, and goes to the phone to call the police. However, there's one problem, the phone's gone. The only things left in the house are him, the counters, and two other things a top the counter, the doll and a sharpened cutting knife. He stands there in shock, unable to move. The doll gets up and walks over to him, giggling with knife in hand. The doll says one thing before she attacks, \"Where's my mommy and daddy?\" Then she strikes from behind. She cuts through his spine and penetrates his spinal cord. He drops to his knees and turns cold like the life was sucked out of him. She drags him by his feet into a secret entrance in the wall. One more victim that tried to take her home. They can't live here though, her mommy and daddy still have to come back, and how are they going to find her if there's someone living here. No one has gone in since he disappeared. When you walk by, however, some say you can hear the giggles of a little girl playing with her doll.
Emma Tracy | Art
Colin Gamba | Poem The irregular pat of footsteps As he approaches Through the dark corridors An abandoned place with lore It would have been magnificent An abandoned building full of trees But now she has to hide Maneuver her way through tall weeds The irregular pat of footsteps Stops before her hiding place She wakes to find she's only sleeping Realization turned to weeping She's okay now, or so she thinks In a flash, before she blinks Inside an unfamiliar room \"I guess I'll see you soon\"
Grace Farish | Prose War, is a fate that is inevitable as long as humans roam this earth. Throughout human history war has broken out for countless reasons – to bring a country's people together, to keep a balance in power or because of a petty rivalry. No matter the reason it can happen – it will happen – soon or later. It may be sooner than one would like to believe. A human cost in war, to some it may mean how many people you are willing to sacrifice to get a dictator's way. To others it may be what you are willing to sacrifice to save people. \"Blood and Iron\" a saying that hasn't been around too long, even though it's a policy many wars have started on. The \"only\" way to solve problems is by picking up a weapon and spilling blood - that is the way of Blood & Iron. But others may try their best to save as many people as possible, staying neutral or isolated. The peaceful way may not always carry throughout; hate is within us all and the hatred can take over. A country could get stronger, but it can also can destroy itself. People may be brought together, but families could be torn apart. Only Fate can decide the Victor .
Ashton Kirkpatric | Art
Jayda Dangerfield | Poem
Jason Shoener | Prose Yeah. I just did it. I killed the death pig. My sword coated in golden Ichor, the blood of the immortals. He was big, fat and put the “ug” in ugly. He was pink and hairy and had horns as sharp as Kanzu knives. I am starting to wonder if his parents gave him growth pills. Guess who sent this oversized ham to come and try to stab me? The no-good goddess of the hunt, Artemis. First of all, I was in a temple of her’s trying to apologize for accidentally killing her favorite friend. Angelos--meaning angel. Her Artemis temple has many Greek columns and they still are a fresh white. The smell; like nature. A statue loomed over me with gray eyes, and the look on her face said, '' Flirt with me, and you will die...''. Well she killed my brother, so I killed her friend. Fair right? Apparently not. By the way my name is Jason. I wear dark blue jeans, and a blue and black shirt with an army jacket. I am the son of the magic titan Hecate. She is considered a goddess. I have no clue why they call her that, but hey, any mother is better than no mother. The best thing about me being her son is summoning purple-fireballs of death. Bam! Now a shining chariot pulled by golden deer with Moons’ engraved on the side. A very angry face peering at me, was ready to kill me and dance in my blood. '' I will kill you and make sure you have the worst punishment in the field of punishment!'' she yelled. '' Isn't that what that is about?'' I asked. Then summoning a sword I charged. I faked a left then turned write. Then, I slashed at her. She dodged quickly and said, '' This is not basketball you dummy.'' Then I teleported behind her and stabbed her back. Poof! She lay there nothing but a pile of golden dust. Wow! I thought. She is really weak. Then, walking away, I felt good about the world and everything about it.
Grace Farish | Photography
Tehya Kennett | Poem Life is messed up; People dying every day. Will the struggle ever end, That is hard to say. With life so tough There is no time to play. No rewards for achievements Not a simple hooray. Life is a journey Trying to get to the other side. Obstacles washing you out Like an ocean tide. The only way to win, Is to have the most stride. Trying to win is like When two boulders collide. Creating havoc on earth With a rock slide. Which will cause most To turn and hide. Not me, I'm gonna fly, Like a bird in the sky. Life will never catch up 'Cause I'm not ready to die.
J.J. Marsar | Prose It was the last day of ninth grade when I decided that that I was going to climb Mount Everest. I am now fresh out of college, and I am taking a climbing classes; my expedition is in two weeks. I will be climbing with five other climbers. Our climb will be around two months long. I started packing and I finished three days before the trip. We leave for the airport Friday night; we land in Asia Sunday morning their time. We get a ride to Mount Everest and we started to climb to base camp it is now Monday. We have been climbing for a month and a half, and one person has been evacuated by helicopter due to hypothermia and lack of oxygen. We are now for days from the top when the winds started to pick up: that is when I look up and see the black clouds above. I suggested that we set up camp and wait for it to blow over. I awake to the hallowing sound of the wind and my tent whipping back and forth. I decide in that horrifying moment we need to head back down to a real base camp the following morning we are greeted by a very pushy man. He tells us to hurry up a very bad storm is coming. We move as quick as possible helicopters are taking people off the mountain the storm gets to bad and the helicopters can’t make it we are stuck! Some of the tents come flying out of the ice and send the people ca- reening to their death. Another helicopter comes and this one is are groups. I want to finish the climb but I know it is too risky. We begin to fly down when the pilot gets altitude sickness I take out the control manual and I begin to fly down the mountain the nextday. We made it back to the bottom of Mount Everest and get the pilot to help. I now tell my story for a living and have two books about it.
Daniel Garcia | Art
Steven Taylor | Prose Crisp Autumn ,the winter wonderland, but with russet, nut-brown, and Gold sprinkled around by mother nature. Her calling for winter ;not yet re- ceived by nature itself. Even mother nature has a dark side . Dust , broken cars , and most of all corpses scattered around ,but Not by mother nature , but mankind itself. Behind some fallen cement blocks was a Survivor named Roy. Only a few days after his eighteenth birthday his parents were killed after the coemption of being the 'last one alive' . Dad shot straight in the head at point blank. His Mom did suicide, after finding them both dead inside their house ,he was traumatized. Roy was tall and skinny .He used an under armor bag to carry the essentials, like weapons and canned food and of course flash grenades. Throwing grenades wasn't his specialty . He tossed the grenade it bounced of the cars that the enemies were behind and rolled right behind the two hostiles. One flash is all it took for Roy to get from behind his cover. Roy owned a m16 and a revolver. A m16 was a burst assault rifle ,so all it took was two three round burst and both enemies were eliminated. They fizzled up into a pool of blue ;Roy never knew what happened when you fizzled up into blue. What was even weirder was when he cut himself red blood shown. Twenty-three and a half months surviving , Roy took base in an aban- doned prison with a few other survivors. Roy was in his bed thinking about his parents death. It shook him so much that he had dreams what he could of done differently, how he could've saved his parents. A tear dropped down his face . He felt pity for himself, when a loud noise came from the center of the prison. Roy wiped his face and took his revolver. Fire was all over the down- stairs of the prison. Roy didn’t take cover so he was shot right in the stomach . He fell on the metal steps Roy vision started to blur when out of the red burn- ing fire a man with an axe came and walked up the stairs that Roy were on and sliced his head off. Roy woke up in some kind of chamber in a big room when he realized there were a million other chambers with people asleep in liquid...
Riley Bennett| Prose It was a routine job. In and out. Collect the taxes from door to door, yet the nature of this normaljob was somehow making me uneasy. Almost as if something was going to happen. I had been in theBritish military for around four months. I joined so my family wouldn’t be captured in the initial takeover.I was interrupted in my thoughts when my fellow soldier screamed to back off. \"You're not getting mymoney you dirty redcoat!\", the man at the door screamed. Instead of taxes he had a double barrelpointed directly between my eyes when I saw his finger slightly shift, a click, then nothing. It was allblack for a moment when I thought all was over, I was surprised to find myself in a small camp thatwas very similar to the ones that I was in. There were many men in light gray uniforms carrying whatlooked like more advanced versions of our standard issue muskets. A heavily built man with a bushybeard. He said we would be heading out at 0300. I at least knew what that meant. I was directed to thebarracks and I got in my bunk. I was so tired and confused from what had happened I went straight tosleep. I was woken abruptly by the screaming of what I guessed was our commanding officer.Everyone grabbed the rifles by the bunks so I followed. I was wondering why we had been woken upearly but that wonder turned to fear when about 150 people came at us rifles wearing blue uniforms. Cannons were being rapidly fired directly at us. I fired my gun but with my luck the gunbackfired into my hand. The pain was so immense I didn’t even notice the cannonball flying directly atme. As I looked it hit the munitions box and it blew up as I blacked out. I woke up to find myself in a massive ditch that seemed to never end. I had a gun that lookedlike a very advanced musket. There were about 100 men around me and the number grew as the ditchwent along. There was constant gunfire and cannons that shot cones instead of cannon balls. Therewere what looked like logs with triangles on both sides flying through the air. They didn’t seem to beshooting more like circling high above the battlefield. I popped my head over the ditch only to get hit inthe helmet with a bullet. It didn’t kill me but it sure did hurt. I fired blindly over the ditch then my gunsuddenly made a loud ring and all of the bullets sprang out. I picked them all back up and put them inthe gun as well as I could figure out but the gun still didn’t fire. I looked down to see a man with a bulletwound in his chest. I grabbed his gun because I didn’t think he would mind. Luckily for me, the gunwas fully loaded and I once again shot blindly. I did this for awhile but after about an hour, I noticedeveryone had different uniforms from before. Lets just say that it wasn't pretty. I was now in what seemed like a tropical paradise where nothing could go wrong. But theneverything went wrong. The sky logs were dropping cannon balls that exploded into oblivion. Theywere landing everywhere. The birds (which is what I started calling them) shot bullets too. I tried tohide behind a building but it was soon destroyed. My time in paradise didn’t last long as an explodingball landed right on me. Causing an orange blindness and then I blacked out. I now found myself in a desert surrounded by nothing but one building and a few other menaround me. I was wearing very heavy clothes that matched the sand. I had a rifle that was like nothingI had ever seen before. It was very long and had a piece of glass that zoomed in my sight. It had a redcircle in the middle that was just hovering in the middle of the glass. I followed my colleagues into thebuilding where they readied their guns around every corner until we reached a room with many womenwearing full black robes with their hands bound behind their backs we each hauled a woman to acarriage that didn’t have any horses but looked very protective. As I was loading my woman in, sheyelled something in a strange language and I immediately blacked out. I was now in an open field with nothing but some clothes on. I looked up to see what looked likea plate that blotted out the sun. It dropped a sphere the size of a marble and a massive explosionoccurred. I was shot back many yards but I lived. The only thing to exit the ship was one tall shadowyfigure that loomed over me as it slowly approached. It picked me up and threw me back a few morefeet as hundreds of the same species poured out of the ship.
Aniyah Mack | Art
Layne Schelest | Poem I can hear them coming: it feels as though they could be running. Up the stairs they come, what if they have a gun? I feel like I may cry; if I do I may die. The doors swing open— I almost feel broken. In the monsters fly; I watch the light leave my father's eye. It was all so fast, I remember hearing the act. It happened with a loud crack, Then it all went black.
Austin Brown | Essay The holocaust has been remembered as one of the worst tragedies in modern times. This title is not easily given, as over six million Jews were exterminated hor- rifically during the period. A question, however, has been asked over the years; Why was there no resistance? Why did the minorities allow Nazi’s to take them and strip them of their pride ( and their lives)? Well, an answer to this is, is the human spirit. The human spirit was the greatest weapon, and the greatest fault at the same time. This question has a bit of a direct answer. There was resistance in many cas- es, as you might expect. So of course there was literal resistance. In Poland, there was many rebel groups, and even rebellions such as the Warsaw Uprising. Howev- er, to answer these questions, we must go deeper. The fight was not won solely on physical weapons and fighting. The fight was won with survival and perseverance. Survival was not strictly scientific. Many relied on the belief they would be lib- erated as strength to carry on. Of course they needed food, water, shelter, but they also needed to stay mentally healthy. The Nazi’s knew this, and they specifically tar- geted any sort of hope the minorities might have. They knew the human spirit would provide them with strength when they were weak. The human spirit would allow them to fight, to prosper, and to survive. So, the Nazi’s would target what gave them hope and made them feel like people. When you strip a person down to nothing, the human spirit dwindles. No longer will it provide as well as it did before, but it will still be there. The human spirit is our greatest ally, but our weakest link. If built up, our soul will help us, and help us prosper. If torn down, it will become our greatest weak- ness. If you are being bullied, or assaulted , the human spirit may be your greatest power. The adrenaline pumps through, you block out every word, and you fight back. This surge of power helped people fight the Nazi’s, or it was used as a source of energy to survive. However, in another situation, if those words, and punches get to you, you will fail. Once the human spirit is broken, the human cannot fight back. Once we are stripped of who we are, all resistance ends. We think, “What does it matter? I don’t matter!”. A tormentors words are obviously less serious than a Nazi attack, but this example applies to every aspect of our life. Soldiers can the greatest weapons, armor, and advantages, and yet still can lose the battle. This is because of the human spirit. If you go into a situation with a bad attitude, then you will surely lose. If you spent years building yourself up, then your spirit will overtake you. You will surely win (almost all of the time). Minorities did resist. The war was built on re- sistance. But the effectiveness of the resistance did not depend on physical coun- terparts, but rather their mental state.
When Jewish prisoners were in the camps, they resisted. Their mere survival wasresistance to the anti-Semitic beliefs of Hitler. Every time they woke up in the morning,they resisted. They survived on the fact that they knew they would be liberated. Theywoke up each day in hope. that today would be the day. The day where they can wakeup and worship whoever they please. Where they can return home, and be people. Allthey wanted to be people, and they were. They had lives before this. This dream of re-turning to their lives kept their spirit up, and was the weapon in which they used to revolt. The holocaust was the worst, inhumane genocide in all of modern history. Theamount of ethnic groups that suffered were too many to count. There was fightingagainst the Nazi’s, but not on a large enough scale. However, there was still plenty of re-sistance. The mere existence of these groups were enough resistance to the repressiveregime. These groups had to survive the camps, but also had to survive life after. Theyreturned with nothing but their broken spirit. They had to build new lives, and frankly newpersonalities. After seeing that many horrors, many would never be the same. We regardthe holocaust as as one of the greatest disasters in history. We guarantee that nothingon this scale will never be done again. But let me remind you, the warning signs of theholocaust were there years before it happened. The world watched as an entire group ofpeople were disposed of. We all ignored the warning signs. The seeds for the holocaust--and the war frankly--were planted long before Hitler took power. Today we have relativepeace. But please don’t forget, the holocaust could have been avoided. We need towatch for the warning signs today. To truly live in a modern society, we need to watch forthe warning signs of war. We need to resist, before another atrocity happens. The hu-man spirit is our strongest weapon, unless we don’t use it in time.
Grace Farish | Photography
Emma Tracy | Poem
Kyla Gantt | Essay War, a word that many people fear. War can mean many things, it can mean an actual war between countries, or women whose rights have been restricted, or the war on poverty to stop poverty in the United States. In recent years, there has been a war on many people's rights across the world. War, then, is fighting for rights, anybody's rights, when power is abused. When citizens of a country protest, the citizens of that particular nation are voicing their opinions on matters in their country that they feel is an attack on their basic human rights. In the past century, there have been many protest around the world, but recently, protesting has risen around the world. One protest that most people know because of a man standing in front of a tank, which was the Tianan- men Square protest. The Tiananmen Square protest was when thousands of Chi- nese students protesting for a more democratic government, which is an example of citizens of a nation that is not democratic, protesting for freedom. Today in the world people protest, so that the government can hear the people's voices. Civil wars, many are happening now in Arab countries. A war that has been in the media lately, is the civil war in Syria. Syrian civilians started noticing a rise in unemployment, corruption in the government, lack of political freedom, and state repression; pro-democracy demonstrations occurred in the city of Deraa, because of the events that are happening in Syria and the many pro-democracy protest that happened in other Arab countries, helped encourage this demonstration. The gov- ernment reacted to this demonstration irrationally, by using weapons to silence the voices of the civilians, after the government's irrational thinking, protest sprung up in Syria to demand for President Bashar al-Assad's resignation. Opposition sup- porters began to buy weapons to fight against the corrupt government, which as you can probably tell that made President Bashar angry. This tension between the rebels and the government resulted into a bloody civil war, which escalated very quickly. Since the rebels wouldn’t have enough weapons to fight against the gov- ernment, countries like the United States, France, Turkey, United Kingdom, Qatar, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia; countries aiding the government are Russia, Iran, Hez- bollah-not a country but the government-, Venezuela, North Korea, Iraq, Lebanon, and Belarus. These countries and governments have aided to the prolong of the Syrian Civil War. The war in Syria will most likely continue since previous events, and the fluctuation of who's winning and who's losing. In sum, it is clear that many civilians fight for their civil rights. From the Tiananmen Square protest-protest against the communist government in China to become a more democratic government- to the Syrian civil war, These two wars, one on a war against the freedom of the people, and one on an actual war between the state and the citizens, you can now see that war means many different things.
Summer Braden | Art
Jordan Johnson | Poem I'm alone I want to go home But I'm stuck here In this lonely atmosphere I tried to make friends But they won't be my friends to the end I don’t want to be a follower But that’s all I see Lots of parasites Looking at me
Avery Stone | Prose I was sitting in my room. I was minding my own business from the out- side world, and it was quiet and peaceful. Well, only for a while. The quiet did not last too much longer. I started to feel shaking on my bed. I started to look around and I no- ticed everything else was also shaking and falling onto the floor. The shaking got stronger and more intense each second it went on. A gigantic boom then commenced in the distance. It sounded as if a firecracker went off right next to my ear. I went outside to check on what it may have been. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until I looked up. There were pieces of rubble and rock falling out of the sky. Each sec- ond I kept watching it all fall down from above, it rained down harder and fast- er. I was sure it would eventually stop. I stayed watching for half an hour be- fore the raining of the rubble from whatever it was finally ended. I then contin- ued about my day. But as the day went on, I got more and more curious on what it may have been. Finally, I decided to go and investigate whatever that boom was and the raining of the rocks. I started walking up to where all of this fell down. The rocks fell down in a greater area than I thought they did. It was about a mile long and wide. This couldn't have just been random rocks falling down onto the earth. It had to have been an asteroid and a meteoroid colliding into each other or something of that relative. There was even a crater doing deep down from how hard the rocks fell and hit the ground. I decided to look more into it out of sheer curiosi- ty. In the direct center of this meteoroid or asteroid rubble, there was an omi- nous glow. I wanted to know as to what could be causing a green glow in the middle of meteoroid rubble. So, I walked over to it. It was a green box that had a plant or a leaf on all six sides of it. Of course I opened the box to look inside, It seemed of a plant with some unknown berries growing on it that I have never seen. Inside the box was also some phone. Oddly enough, it did not have a screen. It was only a metal outline of the shape of a pone. There was one but- ton on it. So, I pressed it to know what it would do. The strange item powered on and a screen with several pages of what looked like hieroglyphics on it. I had no idea what to think. I was amazed. I couldn’t read it, but I was ecstatic of the thought that there could be life somewhere else out in space. After all, I do work at NASA, and this is my entire goal along with my colleagues is to find extraterrestrial life.
I immediately closed the box with the device inside of it and ran back to myhouse. I got in my car and drove right to the station. I screamed of joy and excite-ment to my partner Dave. He didn’t believe me of what I was saying, until Ishowed him the box with the berries and device. He could not believe his eyes.He wanted to show everybody else in the building of my discovery. I was in agree-ment that this needed to be shared. We called a meeting for everybody who workshere to discuss about. I brought up the box, berries, and device. Everybody wasfascinated by this. We started our focus for however long we needed to look atthis and decrypt whatever it said. After about two months, we finally did it. We finally depicted that messageon the device. It read, \"Hello beings from another world. We have sent a messageplant in the box you have received. You must plant the tree and wait precisely oneweek and berries shall grow on it. Once 25 berries have grown, cut open the tree.This is a test of patience to see if your intellect is as our own. We mean no harmor danger to you. Inside the tree will be in your own language so you don’t have togo through the nonsense of figuring out our language again. Good luck.\" We planted the tree, and waited a week. The message was right. The treehad grown fully and it had 25 berries grown on it. We cut open the tree to find an-other device exactly the same as the other. The only difference is that it was inEnglish this time. The message had coordinates on it and a note that said. \"Comehere and our two species may meet and join together.\" Of course everybody wasso excited nobody could get over this. The only problem was that nobody evenrecognized the coordinates. Until we looked more closely at them, we realized itwasn’t on Earth. They were on our moon. About 20 feet under the moon's surface,in fact. Now we had to make something that could pierce a hole that deep easily. Itwasn’t as hard as we thought it would be. All we had to do was get a driller truckand make it a bit smaller to fit onto the ship. We launched for the moon. It didn’t take long to get there and to find the co-ordinates. Now all we had to do was go down. So we did. Once we got downthere we could not believe anything we saw. It was amazing. A whole new speciesfrom space that contacted us. How could we have not known that what we werelooking for was in the moon and not beyond it! This was great! The leader of thesealiens came to us and greeted us very nicely. He talked about wanting to comelive on Earth with us and we could unite to do things we couldn’t do on our ownand they couldn’t do on their own. So, we accepted this offering gladly. They toldus about how they contacted us with an asteroid and meteoroid collision. I wasapparently right on my guess of that. They have done it to another planet, but ei-ther there was nobody, or they weren't smart enough to figure it out. They calledwhat they did \"Operation Fall\".
Franklin Bennett | Art
Macy Allen | Poem I have to tell you something. Oh? It's something that you should know. So trust me, and just go with the flow. He died. Who died? Did you cry? There wasn’t a point to cry. He just died. Who? You aren't telling me who! The baby. What baby? The baby before Shane, Shaylah, and you. He died and there wasn’t anything we could do.
Search
