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The Inklings creative arts anthology has held a place in QMHS's history since 1960, when the first issue was published. According to Ms. Nancy Brown, who was the sponsor of the anthology in 1986, it was published almost continuously until 1997, with a few exceptions (1966, 1990-1991, and 1993). In subsequent years, the anthology was renamed as Mosaic, but it was only published for two issues. After that, the anthology was not published again until now. This year's Creative Writing Club has decided to revive the anthology, and in addition to publishing it in limited paper copies, they will present the first e-magazine volume.

The theme for this year's issue is "New Beginnings," and this truly is a new beginning for this magazine. The following works ex-press ways that the student body encounters, reacts to, challenges, and accepts change. Most of the student body consists of children of military servicemen and women, who move often, so they are all too familiar with the process of starting over. Their works express a celebration and adaptation to all of the trials and change that they experience throughout their lives. These are the voices and visions of strength, resilience, and maturity that only a life as a military child can express. The writings come from their own personal experiences as well as reactions to the literature and other texts they have read during the school year.

The staff of Inklings, and the Creative Writing Club would like to thank Ms. Jean Arcuni, Mrs. Leslie Shinaver, Ms. Linda Taffi, Ms. Terri Pearson, and Ms. Jeneva Mitchell for promoting the anthology and inspiring students in their writing and artistic efforts. We would also like to thank the parents of our students and our administrators, Mr. Michael Johnson and Mr. Dan Mulhern for their help throughout the production process. Finally, we would like to extend a heartfelt “Thank you!” to the PEA and Ms. Nancy Brown for their generous donations. They have provided us with the means to publish this anthology in print as well as by e-magazine, and we are grateful for their support of this publication.

Inklings 2016-2017 Staff Editors: Danielle Piper, Cordelia Piper, Alyssa Dalton, Charleston Clise, Olivia Miner, Seth Thomas, Tiara Adams, Tatiana Wilson Adviser: Mrs. Tana Wood

Cover Art

Front: By Joseph Bruno, 10th grade Inside: By Sho Reif, 10th grade, and Meckenzie Reep, 12th grade Back: By Solenn Pieau, 10th grade

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Table of Contents

Cover Joseph Bruno Cover Art

Cover Solenn Pieau Cover Art

Cover Sho Reif Cover Art

Cover Meckenzie Reep Cover Art

4 Jasmine Essallynne-Cook

Colorful Flower

4 Nathaniel Powers New Year (never dull)

5 Emily Coleman School Spirit

6 Danielle Piper An Escape

6 Jasmine Essalynne-Cook

Flower

7 Mary Ingram The Mirror

8 Olivia Miner Enemies with Benefits

9 Lauren Lemon Shattered

10 Leviathan Will You Accept Me?

11 Isabelle Dalton I Will Still Die

11 Lauren Lemon The Decay

12 Genna Pedraza Abuse?

12 Zachary Furness Abuse

13 Isabelle Dalton The Raven

14 Sho Reif Cover Art

14 Leviathan If We Stopped Time

15 Gabriel Quelvog Rimestone

16 Isabelle Dalton Memories of You

16 Lauren Lemon Pop Art

17 Kahleel Brown Lights, Camera, Dance!

18 Kylie Lianez Snow

19 Jaycee Clark Voice

19 Solenn Pieau Spring Days

20 Devin Williams Riding to My Downfall

21 Christopher Waller Shel Wallerstein (2017)

22 Jeana Nelson Whiskers

23 Jaycee Clark Don't Look Up

24 Cassidy Van Oostrum Gone but never forgotten

24 Genna Pedraza The Scream

25 Josiah Hall Theme for AP Lit

26 Tiara Adams Tiger

27 Ivonne Lara Trapped

28 Cody Phillips Theme for AP Lit

29 Alaina Bierman The Color Red

30 Cael Owens Sorrow

31 Genna Pedraza Life and Death

32 Dominique Lance I am Lost

33 Emily Lunsford My Life Flashed Before My Eyes!

34 Lily Bentacu Bark

35 Grace French Ele

35 Lauren Lemon Untitled (still life)

36 Genna Pedraza My To-Do List

37 Kyra Timberlake A Little Scared

38 Dominique Lance The Same Old Year

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New Year (Never Dull) By Nathan Powers, 8th grade

Never dull

Entertaining

Worth while

Yearning for knowledge

Excitement

Another beginning and ending and always

Repenting

“Colorful Flower,” acrylic on canvas By Jasmine Essallynne-Cooke, 9th grade

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School Spirit

By Emily Coleman, 7th grade School Spirit Red and Gold Warriors Mascot Games Cheerleaders Bows and Sparkles Long School Bus Rides Friends Friends make you laugh Laughing makes you happy You hang out with your friends You talk You tell problems You solve problems together You are close Best Friends You are happy It turns into a happy day Happy days turn into happy weeks Happy weeks turn into happy years Happy years turn into a good life

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An Escape

by Danielle Piper, 9th grade

January 12th. Today was the loveliest day ever experienced. The weather was utter perfection, the sky cloudy and ominous, but the sun showing vibrantly and clear with physical rays moving through the streets, guided by the strong, lukewarm winds. Conditions encouraging one to run away from their problems and escape the dreary repetitiveness of their daily task, but without allowing

these mind numbing burdens to tarnish the perfect day.

“Flower,” acrylic on canvas board By Jasmine Essallynne-Cooke, 9th grade

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The Mirror By Mary Ingram, 11th grade

What is the truth behind a mirror?

I look intently at my reflection And nothing seemed more clearer

Than the everlasting bisection Between me and the conflict

And the ever so popular inflection That follows the strict

Stride for the strong connection Between, me, myself, and perfection

But that isn’t realistic is it?

For the dream of one’s self refinement To be an exact measurement and fit?

So I walk away from the mirror And look back at the reflection

And say with a tone that couldn’t be any clearer You are an object of embellishment

That deserves every ounce of adoration

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Enemies with Benefits By Olivia Miner, 9th grade

The Princess of GoldWing was kidnapped again, in the usually quiet evening air

the heavy hooves of the royal guard’s horses could be heard throughout the forest. The

large group of soldiers drew closer and closer to the large black castle she was being held

in. Reaching the opening of the clearing, they looked to the other side and saw their des-

tination, the captain of the royal guard pulled off his helmet, revealing his mid-length

blonde hair.

“You all wait here! I’m heading in and will signal for you to head on in,” he or-

dered as he began to head away from the group.

Walking into the castle led him through a dark corridor; the interior of the castle

was in ruins with broken columns, and the occasional hole in the ceiling that caused a ray

of light to shine through allowing him to have some occasional vision. Going through the

corridor, he eventually arrived at the throne room, where even in the dim light, he could

see a figure sitting in the throne. The figure seemed hulking with large red wings and

curled horns; however, the captain was not intimidated. He knew who this was.

“Well, well, well, look who came to rescue his princess like the knight in shining

armor he thinks he is,” the figure teased. “Captain Aron to the rescue again.”

“Oh Louie, as if I didn’t know it was you.” Aaron sighed as he rolled his eyes.

“Just hand her over, and my men won’t have to use force.”

Louie scoffed, “You and what army?”

“What? You want me to make it fair and let our battle be one on one, or do you

want a challenge?” Aron mocked.

As Aaron drew his sword from its sheath, he looked up and saw Louie rushing to-

wards him. With a swift raise of his sword, Aron blocked the attack. The two men began

slashing and blocking each other, the clang of metal echoed throughout the castle.

As Louie struck his sword down onto Aron’s with the loud slam of sharpened

metal hitting each other, he began to taunt Aron

“We haven’t fought like this since the time my garrison attacked GoldWing!” He

laughed.

“Yeah, but don’t forget who won that battle!” Aaron laughed as he twisted his

body around to pull his sword out from the pressure of Louie’s. As he did this, he

slammed his boot into Louie’s knee, causing him to topple over. Aaron stood over him

and grinned.

“I win,” Aron said smugly as he pointed his sword in Louie’s face.

“You forgot one thing… I’m no human,” Louie hissed as he ducked under Aron’s

sword and rammed him in the gut with his large horns.

As Aron dropped his sword and hunched over, holding onto his stomach, one of

Louie’s wings hit him in the head, hard. Aaron fell backwards from the impact as Louie

stood above him grinning.

“Who’s won now?” Louie said as he dropped the hilt of his sword on his stomach.

Aaron's vision began to get blurred as he saw Louie kneel down next to him,

smirking, and the next thing he knew, he could hear his men ramming the door as it all

went black.

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“Shattered,” ink on paper By Lauren Lemon, 11th grade

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Will You Accept Me?

By Leviathan, 9th grade

Will you accept me?

If my love is confusing

If it’s complicated.

Will you accept me?

If my love was like an emotional rollercoaster. If it ranged from different emotions,

Like jealousy, passion, rage, hate and much more

Will you accept me?

If sometimes my love was just a matter

Of who or what I love

Will you accept me?

If I took that passionate rollercoaster

towards loving you, my world. Or towards loving my insecurities

Will you accept me?

If I had told you

That my heart takes wings and flies

When we’re together

Will you accept me?

If I had let you know

That when i'm with you I feel safe

Will You accept me?

If I had told you my harsh past

Will you accept me?

If I said

That it’s just a matter of

Me loving my insecurities

So, as I ask for better or worse

With myself being badly broken

With my heart in your hands

With my own fragile soul Pulling towards yours

I ask you one last time

Will you accept me?

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I Will Still Die By Isabelle Dalton, 8th grade

The dirt beneath my nails,

Will become dust

The metal in my teeth,

Will become rust

The enemies I encountered,

Will fade

But they will not be forgotten,

The memories made

The blood on my skin,

Will dry

But no matter the trials faced,

I will still die

“The Decay,” pencil on paper By Lauren Lemon, 11th grade

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Abuse? By Genna Pedraza, 8th grade They punish you And push you around Scream your ears off Until you can’t hear a sound You hate them And you think they hate you too But that’s not abuse You just have a bad attitude You always disobey And get bad grades Do you expect them To not retaliate You’re gonna run away Just walk out the door But how will you survive When you don’t have a home anymore All the things that you packed Came from their paycheck From the shoes on your feet to the clothes on your back The next time you say I’m getting abused You better be careful What words you chose

Abuse By Zachary Furness, 8th grade

It's all fun and games,

Then something goes wrong, He feels the pain,

they can never get along,

He throws his hands fiercely, And learns to dodge and duck,

Until the man lands a jab, Then he’s all out of luck,

When a cheap vodka bottle, is the only things he raised, He can't help but be nasty,

And a little bit crazed,

He forces her to do something, She doesn't want to do,

She ends up doing nothing, Now her arms are black and blue.

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The Raven By Isabelle Dalton, 8th grade

Tick tick tick went the clock on the writing desk. The madman sat and watched the minutes tick by. He was alone in his

humble home, small but beloved. When you first entered the house, you saw a medium sized sitting room with two old chairs sur-

rounding a stained wooden table in front of a cold fireplace. In the far right hand corner sat the entrance to his modest kitchen. It

was littered with scraps from previous meals which swarmed with sickly flies, a small cheerful window situated above the stove.

It then curved to the left and emptied out into his study. A calm room, it contained a single broad window, the madman's dusty

bookshelf, and most importantly, writing desk. He sat there currently, contemplating what to write to fill the empty paper in front

of him. A letter it was, but a letter to whom he wondered. Ah, decisions. Tick tick tick.

His mind started to wander again as he caught sight of the local crows through the window. “Do tell,” said the madman

to no one in particular,”why is a raven like a writing desk?”

No answer came, still he sat stroking his chin in thought. Tick tick tick went the clock in front of him. Suddenly, all

thought was interrupted by a loud thud repeated three times in succession. It was coming from the parlor…

He got up from his chair with a grunt, muscles sore from sitting for hours on end, and headed towards the front door.

Before revealing himself to the stranger that had chosen to visit him on this quiet Sunday evening, the man straightened his vest

and dusted off his trousers. Clearing his throat, he undid the triple layer locks bolting the door shut to reveal a policeman standing

on his front porch. What would the police want with him he wondered. “Good evening officer,” he greeted the stranger,”What

can I help you with?”

The man stood in silence for a moment, looking him up and down while sneaking glances into his home over his shoul-

der. Although a little round on the edges, the policeman seemed to radiate authority and refinement. “Hello sir, I’m sorry to in-

trude but I’ve come to inquire about a crime. Do you know of the disappearances?”

The man had begun twirling his pocket watch in hand. “No, I don’t believe so.”

The officer looked at him strangely for a second before continuing. “Well, there are two missing persons within a few

miles of this area. Have you happened to see anything strange ‘round here? Suspicious characters and such?”

The bodies under the floorboards seemed to crowd his mind as he narrowed his eyes and continued to slowly twirl the

pocketwatch. “No sir, I don’t get out much and even so I haven’t seen much that’s noteworthy… only the crows…”

The madman trailed off quietly, eyes glued distantly on the tree in the front yard with two of the black birds perched

within. Tick tick tick went the pocket watch in hand. “Can you tell me, good sir,” he muttered quietly, eyes still on the tree,”Why

is a raven like a writing desk?

“Pardon?”

He looked back at the policeman, still slightly dazed. “Apologies, officer,” he said putting his hand on the door, “Tis

nothing of importance. Good day to you.”

With that he shut the door and bolted it up again. He put his watch back in his pocket on his way back to the study, being

careful to avoid that one spot on the floor. Although not visible, if you step on that spot you will surely hear it. And if you pull on

the floorboards on that spot… you will surely smell it. Back in front of the desk, he no longer felt like writing. On the opposite

side of the broad window a simple garden snail could be seen sliding along followed by a thin shiny layer of slime. The madman

opened the window and bent down so that he was almost at eye level with the terrestrial mollusc. “Hello, small sir,” he spoke to

the snail, “Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?”

Out of nowhere a raven flew down and landed on the window next to the snail. He jumped back in surprise and watched

the raven eat the defenseless garden snail. After finishing his snack, he lifted his head and pinned his black eyes onto the man.

They both stood motionless, staring into eachother’s eyes. The madman opened his mouth to ask the ebony creature of his most

perplexing riddle, but before a single sound could leave his mouth the raven did the most peculiar thing. In a flash he turned to

face the man directly, then flung his wings outward and lifted his head which proceeded to let out a deep, gurgling croak. Almost

instantly two crows landed beside their feathered brethren, but he kept calling. Within seconds crows started pouring through the

open window into the madman's house. He stood watching in horror and shock as they settled inside the study, some flying cir-

cles above his head, but all respectfully avoiding the screaming raven. In another instant the raven switched from his current call

to a single, deep croak followed by two snaps of his obsidian beak. The moment the second snap echoed through the crow’s ears,

they attacked the madman. He was soon overwhelmed and brought to the floor, screaming and smacking at his assailants. Every

time he swing his fist at them, they parted like mist before continuing their work. They pecked at his skin until blood was drawn,

clawed at his clothes until they were tattered rags, and beat him with their onyx bodies to the point of bruising.

The nurses and security guards kept him pinned down as the madman screamed and struggled, watching the raven walk

closer and closer. The doctor stopped directly above him and watched him with eyes like charcoal framed with glass. “Please, tell

me!,” the madman screamed at the doctor, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

Tick tick tick went the clock on the hospital wall. He smiled a small smile of victory and darkness. “I haven’t the slight-

est idea,” responded the raven.

The End

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If We Stopped Time By Leviathan, 9th grade

If we stopped time, would we still go on

Would we still be happy even when the sun is gone

If we stopped time, would we ever age

Would people come around and sing happy birthday

If we stopped time, would we all be dead

Or would we still crawl in our beds

If we stopped time, would it be possible to start again

Or am I just thinking of nonsense

But if it is possible for time to start

Is it possible for it to stop

Just think about it

If we stopped time, would we still be thinking

Or would we be shrinking

If we stopped time, will time ever stop us

Or maybe time is just an obliteration

Or an idea we still think about

But what would happen if we stopped time

Or has time already run out?

“Untitled,” ink on paper

By Sho Reif, 10th grade

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Rimestone: Part 1

By Gabriel Quelvog, 6th grade Fire. Marcus thought about this substance as he lit his cigarette. Marcus Wright was a detective who worked for the Rimestone Police Department. He was looking at some evidence that they had gotten from last week’s murder scene.

“There is always some murder going on in this town”, he thought. This murder was a conflict, a bar brawl. The suspect had been placed in prison, but claimed he nev-er killed anyone. This sounded absurd to Marcus.

“Late-night working, I see,” said a voice. Marcus turned to see the commissioner looking at what he had in his hand. “Yea, I was just… wait, what are you doing here?” “I was just looking for a file on my desk. It said ‘Gold Killer’, have you seen it?” Marcus shook his head, “No.” The commissioner’s smile faded, “ I have to be frank, Marcus,” he said. “We will

find him and we will abolish him for what he did to you.” Marcus responded with a weak smile. “Well, I'm off, and Marcus, try to get some sleep.”

But Marcus couldn’t sleep. For you see, Marcus's family, his wife and son, were killed by the Gold Killer. He had never rested since then and never would until this killer was in solitary confinement. Marcus took the “Gold Killer” file out of his pocket and read the details.

“Right handed, Blue eyes, Gold side arm”.”This is it?” he thought. Marcus was filled with anger. He would have to go to the recent crime scene to find any clues that would prove that the Gold Killer was there. As he got into his car, he thought of his wife and his son and how they would be at peace once the killer was put away.

He arrived and got out of his car. He heard a gunshot and ran to the source. In the back alleyway he saw a man on the ground, lying dead, and another in a jacket with the hood up running away. “Its him!” he thought. This was his chance.

He grabbed his sidearm and ran after him. Marcus yelled, “RPD, hands in the air!” The killer stopped.

After a decade of searching, Marcus had caught him. “Take off the hood!” He had been waiting a long time for this reveal. The killer took of his hood. Underneath he wore a mask that covered his mouth and chin.

Marcus noticed a scar above his eyebrow. Marcus gasped, he knew there was only one person with that scar.

“Cas?” he said. The killer hesitated, but then ran for it. Marcus did not chase him. He had just seen his assumed-dead 18-year old son.

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Memories of You By Isabelle Dalton, 8th grade If I don’t see tomorrow, At least I’ll have yesterday If all your tears are filled with sorrow, I will wipe them all away If all the creatures in your closet Won’t leave you alone, I will shut the doors and lock them And build you a new home Darling if I don’t see tomorrow, At least I’ll have yesterday

“Pop Art,” acrylic By Lauren Lemon, 11th grade

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Lights, Camera, Dance! By Kahleel Brown, 6th grade

There was a flash! Was I having a heart attack? A stroke? It couldn’t have been! I was

too young to die! That’s when I noticed it was only the lights.

It was a casual Tuesday in Iwakuni, Japan. Birds sang, the trees gently swayed from

side to side, like I said! Casual! I had a truckload of homework, but that didn’t stop me from

enjoying the beautiful day awaiting just behind the door! I reached for the doorknob.

As I strolled around my neighborhood, something caught my eye. “A flyer!” I ob-

served. I walked up to it to see what it had to say. “Back-To-School Dance Today!” I

skimmed the little piece of paper and snickered out loud. People might start thinking I was

some type of a weirdo, so I decided, “How about I shut up and keep my chuckles to my-

self?” The flyer kept blabbing on and on about the food, drinks, and “fun.”

You see, I had been to enough of those dances to notice that there was no “fun.” But

something kept biting at me saying, “Just go! It will be fun this time!” So to prove to my

crazy inside self that the parties weren’t fun, I decided to go anyway. The party was going

to be hosted at the Youth & Teen Center on the base, and it wasn’t that far a walk, so I said,

“Oh, what the heck?”

I started walking towards the Y&T Center, mumbling under my breath, only talking

to myself. I arrived. I saw a few friends of mine already there, and all the lights were out.

Then, the music started. “DANCE CONTEST! DANCE CONTEST! TWO ON EACH

TEAM!” a voice bellowed into the microphone. They were so loud, my ears felt like com-

ing right off of my head. I heard a chant out of nowhere. Then, it got louder.

I felt like they were chanting my name when… They were! They wanted me to

dance! I told myself, “Well, you only get one life, so enjoy it!” And with that, I hopped onto

the stage.

“We have our teams! Chandler and… ‘that kid’ versus that other kid and Caleb!” The

speaker didn’t know my name, nor how to pronounce it, and the other kid went into hysteri-

cal laughter at the fact that they couldn’t say his name. I told my friend Chandler to go first,

because I was too much of a punk to go first. They started the music, as I started to sweat. It

was like time was just going faster and faster. Then, he told me it was my turn. It’s time... I

said to myself.

I was doing pretty bad, at least it felt like it to me. I thought people were cheering me

on only with pity! So I had to impress them. I danced my butt off for the rest of my turn un-

til I had the crowd of teens on their tippy toes. I told Chandler to take it away, and he sure

did! After about 4 minutes, the song was over, as well as the dance contest. “And the winner

is…” a voice began, “Kahleel and Chandler!” I screamed like a little girl who just got an

American Girl doll. The prize was $25, so we split it. “12.50 a piece,” I informed him. The

other kids were hard to beat!

From this occasion, I received a moral. It was that you should never doubt what you

can do. I always doubt myself, saying I can’t do this and that, but that night, I knew I could.

Always live life to the fullest because you only have one life.

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Snow By Kylie Lianez, 6th grade

From her birthplace to the frozen ground, She was pure, she made no sound,

Her skin was clean, her heart was cold, She was more precious than solid gold, For when she landed on the frosty floor,

She wept, she cried, until her throat was sore, But when her sisters fell beside her,

They joined together, getting higher and higher, They made a fortress, its bricks freezing and pale,

Its color whiter than a boat’s sail, She is snow.

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Voice By Jaycee Clark, 6th grade A single voice Calling for help For someone to understand The words The emotion Imprisoned inside her Fighting for a way out Searching For someone to tell her That she’s not going insane She’s amazing She’s beautiful She’s kind That they understand She’s desperately hoping For a shoulder to cry on A hand to hold Someone to love her She’s strong She’ll get through this These thoughts overtaking her They’re irrational She’s perfect the way she is Yet she feels so empty So sad She’s questioning her life She’s drifting Far,far away Intertwined with her thoughts and hopes But there’s a spark within her A hungry flame Burning Consuming Searching for someone Someone to hear Her calling voice Filled with pain But does anyone care to listen?

“Spring Days,” pencil on paper By Solenn Pieau, 10th grade

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Riding To My Downfall By Devin Williams, 6th grade

My heart stopped. I waited just waited for it. I thought I was a fool for doing this. I was my holding my breath. Then my heart had a faint beat. It was beating faster, harder, faster, harder. Before I knew it, it felt like I was going faster than the speed of light. At that moment I knew this was the worst rollercoaster ever.

I was only eight years old. My family and I were at an amusement park. Jalen, my older brother, was off doing his own thing, so it was just me and my Mom. She insisted we go on a rollercoaster and I unfortunately agreed.

We looked for the perfect one. Not too extreme, but not too baby, (even though every roller coaster was extreme to me.) Eventually we found a turquoise roller coaster with one loop and a steep drop. I didn’t want to go on it, but sooner or later I had to. And since it was my first roller coaster, we had to sit in front. Hoo-ray!

The employee strapped us in and said “Have a good ride!” I wondered if she has ever been on a rollercoaster. They’re not good! Up the track we went. We were at the top. My family knew I was a water slide person. I even kept bugging them to go to the water park. I guess they can’t take a hint

Down the the drop we went. Mach 1! Mach 2! Mach 3! I could feel the G Force, then the devil himself came, the loop-the-loop. It felt as if we would never come down. Then we went slower, and slower until we stopped. I survived my first (and last) rollercoaster. It was a win for me. I got a churro.

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Shel Wallerstein (2017) By Christopher Waller, 7th grade A fresh start A new year At last it’s finally here New video games; I can hardly wait And the new movies are just more bait New toys and books and gifts and more Last year’s trends are out the door New technology is undoubtedly coming And new shows which are bound to be funny So many celebrities will get on the C-list But if it were me I’d never happen because, well, I’m a comedy genius A new president will be in office But that’s only because he gained the offense This year I’m playin’ the sax Because chicks dig musicians; let’s face the facts I’ll try my best to make this year last Because these things, you know, pass ever so fast.

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“Whiskers,” pencil on paper By Jeana Nelson, 10th grade

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Don’t Look Up! By Jaycee Clark, 6th grade

The sparkling, frigid water crashed against the base of the bridge 220 feet below me. The gigantic, rust colored posts stood swaying in the wind against the backdrop of a bright blue sky. My teeth were chattering and my legs were violently shaking as we began our walk across the San Francisco Bridge. My entire Girl Scout troop earned enough money from selling cookies to fly from Oceanside, California to San Francisco for five days. Every two years, we move up a level, it is called bridging. This year we decided to “bridge” across the Golden Gate. I was not enjoying myself on this trip. This was the last week I would spend with my Cal-ifornia friends. My family was at home with the movers who would store our things in musty cardboard boxes and ship them to Virginia, our new home. I would return to an empty house with no close friends, so it was hard to make the most of this trip. As all 26 of our feet stepped onto the monstrous bridge, my breaths became shortened and labored. The Golden State Bridge is not entirely stable. It is supported by thick metal cables, made to be flexible to counteract the numerous California earth-quakes. As I walked, the structure wavered in the breeze, and I glanced upward in terror at the posts. Not only was the walk ghastly, it was excruciatingly long. The bridge itself is 8,981 feet long, about 1.7 miles. Since we had already walked several miles that day, we decided to only walk halfway across and back, sparing us a few blisters. The bridge was overly crowded; Bikers, tourists, couples walking, babies in strollers, and the daily traffic of the Northern California city. It was overwhelming. I didn’t talk much on the way there. I was trying to savor the experience. At the center of the bridge, a stranger with a large camera weighing down and straining his neck approached us, wondering if we would like for him to take our picture. Seconds later, we put on our Girl Scout sashes and put on cheery, but faux, smiles for a picture on the bay. I felt uncomfortable having a stranger randomly asking to take our picture. I let my troop leader know how I felt. When he emailed us our picture, she asked him why he wanted to take our photograph. He shared that his Girl Scout daughter had died of cancer three years before. He saw us that day and wanted to take our picture since he was a photographer. He loves seeing people smile after he saw his daughter in pain for so long. Compared to what he and his daughter went through, my fear of the bridge was nothing. His story touched me, and I felt awful. On this trip I learned to be more trustworthy and believe that people have good intentions, so you shouldn’t judge others. I also learned to appreciate the time we have with our friends and family. I wish I would have better enjoyed the time I had on the trip instead of worrying about the move. I learned to make every day last, because you can never relive that day exactly.

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The Scream By Genna Pedraza, 8th grade

The scream of joy

The scream of fear

The scream of anger

The scream of sadness

The scream you hear when someone proposes

The scream of the unknown

The scream of infidelity and betrayal

The scream of tragic events

Screams that startle

Screams that excite

Screams that come from mixed emotions

That are deafening to those around it

Why scream

Why not laugh or jump

Why scream

Why not cry or just forget Gone but Never Forgotten By Cassidy Van Oostrum, 8th grade A piece of my heart, broken, taken away Running around the yard Cooking with you Watching movies all day For three years, you fought a hard battle Many days sitting there A blank room No visitors, no family, no friends You told us it was going to be okay We prayed and prayed One day no chemo No life support We thought you were getting better Everything was going to be okay You looked better Cancer seemed to be gone The next day you were gone

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Theme for AP Lit By Josiah Hall, 12th grade

Our teacher said,

Go copy a poem

And be sure to make your own.

Let the page be your own,

And through it your inner-self with be shown.

I doubted the instructions.

I am seventeen, alone, born in someplace,

I went to school elsewhere, then somewhere, and finally,

Made my way here, where I am,

Yet I am only one of the many.

The halls lead to my house and house leads to the halls.

In-between is a bus driver who complains daily, a sister who does not listen,

A group of students who constantly yells, a student who never understands,

A mother who talks too much, and a father who does not talk enough.

A thick, locked door shields me from them and them from me.

With music playing at its max, I sit at a lonely desk and write this draft.

You, like the others, are not easy for me to understand.

I often need to say Why are you crying? I only told the truth, like you asked.

But I think we all suffer from what affects me, though not to the same degree,

As we often hear, see, and feel the same things, but never respond the same way.

Were we all raised as such or do we truly all think in a different way?

I like what I like because others like it and hate what I hate for the same reason,

But I really hate what I like and like what I hate, though I would never say so.

I have never focused on what others focus on, and

I focus on what others ignore. Many do the same.

According to others, I am the same as a lot of others,

The same gender, same race, same age, same height, same weight, same person,

But being the same does not mean we are the same.

But not being the same does not mean we are different.

We are not different;

Even though you are older and I am younger, you are thinner, and you are shorter,

Or I maybe I am older and you are younger, you are thicker, and you are taller.

It does not matter.

Why should it; there are no clones on Earth.

The differences that separate us do not affect the similarities that bind us.

Intelligence does not alter pity, charisma does not change compassion,

Political affiliation does not modify empathy, skin does not courage.

My thoughts, my actions, and my appearance do not determine my humanity

Together, we bring out the best in each other,

Teaching each other different ways of thought and new points of view,

Slowly improving humanity and working for the common good.

This is my poem for AP Lit.

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“Tiger,” pencil on paper By Tiara Adams, 12th grade

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Trapped By Ivonne Lara, 8th grade

It isn’t always easy

Like when times are rough Or when you barely make it And getting money is tough

It is hard to protect

Even as the seasons change from summer to fall You can love them so

But in an instant, you can lose it all

You love someone But they are too gone

The sky is blue and the clouds are white And all you want to do is sing a sad song

Now you are home

You live with your family Someone abuses you

And want leave terribly

The clouds are grey You feel like you are in a funnel

Just trying to get out And now you see the light at the end of the tunnel

You are dressed in white

Here is your chance We are free Let's dance

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Theme for AP Lit By Cody Phillips, 12th grade

Go home and write

a page tonight.

And let that page come out of you—

Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it’s that simple?

I am seventeen, white, born in Staunton.

I didn’t go to school there, or Durham, but I did go here

to this school on the base of Quantico.

I am the only one with a kidney disease in the class.

The steps from the hill lead down into Lyman,

through the px, then pass the McDonald’s,

Russell Rd, Barnett, and I come to the Geiger,

My house on the hill, where I take the stairs

up to my room, sit down, and type this theme:

It’s not easy to know what is unique for you or me

at seventeen, my age. But I guess I’m what

I have made myself to be, Cody, I am me.

hear me, see me—be me—me, and only me, on this page.

Me—who?

Well. I like to eat, sleep, listen, and especially be in love.

I like to cook, teach, learn, and understand everything.

I’d like a kidney for a Christmas present,

or music—Eden, Blackbear, or Thugnificent.

I guess being sick doesn’t make me not like

the same things other folks like who are healthy.

So will my page be sick that I write?

Being me, it will not be healthy.

But it will be

a part of you, reader.

You are healthy—

yet a part of me is sick, unlike a part of you.

That’s just the way it is.

Sometimes perhaps I don’t want to be hurting.

But at least when I'm hurting I know I’m alive.

But we are alive!

As I know very well,

I guess that is it—

although you’re older—and healthy—

and your kidneys are fit.

This is my page for AP Lit.

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Defining Red By Alaina Bierman, 11th grade

Red is the feeling you get when you see the person you would do anything for look your way and wink. Red is the rush in your cheeks when they give you the time of day: starting a conversation about their family or simply a hello as they pass you in the halls with the red lockers. Red is the blood that flows to your head when you hold your breath too long, because they’ve asked if you were going to see that new movie Friday and hey, why don’t you guys go together? Red is the color of the shirt you wear, be-cause your sister said it makes your eyes pop, and you never really believed her but now you’re desper-ate for anything that will make you feel confident tonight. Red is the color of his hair that falls loose when he leans foward to laugh at a corny joke you told that really wasn’t that funny. Red is the color of his dad’s car that he begged his parent to borrow, because he wants to impress you. Red is the warmth you feel when he asks you if maybe, you wanted to see him again? Red is the color of the roses he gets you for Valentine's Day, because he knows your favorite color is yellow, and he would have gotten yellow ros-es for you but he knows you like tradition so he went for red instead. Red is the color of the tie he buys when he meets your parents for the first time and wants to make a good impression. Red is the color of the box of chocolates he buys your mom because she has a sweet tooth, just like you. Red is the color of his flannel that you wear as you watch him play football in his red jersey.

Red is all you feel when he scores the winning touchdown, and you don’t know who's smiling bigger: him or you. Red is the color of his cheeks when he leans forward to kiss you for the first time. Red is the col-or of the scarf you wear when you walk with him, talking about anything and everything. Red is the color of the blanket you both lay on as you stargaze, although he spends most of his time looking at you. Red is the color of the changing leaves as summer turns to autumn.

Red is the color of the demon that creeps into your mind, whispering insecurities when he stares at the beautiful brunette a little too long. Red is the color of his face as he shows up late to your date, mumbling an excuse. Again. Red is the heat you feel when you get into a big fight with him for the first time, a stu-pid argument about your birthday. Red is the color of the card he gets you to apologize, because it just kills him to see you hurting because of him. Red is what you see when you catch him behind the bleach-ers with her, the blonde cheerleader you’ve always been a little jealous of. Red is the color of her lips as she presses them against his. Red is the color of her nails as they run through his hair. Red is the color of your shattered heart. Red is the anger that boils up, rolling off you in thick, hot waves. Red is the ugly words that spew from your mouth, you knew everything about him, things he loved, hated, what he was insecure about, and now it all came out in jumbled, angry sentences; you wanted him to bleed the way he was making you bleed, leaving you both exposed. Red is the color of the flannel you throw at his head before finally turning and leaving. Red is the pain in his chest as he calls out to you: this isn’t what it looks like, let me explain! Red is the color of your hands as you sit outside your house that night; it’s cold out, but you can’t go inside, can’t look yourself in the mirror, can’t handle the girl looking back at you, not right now; so you sit.

Red is the color of your insides as you blame the whole thing on yourself because you should have seen the signs. Red is the color of the phone that rings all weekend, the phone you can’t force yourself to an-swer. Red is the color of your eyes after another night of tossing and turning, wondering what you did wrong. Red are the spots you see as a result of the pain of the headache you get because you feel so stupid: you would have died for him, but you never imagined he would be the one to stab you in the back, twisting the knife to make sure it left a scar on you.

Purple is how you feel when the phone rings less and less and then stops all together. Purple is the world around you after you see the picture of him and his smiling blonde homecoming date, her in a red dress, him in the tie he wore to greet your parents. Purple is the color of the fog that swirls around you now, the fog that protects you so you can walk down the halls with the red lockers while hungry eyes watch you; secrets don’t stay secrets for long at this school. Blue is what you feel now.

30

Sorrow By Cael Owens, 6th grade

Have you ever felt pain or sorrow? That feeling like a rock smashed into your chest? That feeling of a thousand knives stabbing at you? That feeling when the nicest person on Earth just slapped you?

“Cael,” my second grade teacher Mr.Roe said, “You're being signed out.” I am? I thought to myself. Did mom or dad tell me I was going to be signed out? Why? I got up and gathered my stuff. “Goodbye, Mr.Roe,” I waved my hand as I bid my farewells. I remember walking into the Main Office. I remember seeing my mother staring at me with a twinkle in her eye, that gigantic grin. Her plump stomach reminding me that she was pregnant. We got into our bright orange minivan and I asked her, “Where are the girls (my sis-ters) going after school?”

She replied, “They're going to the Matthews house.”

“Oh, okay,” I said. “ “We’re going to the checkup for the baby, right?” “This is where they do an ultrasound test to see how the baby is doing.” “And to see if it is a boy or a girl?”

“Yep,” she replied. We talked about our day for the rest of the journey. When we got to the hospital we met up with my dad and discussed if we thought it was going to be a girl or a boy. Personally, I wanted it to be a boy since I am the only boy in the family.

My dad joked “ I hope it is not a boy because if it is will be over the top crazy.” We burst out laughing then walked inside the building. We checked in with a woman named Sa-rah; she had brown hair and blue eyes. She led us to the ultrasound room and put ointment on my mom’s stomach. Ten minutes had gone by, and they still couldn’t find a heartbeat. I didn’t know what it meant and just thought the baby was hiding. Later Sarah brought us into another room. I think it was a doctor’s office because it was lined with medical degree and medical tools. We stayed in there for about 30 minutes. My parents look at me confused and realized I didn’t know something. They started spelling out the words. I caught on, but then they stopped. They looked at me and remembered I could spell now. They looked at each other, but didn’t speak. Then they were speaking through facial expressions. I read the ex-pressions, like this“ You tell him.” “No, you tell him.”

I burst out “Tell Me What?”

“Um, son.” my dad said. I was dumbstruck. The last time my dad started with that word, he told me my cat had died. The time before that we couldn't visit my grandma be-cause she had died. I knew somehow this was going to be bad. “Please don’t tell me.” I pleaded. But he did anyway.

On the drive home there was nothing but silence. Silence, silence, silence. There was only silence when we went to pick up my sisters. Silence when we drove home. Silence, si-lence, silence. When I got to my bed I cried, cried, and, cried. My mom came into the room and said, “It’s okay.It’s okay to cry.I want to cry ,too.” So that’s what she did. We cried to-gether. It wasn’t very long, but for me it lasted a lifetime. Forever and ever. I remember hear-ing her say, “I feel the same way. This miscarriage affected us both.”

Months went by, and we had figured out it was a boy. It was over, but I still felt horri-ble. For some reason I thought it was my fault, even though I couldn't have started it or end-ed it. Another month passed. And in that month there was a day. And in that day there was a realization. That realization was that you can’t excel in life if you dwell in the past. I had to get over it. So I did. And after that, there was a feeling of peace.

31

Life and DeathLife and Death By Genna Pedraza, 8th gradeBy Genna Pedraza, 8th grade

Life is necessaryLife is necessary

And with life comes hardshipsAnd with life comes hardships Life means accepting deathLife means accepting death

And death comes in many formsAnd death comes in many forms

Death can be a bad gradeDeath can be a bad grade Death can be a pimpleDeath can be a pimple

Death can be a tragic time in a week out of a monthDeath can be a tragic time in a week out of a month

Life and death go hand in handLife and death go hand in hand As does yin and yangAs does yin and yang

I’ll keep on goingI’ll keep on going While others greet their graveWhile others greet their grave

These are necessities of life everydayThese are necessities of life everyday

“Untitled” Pencil Drawing By Jasmine Eyssallenne-Cook, 9th grade

32

I am Lost By Dominique Lance, 8th grade

I am lost

My wife left and took my child

I am lost

My job got cut back and now I'm unemployed

I am lost

All I can do is walk down the bridge by the water

I am so lost

Where am I going?

Where am I walking?

I am lost

I feel so much pain I want it to stop

I am lost

I wonder how my father's doing in heaven

He always knew which direction to take, but he is no longer here to guide me

So I shall stay lost

I walk past people, but I cannot see their faces

I cannot see

I can't see the blue waters, the crystal blue water

I cannot see

The pain is gone, the pain of love

I cannot feel

The love I felt for my child is now gone

I scream I jump I cannot feel

33

My Life Flashed Before My Eyes! By Emily Lunsford, 6th grade

There I was, on the edge of death itself, about to take a step onto the

uprooted tree in the middle of the forest. The wind rustled the fallen

leaves, and the water glistened below, I took one look down, and I

was petrified. I was turning into a twin with my white t shirt, shaking

like an earthquake just happen beneath me and I looked as if I just

seen a ghost, I chickened out. Then I thought to myself, “ Emily, you

did not just climb up that enormous, steep hill for nothing.’ I got back

on.

Gazing down, the stream seemed to be growing farther down

and I seemed to getting higher up. I took one big breath and I was off.

I was half way through. I started reaching for the tree in front of me.

I was a wobbly mess up there. I managed to get back on track,

so I wouldn’t fall off and face plant in the mud. I wanted to be able to

still whistle, if you know what I mean. The tree in front of me was

literally close enough to touch.I looked below, and let's just say it

wasn’t the best thing to do.

I took the wrong step and tumbled off the death machine. I fell

to what it seemed like the center of the earth. In those five it took to

land at the bottom of the stream, my life flashed before my eyes.

Water swarmed around me, rocks rolled everywhere, and tad-

poles squirmed away in terror.I got off my butt and on solid, dry land

again, wet and frigid. I was so relieved that nothing serious, like

breaking any of my body parts, happened.

Everything was back to normal until…. I asked Kassidi and

Caroline “Hey who is up for walking across that tree over there ?’’

They replied with a sarcastic, “ Oh, brother!”

34

Bark! By Lily Bentacu, 6th grade

The air in my body felt like it burst out of me when a strange figure

appeared in front of me. The surprise was so great, it is impossible to for-

get this moment. This one perfect, impossible moment. It did happen. It

would be a hardship to try to forget, for this moment was blissful and full

of happiness. I was so happy and surprised. So happy and surprised.

It was a completely normal day in 2013. The exact day or month is unim-

portant, but it was a memorable day. Nothing seemed out of order. I was

watching TV and thinking of what homework I might have missed or for-

got about. Thinking about homework, I also wondered what I would be

doing in school the next day. Even though it was just the evening, it

seemed later.

Strangely, my mom came to me from another room and told me to sit

back on the couch. That was suspicious. I asked her why, but she just

mumbled. She also said to close my eyes and hold my arms out. I did as

she said and waited patiently, I had no idea of what would happen next.

As I waited, my dad came into the room with a strange creature in

his arms. He placed it in mine and told me to open my eyes. I felt the

creature as it scrambled around on me. It was so soft, so delicate, so

warm. I opened my eyes and yelped.

A dog! My first dog in my clutches! I was surprised, happy, and curi-

ous at this moment. I had a dog! I was wondering at many things so

quickly now, I felt like I would explode. Will she like me? Will she accept

me? Will we become rivals? Or the darkest thought, will I not like her?

That was a chiller phantasm. I was sure I would like her, so I told myself I

was overreacting and I needed to calm down.

My mom asked me what we should name her. I replied Amelie,

which is French for Amelia. Amelie’s face was so adorable, her paws so

soft, her size so small, yet she was perfect. I set her down on the floor so

she could get used to her surroundings. After she suddenly she got a toy

and brought it to me! She accepted me! I am her family. We are family.

35

Ele By Grace French, 9th grade There once was an elephant, whose name was Ele. Ele was young she did not know much; but, she did know not to go near the wooden posts and strings. However, one day Ele did just that. She had expected to see some horrible thing that would scar her for life, but, there was a beautiful grove hidden within the wooden posts and strings. In that grove she found a small pond and lots of pretty flowers of all colors and a cave made of sticks and mud. Along with that Ele saw an animal. A weird animal. It was far different. Not a lion. Not a bunny. Its height was that of the length of the lion. It was covered in some weird stuff. It appeared to have some weird looking long objects with it. Ele decided that she was going to leave now. However, when she left she made a noise, and the strange ani-mal heard her. Before Ele turned around there was a very loud noise, and Ele went into a seemingly everlasting sleep.

“Still Impressionism,” pencil on paper

By Lauren Lemon, 11th grade

36

My To-do List By Genna Pedraza, 8th grade Friends and family Far away allies A summer to be had of friendship Lies within the distant future Memories fading And new ones being made Year by year I begin again with new friends We still pass notes And laugh at our inside jokes But people move away same as those who stay for yet another year Then I remember All the things that we did I smile for a moment And then dread what we didn’t Our to do list At the end of each year Was the highlight Where all of the fighting disappears I loved seeing friends for that brief week we spent The hugging and crying Thinking about how much this really meant Crossing things off The fun that we had And then burning it up Feeling kinda sad When you move somewhere new You’re once again starting over You will soon make new friends And do the cycle all over Beginning to end

37

A Little Scared By Kyra Timberlake, 8th grade

I’m not scared of a lot. Not the dark. Not heights. Not even spiders. However, I am a little scared. Scared of forgetting something. Scared of bad grades. Scared of bad luck. I’m also very scared. Scared of failure. Scared of loneliness. Scared of very bad weather. Oh, I’m terrified. Terrified that Dad might not come home. One who says we are the enemy takes his life. Oh, I’m terrified. Terrified that Mom will be told “Get out of here!” Even though she was born here, And her family was born here. Oh, I’m terrified. Terrified that my sister will be told ‘no’ For reasons she can not change. However. I’m so grateful. Grateful for hot chocolate. Grateful for music. Grateful for a chance to learn. I’m so grateful. Grateful for love! Grateful for security! Grateful for fried chicken! Oh, I’m so grateful! Grateful I can live today! Grateful I can breath today! Grateful I can sing and dance and speak and eat and love today.

38

The Same Old Year By Dominique Lance, 8th grade

A new year A new start

A new beginning A new friend

Yet I don’t care about any of it What is so great about it ?

Everyone so happy about it Yet I still couldn’t care less about it

This new year is getting old I know it might sound a little cold New year's resolutions to uphold

Yet it’s still a story that already been told This new year will be the same

I will go to class And my brain will be drained

Nothing will change The clouds will still rain The sun will still shine

The trees will still grow The wind will still blow The sky will still snow

As u can see It's all the same to me

And that's how it will always be

39

Adams, Tiara 26

Bentacu, Lily 34

Bierman, Alaina 29

Brown, Kahleel 17

Bruno, Joseph Cover

Clark, Jaycee 19, 23

Coleman, Emily 5

Dalton, Isabelle 11, 13, 16

Essallynne-Cook, Jasmine 4, 6

French, Grace 35

Furness, Zachary 12

Gabriel Quelvog 15

Hall, Josiah 25

Ingram, Mary 7

Lance, Dominique 32, 38

Lara, Ivonne 27

Lemon, Lauren 9, 11, 16, 35

Lianez, Kylie 18

Lunsford, Emily 33

Miner, Olivia 8

Nelson, Jeana 22

Owens, Cael 30

Pedraza, Genna 12, 24, 31, 36

Phillips, Cody 28

Pieau, Solenn Cover, 19

Piper, Danielle 6

Powers, Nathaniel 4

Reep, Meckenzie Cover

Reif, Sho Cover, 14

Timberlake, Kyra 37

Van Oostrum, Cassidy 24

Waller, Christopher 21

Williams, Devin 20

Wilson, Tatiana 10, 14

Ind

ex

40