MODERN

FARMERSeptember, 2014

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i

Inside- Legend Of The Four Amulets

Written by - Michael Perez

- The Cause Of The Future Female Uprising

Written by - Kaitlin Stewart

- Music Podcast

- PoetryWritten by - Maggie

- Counter WorkWritten by - Gioia Schwalm

- Podcast: Modern Age Voices

- Creepy Pasta: “Number 5”Written by - Sara Alexander

- PoetryWritten by - Grace Mappes

ii

Inside- Dating Advice Podcast

- The Threat Of ISISWritten by - Bruce Labedis

- PoetryWritten by - Isabella Luxenburg

- Film ReviewWritten by - Roel Martinez

- A Continuing Story Written by - Kit-Kat a.k.a. Sydney Koscilnik

- Book ReviewWritten by - Hoskins

- Featured ArticleWritten by - Hoskins

- Career SpotlightWritten by - Hoskins

- Summer TravelsWritten by - Hoskins

LHS-KILLOUGH

meet your english

teacher

3

& Their Favorite Book

Anderson

Albert

Brazell Collins

Hill

Hoskins

Hudson

Hume

Kaylor

Watkins

Cooper

Campbell

4

10th grade

  I remember myself as a child rummaging through my grandfather's possessions. Vari-

ous knick knacks and ancient clothing litter the old attic. My iconic dusty brown hair

matches the wood, and my slight tan tells I am somewhat of a wild child.

I Wear a pair of jeans and a dark green shirt, I note that I have to take a shower soon or

my only pair of jeans would be ruined by the flying dust around me.

          The dust was recently disturbed by My grandpa and I on its wooden cove. Various

books and heirlooms litter now the deteriorating attic. I brush my fingers along a table to

leave a negative trail of dust.

I breathe in the nostalgic air around me, but it doesn't bother me. Memories flash through

my mind, riding my first bike, eating cookies on a cold night, my parents… now long

gone. My emotions drop as I realize that my parents are now nothing more than an old

memory. I shake it off and continue my adventure through the museum that is my grand-

father's attic.

As I stroll around the old room, I can hear my grandfather telling a specific story about

each thing every item holds, but being an eight year old boy I get tired of my old man's

tales, so I continue to look through a chest in the corner.

Then I finally find something that peaks my interest…a single engraved box. Made of

wood and about a thousand years old? I open the box to see it lined in crimson velvet with

four circular indentations. Each containing a single stone tied to a chain… all but one.

“Hey grandpa whats this?” I ask him as I held the chain.

The feeble man continues to his notes barely hearing my question. He waves a hand and

warns “Alex don't touch that or you will be in so much trouble that-”

“Oh come on grandpa I just want to have a look at it.” I interrupt holding the rock part  

Grandpa comes stomping toward me, he slaps my hand making me drop the necklace

 and growls  “You look with your eyes, not your hands!”

“I just want to know what that stupid rock is, and why its here...” I said rubbing my hands

“If you must know that ‘rock’” he starts as he grabs the necklace off the floor. “It Hap-

pens to be a great beacon of unfathomable power.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Ok...?” I ask unsure “So what do you call… this power?”

The old man looked at me for a while and then back to the rock. He gives a heavy sigh

and sat down upon a box covered with dust. He sits down sending millions of tiny dust

particles into the air.“ There is something you must know Alex. You are the beginning

product of the project my...friends and I began long ago, and part of this project was to

make those very stones you see now! Well we originally called it The Creators rock , but

the name didn't make sense so we just named it an amulet...and you are to one day inherit

it.”

“Whats it do?” I question.

“It would give a chosen few amazing abilities with the elements of nature itself, to be the

creator and destroyer of all humanity, and to-”

“Wow-that’s-pretty-cool-can-I-have-it-pleeeeeeeease??” I start to use my child like charm.

“Not yet. You must wait until you're older.” my grandfather says he didnt even look to-

wards my general direction.

“How much older? ”I plead.

“Six-v

FictionA Continuing Story By: Michael Perez

Student

Prologue

The Legend of

The Four Amulets9th grade

Created by: Michael Perez, Samuel Jack, & Andie Martinez

teen.” Grandpa answers.

“Sixteen?” My heart sank to that. “What?! But that’s a such a long time!”

“Yes, but that will show me if you're responsible enough to handle the power of the

 amulet.”

“Ugh fine I’ll wait.”

* * *

Its been exactly six years its was August 24th. I was resting for school tomor-

row, well not exactly resting just laying there looking at the ceiling. My grandpa was

in his study, working tediously on a journal of his. It all seemed like a normal way to

end the day.

         When out of no where I quickly removed the covers  that were on top of me,

because I was hot but at the same time cold. There was sweat around me (I believe it

was sweat). "Crap, I'm thirsty...” I say to myself. I get up to get a drink of water.

I walk through the living room to kitchen. Turning on the lights as I go. Amidst of

the silence there was a loud bang on the door. I was about to answer when my

grandpa shoved me, looked through the peephole, and his face began to drain of

color. My first assumption was that something was wrong.

He turns slowly and says, “Get your things we need to go now!"

“What?” I ask confused

“We have to go now!”

I just stood there unsure of what to do.

“You need to go to your room and pack your things, do it quick and only pack what

you need.. GO!” He orders as he violently ushered me up the stairs.

At this point being the brainiac I am, I realized that the man at the door had some-

thing to do with the amulet I saw Earlier. Then it came upon me even more ques-

tions. "Why? Who is at the door? Does he want the amulets? who made these amu-

lets, what are we  running from, who are the others, what’s happening anyways?”

The words were pouring from my mouth.

“You will understand later. You Just have to get out of here “

I was still confused. I ask again. “But what about y-”

But as I was speaking, a louder bang than before sounded causing the door to glow

faintly, and just before it exploded into smithereens and sent splinters flying every-

where. It was as if the door exploded from the inside out !

Through the dust and smoke, I heard the footsteps of a man entering the house. As

the smoke cleared, a dark figure emerged. It's around six foot and as thin as a rail,

looking like your everyday thin man.

Except for the man was draped in a robe…dark and sinister, almost as if the cloth

was a part of him. The robe draped down to its wrists, only to reveal two clawed

hands. The skin looked pale and cold… like the way you may imagine a corpses

hand may look. The fabric ran up his neck and covered his face to only to leave the

bridge of his nose supporting two cat like eyes that were blood red…almost as if the

very prism of red was encased in this mans eyes. The pupils pierced through me I

began to feel faint and lost. It seemed the whole world was gone all that was left was

the blazing red eyes of this man.

I began to lose all hope of fighting and just stand there.

Suddenly a voice that sounds like scratching fingernails on a chalkboard broke the

trance. It screeches only four words “Get me the boy!!”

From behind the man emerges two figures cloaked in rags comically held together

by patches and poor stitching. They didn't seem to walk they just… glide along.

They would have soon cornered the me it had not have been for a bang, a flash, a

spray of blood, and my grandfather running to grab me…still holding the smoking

gun.

My grandpa fitted me into the closet and whispered, “Okay Alex , these are very

bad men. You have to get out of here. Now. I got you your bag. It has a few things in

there some clothing, a map, some food and drinks, and a switchblade… just in case.

I realize that this isn’t a lot but it’s all you need, but the one thing you must guard

with your life… is this.” The old man placed the cold unfeeling rock in my hands.

The chain slid and plummeted only to be jerked by the tie. “I want you to run now

and don't bother coming back for me… I'll see you soon.” Grandpa Whispers as he

held me.

vi

This kind of thing is hard for me knowing that I'm his only grandchild. “Okay...” I

said with tears in my eyes. Then I opened the door and bolted towards the back

door, swinging it open. I didn’t know how long or how far but I ran and never

looked back.

I saw what I thought was a plains biome but was a field of rocks and mountains. I

was amazed to see what was out of the forest that I lived in... “Wow...” I breathed in

a surprised tone. I collapsed on the floor.

“Grandpa… are you there..?” I murmur with a slight quiver in my voice.

I was up in an instant looking around, trying to figure out what happened. My first

instinct in my confused mind was to go back to grandpa. I was just about to turn

when erupting through the land and shattering the tranquil silence, there was a

boom, a flash of red, and the next thing I knew I was staring at a humungous billow-

ing cloud of fire and ash in the sky… directly where the small cottage was located. I

just stand there, in awe of the horrible and dark sight. Unable to say anything, I just

looked. Then without warning, all the remembrance from the night before had

came rushing in, causing me to burst out in anger.

“WHY?!” I start "Why does all this always happen to me!? Why did you leave me,

why did you leave me alone?!” I didn't know who I pointed that after, my grandfa-

ther or my parents. My anger was uncontrollable. I fell steamy tears running down

the my face, unable to find a vent for my anger. Pacing around in anger and wrath

started to control me. I was so angry, so frustrated. that I punch an immense boulder

in hope to drain my anger.

Expecting my hand to shatter was soon a dream. What actually happened was the

bolder I punched shattered itself ! The huge boulder caved in and then exploded

with an array of dirt and pebbles. My anger lowered and confusion was taking over.

I needed to stay in control by doing so I punched the air, as I did this, I saw another

bolder fly in the direction I punched. I was Amazed at my grandpas work. It turns

out he wasn't lying.    

“Alright... I need some answers” I say to myself as I search through my backpack,

thinking it contained something. I quickly repeat the words, “Where is it, where is

it.” at last I found it. Searching through the backpack I found these things: clothing,

food, bottled water, a first aid kit, and a small black book.

Pulling every little thing out I examined carefully until I got to the book. The book

was black, small and had an oddly shaped key hole. “Hmmmm,” I thought, “What

can I use as a key?” Just then, I look down “Ah ha!” I exclaim while taking off my

amulet that I waited so long for. I stick it in the keyhole. It opened and first thing I

saw was a note from my grandpa; I read it carefully.  

“I know that i've haven't been real clear with you but you must know that you are

the chosen one.Here is what I desperately tried to tell you but could not. A long time

ago me and this band of people called the creators, made these amulets to protect

humanity from destruction. During this process we had accidentally created a mon-

strosity. A monstrosity of which would soon be the end of us all… if it weren't for

you. You see what we were trying to create was a band of AMULETINS of which

would be used to fight evil with the only natural weapon there is… nature itself. But

creating these we realized that no human would be correct for the amulets. As for

humans ourselves are creatures of wrath and envy. So we tried to make a perfect hu-

man, one of which would have an element of nature itself embedded in its very be-

ing. But we had decided to make a human for each element, fire ,electricity, earth,

love, water, and fear. We tried to create a human of fear first because to the old say-

ing, if you conquer fear, you conquer all else.But what we did not know was that fear

was a disease, one that would contaminate a vey soul. Thus was created a demon by

the name of Series. His plans are to drain the world of all life and destroy anyone

that is involved with the amulet so that he cannot be challenged by any other. You

have untapped power you could only DREAM of.There will be a group of others

along the way you will meet, then and only then would Seris try to drain earth of

life… he will try to drain you first.Remember You are the   leader of a band of 4

other Amuletins. find them and make an alliance and beat Series  the sorcerer. Re-

member Alex I will always love...”

I noticed then there was a blood stains all over the paper, making my eyes widen.   

“Oh dear god...” I whisper, putting my hand to my mouth; containing my tears.

vii

8

10th grade

Society Circus

- 9 -

MODERN FARMER: ISSUE SECTION 4

MusicPodcast

Listen @ LitmagLHS.wordpress.com

9th graders, Tavia, Mason, & Francisco discuss their jams

Which apps do you use?

What are you listening to?

What music annoys you?

Type to enter text

10th grade

He arrived in the city on one of the last trains that ever ran.  With smoke billowing up

from beneath the rails, he stepped onto the platform.  The metal grates underneath his

feet did not give the impression of being the sturdiest material, especially considering the

great height of the tracks.  If the support of the grating were to falter, it would be roughly

a fifty-story fall to the cracked pavement below.  However, the man did not give this peril

any thought, as he was used to trusting this city’s precarious exterior.  Everything ap-

peared to be on the verge of crumbling away, but nothing ever did.  It was quite miracu-

lous when one thought about it, but then again, he didn’t.

His mind was set on another goal, far more specific than simply surviving the walk across

the grates to the lifts that would take him to the streets below.  On that platform, precisely

between the two adjacent tracks (one of which was now occupied by the train he had just

exited) there was a wall of small, slightly rusted metal lockers.  Wasting no time, the man

paced over to them, sliding his unoccupied right hand into his pants pocket on the way. 

His long fingers closed firmly around a small, brass key.  It was meant to be unique to him

and the train company – they shared ownership of the locker itself – but, unbeknownst to

all but for himself and the second holder, there had in fact been another copy made of it. 

This made it easy to inconspicuously slip notes and messages, sometimes even items of

interest, back and forth.

The man reached the lockers and found his: No. 1604.  He efficiently drew the key from

his pocket and brought it up to the locker’s padlock.  There was a muffled, internal click-

ing sound within the metal chamber as he turned the key.  He could tell that the locker

had been accessed recently by how easily it was opened; he did not have to exert any great

force to wrench the creaking metal door back on its hinges.  The inverted cubic interior

was empty apart from a small, white envelope placed precisely in the middle of the square

base.  Quickly, the man slid it out of the locker, secured the padlock again, and, with the

envelope tucked into his pocket along with the key, he was on his way.

He did not stand out from the crowd enough to start getting glances from the people

around him until he was in the lift.  Closed together into the metal walled space, they

peered at him uneasily, unsure whether he returned their gazes or not.  His own eyes were

concealed by dark glasses, obscuring the subject of their attention.  In addition to this ir-

regularity, due to the fact that the sky was rarely anything but a gloomy yellowish-gray

these days, he was also, as they used to say, dressed to the nines.  His clean white shirt was

tucked into the slim waist of his long, black trousers with the crisp sleeves rolled neatly up

to his elbows.  He had no jacket despite the chill weather that hung over the city.

He stood up straight, his posture well-supported by his expensive-looking shoes.  In one

hand he held a thin suitcase, and the other was tucked into his pocket.  Among the drably-

dressed passengers of the now-active lift, he stood out significantly.  Still, no one voiced

their uneasiness and skepticism toward him, and the minute-long ride to the street below

was spent in silence.     

xi

FictionA Continuing Story By: Gioia  Schwalm

Student

Chapter One

Counter Work a novel10th grade

The autumn brought with it a cool chill, one that hung thinly in the air, penetrating

all layers of the seasonal clothing the city inhabitants wore on the street.  The chill

cut down to the bone, and the dropping temperature was more like the weather of

winter than the season's predecessor.  The world had gotten colder, and while not

everyone questioned the recent patterns, everyone noticed them.

Alexandria was one of those who took a particular notice of the change.  Still, she

would never bring it up in conversation.  She despised small talk, and any topic that

remotely resembled it was one she avoided.  Today, in an attempt to fight the cold,

she wore a long coat and a black scarf.  She had on thick leggings beneath a knee-

length sweater dress.  She had bought the dress months ago at a second-hand

shop  lit only by a flickering fluorescent light directly above the register, but one

wouldn't guess it to look at the outfit.  She was used to cutting corners, making do

with what she had while appearing to get along effortlessly.

This city seemed to be the opposite; on the outside, it appeared dilapidated and

crumbling, but at its core, it ran surprisingly smoothly.  As she walked through the

wide, though not overly crowded, street the shadow from the bridge stories and sto-

ries above fell across her face.  She was passing beneath it just as a train was hissing

to a stop in the elevated station.  She looked up at the rattling tracks.  The platform

shook, appearing unsteady beneath the weight and momentum of the passenger

train, but in truth it was unfailingly sturdy, raised up on thick, iron columns.  These

were large enough in stature to conceal lifts that carried passengers up to and down

from the station.  The lifts were in constant operation, despite there being only two

trains that arrived in and departed from the station.

Steam sprayed down in hot, billowing clouds, utterly visible in contrast to the frigid

air.  It dissolved into clearness, leaving no trace of its presence.  With her neck still

craned, Alexandria looked up at the underside of the station.  Through the count-

less metal beams and grates, she could see the dark forms of the passengers stepping

out onto the platform.  From where she had temporarily stopped walking on the

crooked pavement, they looked like tiny insects crawling across a surface.

Those, too, were very common in the city.  There was no real focus on pest control,

and the population as a whole seemed to have gotten used to seeing bugs scuttling

over walls and through alleyways. 

Alexandria tucked her hands in the pockets of her coat and walked on.  She briefly

wondered about the people who had arrived on the train this morning.  Were they

travelers, planning on visiting the city for only a few days?  Or, like her, were they

moving here, relocating their lives?  There were only so many places that they could

be coming from on these tracks, but she was not in the habit of keeping up with the

trains’ schedule.  Wherever they came from, she did not know, and soon she did not

particularly care.  Her curiosity about the crawling strangers was a fleeting thing.  As

she walked further down the familiar street, leaving the massive structure behind her,

Alexandria's mind went to other things.  The well-oiled gears inside her head spun,

meshing together in the contemplative motions that she never rested from.  On occa-

sion, she wished that whatever mechanism her brain possessed that held her in con-

stant thought would function a little less smoothly, and spare her from the over-

analysis of everything.

She didn't particularly enjoy how her thoughts latched onto every detail and

churned them through their complex process.  She didn't want some things to inter-

est her as much as they often did.  The weather, for example.  It was a popular topic

for strangers to discuss in a moment that, if not for the brief conversation, would be

deemed uncomfortable.  Alexandria despised this philosophy; she found silence be-

tween two people far less awkward than starting a conversation that they neither in-

xii

Chapter Two

tended to finish nor were actually interested in having.  Silence was comforting to

her.

She only wished that, for one moment, her thoughts could go silent.  Despite all of

her efforts, she could not mute the ceaseless musings about the weather and people

on a train that only reminded her of struggling small talk and all of the meaningless

conversations throughout her life.

She emerged out of the long shadow of the train bridge after she had walked down

the right side of the street, passing about twenty of the narrow two- or three-story

buildings that, despite being of varying height, all seemed to run together into a sin-

gle structure.  They all served as homes, mostly apartment buildings or duplexes. 

There were no specified living quarters in the city, but this street consisted mostly of

lodgings.  Despite the fact that many citizens lived on the long, wide avenue, Alexan-

dria rarely crossed paths with her neighbors.  She didn't know much about them,

but was, as usual, always noticing things.  The woman next door, whose wispy hair

was dyed a dreadful and obviously unnatural red-turned-orange, had about five

squat, borderline-mangy Scottie dogs.  Always wearing the same ratty old coat no

matter what the weather, she took them outside every morning, even before the

break of dawn.  Their restless yapping tended to wake Alexandria.

The old woman's habit had allowed the un-neighborly veil of obscurity to be slightly

lifted, and had allowed Alexandria to learn more about the people that she spent so

much time around, separated only by thin walls.  

The occupant of the building on the other side was a middle-aged man with an un-

recognizable accent.  He was an immigrant and had come to the city by boat, not

train.  Almost every morning, his sleep, like Alexandria's, was interrupted by the

Scottie dogs and their frail, fanatical owner.  He was more vocal about the nuisance,

however.  Just in case the other neighbors slept through the dogs' taste of fresh air,

the immigrant would be there with his front window shoved open, yelling down at

the woman on the street in angry, broken English.  The old woman would always

yell back, though her raspy voice never carried very far.  The worst aspect of the

nearly daily exchanges was that neither the woman nor the man could understand a

word that each was hurling at the other.  Alexandria, powerless in the situation, was

left stuck between the two sides of the battle until the woman, each morning, eventu-

ally subsided.  She always took her time, however, and stayed out long enough for

the manic little dogs to run themselves exhausted.

Now, with her duplex building in sight, Alexandria crossed the wide street.  She

stepped around a sewage grate that billowed foul-smelling steam up toward her. 

Traveling diagonally across the grimy concrete, she reached the opposite sidewalk. 

Once up the three steps of the minuscule cement porch, she slipped her key into the

lock.  She shared her half of the duplex with Annick from work.  Annick was also an

immigrant, although she was better adjusted to her new home than their neighbor. 

Although she had settled into the duplex with Alexandria nearly three years ago, she

had never talked about her big move much.  She always said that she “got out of

France before it was too late,” and nothing more.

The other half of the house was owned by a young man, about Annick and Alexan-

dria’s age.  His name was Owen, and he was a writer.  Rather, that was what he

called himself.  He didn’t actually write as a profession, but if anyone asked him

what he did, he would only ever say: “Write.”  No one ever actually did what they

loved these days.  Alexandria had always loved to sing, but even that joy had

dimmed over time.  The practice had lost its spark, and now, singing was merely a

job to be done.

Annick was upstairs when Alexandria arrived.  The sound of the shower running

resonated down the narrow staircase as Alexandria took the small stack of envelopes

out of her coat pocket and set it down on the little table in the hallway by the front

door.  It consisted of the usual assortment of mail that she had come to expect

xiii

weekly.  One was a general bill, one a paycheck for herself, and the other two were

for Annick.  Alexandria left them there for later.

She was still settling in when the shower stopped and Annick came downstairs,

dressed in an oversized sweater and loose pants.  She patted her wet long, brown

hair with a towel in an attempt to dry it.  “Anything interesting in the mail?” she

asked after the usual greeting.

Alexandria shook her head in reply.  They continued along in their loose routine,

not feeling the need to say anything more.  The two of them got along exceedingly

well.  Annick never made small talk, perhaps as a result of the still-present language

barrier, or perhaps not.  Either way, she appreciated – savored, even - silence.  Some

of the best times between the two women had been spent in silence, merely sitting in

each other’s company.

They shared a small meal; small mostly because they had yet to do the shopping for

the week.  Alexandria would go out sometime tomorrow for groceries.  For now,

though, neither of them really minded the lunch-sized dinner.  It was early to eat,

but they both had to eat now or wait until much later.  Tonight, their shifts began

and ended at the same time.  Annick waitressed at the lounge where Alexandria

sang nightly.  It was low pay, but nothing better was offered elsewhere.

As Annick washed the dishes – a quick job, to be sure – she listened to Alexandria

warm up her voice in her own shower.  She enjoyed hearing her sing.  It somehow

reminded her of home.  For Alexandria, however, it was merely a habit.  As she

worked her slender fingers through her lacquer red hair, the familiar melodies and

words she knew by heart poured out of her as if they were an extension of her be-

ing.

    

 

 

xiv

15!

!

Everyone is different when it comes to what we like to read. What if you could personalize your reading to be about what only you like? Well, “there’s an app for that.” And it’s free! You guessed it… FLIPBOARD. Ms. Anderson shares her top ten favorite magazines to subscribe to on Flipboard: !Street Art !Mashable

!National Geographic !The New Yorker !Mental Floss !Rolling Stone !Cool Infographics !Astrology !Most E-mailed !NPR Books

Notification

Friday’s B block

Hawke Forbus Hoskins

Ensemble room

Last year 9th graders, Kaitlin S. and Syndey K., joined podcast club and formed a dynamic duo that they branded “Modern Age Voices”. Recording over eight podcasts last year, the duo started hosting them on their own blog:modernagevoices.wordpress.comTalking about everything under the sun from politics, social issues, school, and teen life. Check out and support fellow LHS-Killough students Kaitlin a.k.a “Taco” and Sydney a.k.a “Kit- Kat” as they are: The Modern Age Voices.

- 16 -

MODERN FARMER: ISSUE SECTION 2

PodcastMeet: Modern Age Voices

Listen @ LitmagLHS.wordpress.com

STAAR ... Good or Bad?

17

Creepy Pasta By: Sara Alexander10th grade

Number 5It seemed to be a typical day at the university, my morning classes, lunch and the med lecture, the class I dreaded most of all. I spent most of med lecture watching children and dogs outside of the window, at the community park on campus. Today eve-rything seemed normal, a few dogs, some happy families. But something seemed different. After looking out the window for a moment, I notice a Polar-oid picture in the soft grass. I slowly raised my hand and asked to be excused,and the profes-sor allowed. I grabbed my bag made by coach, a big tan purse, and almost jogged out of the classroom. Down the hall, through the lobby, out the doors, and around the right corner brought me to the Polaroid photograph on the grass. I reached down and picked it up. it was in black and white, and seemed old, for it was wrinkled. The photograph held a little girl in the cen-ter, no older than maybe seven. She seemed impossibly beautiful, and stood in the middle of an old dirt road. She had a hand held up, in the "okay" sign, two fingers in an o shape, three up. I slipped it into my pocket, and headed home. later that night, I woke up in a sweat, sitting upright in my bed. The clock read 2:14. I heard giggling outside of my window, to which I followed. I headed towards it, until it led me to the edge of an old dirt path through

the woods. Scared, I quickly turned around, and blacked out. I woke up the next morning, still in my pajamas, as if nothing hap-pened. I went through my day normal, morning classes, lunch, med lecture, then home. After watching a few hours of television I went to my bedroom, feeling more exhausted than ever be-fore. I could sleep for days. but, I didn't. I woke up in a sweat again, same as the night before, the clock reading 2:14. The giggling started again, and I decided to follow. I grabbed my tennis shoes and flashlight, and headed out the door. The giggling carried me deeper into the woods, more than halfway down the path, until it abruptly stopped. my flashlight died, and the tem-perature seemed to drop twenty de-grees. My nightgown flew up and I felt hot breath on my neck. "hello number four" I hear in my ear.I black out

the next day while riding on his bike down his usual trail, officer Steven hawskins noticed a square picture on the ground. He stopped and picked it up, admiring the picture. It was a Polar-oid photo of this trail, some years ago, with a beautiful female in the picture. This time, I was in the center, holding up four fingers, a huge smile across my face. "hello number five"

September 10, 2014

RAD STUFF After almost a year, the long anticipated

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finally here. It has been announced to show

Tuesday, October 7th at 9/8 central.

Exciting news for The Walking Dead fandom;

The Walking Dead's season 5 premieres

October 12 on AMC at 9 PM! After the

horrible cliffhanger at the end of season 4,

everyone is curious to what will happen with

Rick.

Also on October 7th, the series premiere of

The Flash, on The CW at 8/7 central is set to

show.

Moving on to music; the popular band, A Day

To Remember, visits the Verizon Theatre at

6:30 PM on Tuesday, September 30th.

Lastly, Arctic Monkeys is coming to the

Verizon Theatre as well, Wednesday, October

10th, starting at 7 PM!

!1

Shows and concerts

Submitted by: Isis Quiroz9th grade

18

The sun had just set,The stars across the Darkened skies began their Nightly serenades ofGlitters and twinkles, Against the dark skiesThe melody Capturing the eye, Hypnotizing the mind, Transfixing the soul.

As I gazed upon them, I heard their symphony,Each star hummingMelodies, harmonies,All in perfect unison,Celebrating us,You and I.Time ceased to existAnd the night went on,Never wanting to end.

You did not see what I saw,Nor heard what I heard.Your face was creased in concen-tration,Eyes filmed over in confusion.Tried as you might,You could not hear a single note.I sighed;Time became once againAnd the night droned on.So I waited.

When the sun finally rose on the horizon,In all its splendor,It acted as the conductor signal-ing the last cutoff,Its radiating warmth was the crowd's applause.You smiled, relief etched into your eyes,"Isn't it beautiful?"I sighed again, for I knewOur time had finally come.For I could not be with oneWho I pitied as much as you.

By: Grace Mappes10th grade

19

N0n-FictionStudent

9th grade

- 20 -

MODERN FARMER: ISSUE SECTION 6

Teen LovePodcast: Dating Advice from DJ & Friends

Listen @ LitmagLHS.wordpress.com

9th graders interpret the forces of love

The Threat of ISIS By: Bruce Labedis 10th grade

For the past few months now, a terror-ist organization called ISIS, which stands for Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, has been on the rise. They are an incredibly violent organization which aims to take control of the Mid-dle East and bring about the radical, fundamentalist, Muslim empires of the medieval ages. This organization is so violent, and so aggressive, that after an eight month power struggle, the organi-zation they split from, Al-Qaeda, cut all ties with them and released a state-ment saying it was because of their bru-tality and "notorious intractability. The organization that killed 3,000 civilians on 9/11, has declared an organization too violent for them. What exactly does this mean?

ISIS has already taken over half of Iraq and Syria, including Mo-sul, the second largest city in Iraq. They have imposed Sharia law in their area of control, which requires the con-version to Islam or pay a tax. If both are refused, the perpetrators are exe-cuted. Woman must completely cover themselves in public, and there have been reports that women who refused have been kidnapped and abused. A group of Christians were besieged on a mountain, and were told to convert or die. They have only survived due to supplies being air dropped onto the mountain.

So, with such a horrible terror-ist organization at large, what is the world doing? In the U.S, the only thing being done is limited air strikes on ISIS forces, and small amounts of spe-cial forces to guide the virtually non

existent Iraq military. The reason it's non existent is because it has been de-stroyed. They crumbled and fell before the ISIS army and have been broken to the point were they can't fight any-more. Fortunately, however, the presi-dent has announced that more military action shall take place, and that a coali-tion of countries is being made to com-bat them. At this moment, however, very few countries are willing to do any-thing. Australia, of all places, is offer-ing the most support with the promise of extensive air support. Unfortu-nately, countries near the fighting that are helping are few and far between. France is offering limited air support, Jordan has offered money, Saudi Ara-bia is providing a place to train sol-diers, and that's it. Germany is doing nothing, Great Britain is doing noth-ing, and Turkey is doing nothing. Israel can not help as they are wrapped up with another war in the Gaza Strip.

Despite the beheading of two American journalists by ISIS, with vid-eos of the beheading posted on You-Tube, now taken down, very few Americans believe we should do any-thing about the problem. They just keep saying the old monicker "It's all Bush's fault! If we never went to Iraq this would never have happened!". Some even say we should sit down and talk to ISIS to try and resolve the prob-lem. There is no doubt that something must be done about ISIS. That is not the question. The question is WHAT we should be doing about ISIS.

Politics

22

By: Isabella  Luxenberg

They  tell  me  everything  is  temporaryEvery  smell  fades  into  the  sun  and  skyAnd  that's  the  way  I  want  to  dieIntertwined  with  the  little  thingsLike  the  birds  and  treesThe  sound  of  your  voice  when  you  speak  to  meYou're  nothing  specialTo  anyone  but  me

They  tell  me  everything  is  temporaryThat  nothing's  built  to  lastThe  earth  will  burst  into  a  million  pieces  And  we'll  be  home  at  lastAmong  the  stars,  my  tiny  heartWill  meet  its  biggest  matchThe  next  best  thing  to  anythingLike  your  heart  on  my  sleeve

They  tell  me  everything  is  temporaryThat  I'm  not  gonna  lastWhen  the  days  are  gone  and  I'm  proven  wrongCause  I've  never  been  too  fastBut  I've  got  thread  in  my  pocketAnd  tools  in  my  shedA  cast  in  my  atticAnd  an  empty  bedCounting  down  the  days  Till  it  finds  some  shadeUnder  our  legs,  under  our  necksUnder  the  weight  of  ash  and  flecksOf  fool's  goldBut  who's  to  know

Who's  to  know?

Untitled

10th grade

Godzilla 2014 begins with

stock footage of nuclear testing

around 1954. As a result Amer-

ica woke up something in the

pacific and now they have to

kill it. The film then jumps to

the year 1999 in Japan, where

we meet a father who works at

a nuclear power plant. They

keep having seismic readings

during the past week. His wife

begins checking the valves until

the whole building starts to

shake. The man runs toward

his wife, but toxic fumes leak in

and protective doors seals

them apart. The wrath of

Godzilla has begun!!!

After I watched this movie I

felt amazed and I remembered

all the reasons I loved the origi-

nal story. The acting was for

the most part good; however,

there were few parts that were

cheezy. The C.G.I. work was

all done really well. As a

viewer I never really noticed

the transition between com-

puter animation and live ac-

tion cinematography on the

screen I was watching.

Overall, what I think I liked

best was the theme of the

movie. I took away from it that

nature always finds a way to

put man back in his proper

place. Despite all our efforts,

Godzilla always wins. This is a

must see movie!!!

- 4 STARS

23

Film ReviewBy: Roel Martinez 9th grade

xxiv

FictionA Continuing Story By: Kit-Kat

Student

10th grade

Review

25

A t l a s Shrugged

Submitted by Hoskins

By: Hoskins

What did you read over summer break?

Read? Who reads?

This is the response I get every time I pose this question to the typical 9th and 10th grader. I would like to address these 9th and 10th graders and say that if you are reading this sentence than that is proof that you at least read a little. And if you are willing to read a little, then perhaps you are willing to read a little more.

Let me introduce to you my favor-ite fictional novel of all time: Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand. Why is this my favorite. In short, my re-sponse would be that most novels only aim to satisfy only one pur-pose: entertainment. Nothing more, just offering the reader a brief escape from reality for about 300 pages or so. Not Atlas Shrugged. This books aims to do more, much more in fact. It aims to change the world. It is no sur-prise then that Atlas Shrugged con-sistently ranks in the “top ten books college students list as most influential books read while in col-lege”.

But how can a novel change the world?

By creating a character who, as Ayn Rand puts it in her book, “stops the motor of the world.” The character’s name is John Gault, a mysterious figure, who Rand mentions in a question posed as the opening line of the novel: “Who is John Gault?”.

The answer to this questions sends the novel’s protagonist, Dagny Tag-gart, down a quest for answers and in the process forces her to abandon every truth and every ideal she’s ever known in order to find the man who “stopped the motor of the world”. The book is profoundly philosophical, with a foundation in Aristotle, yet is told in a romantic style reminiscent of Victor Hugo. By finding John Gault, Dagny, as well as the reader, finds enlightenment.

After reading the novel for the first time, I found myself coming away with a completely new outlook on the world and a profoundly new understanding of what man’s role in the universe should be. All thanks to the man who stopped the motor of the world.

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Room: 206

Room: 206

Former LISD Grads Make It in the NBA

27

Deron Williams, my age from my school district, that counts as “two degrees” of separation, right? What other suburban Dallas school dis-trict can boast that? Again, we are not trumpeting a graduate who’s some spare D-Leaguer or a player that merely rides the bench of some NBA team. No this is an All-Star superstar who Jay-Z heavily recruited to be the franchise player for the Brooklyn Nets. Take that Frisco, Plano, Lake Dallas, Den-ton, Little Elm, etc...

And if Deron’s story isn’t convinc-ing enough to make you proud to be a product of L.I.S.D., than take Marcus High School stand out, Marcus Smart, as my next case in point. From the graduating class of 2012, Smart was ranked the num-ber one overall high school basket-ball prospect in the state of Texas. After only his first year of college ball, Marcus could have been a top 10 NBA pick; however, he choose to stay one more year at Okla-homa State and declared for the draft this past spring. He was se-lected, in June, as the number 6th overall pick in the NBA by the Bos-ton Celtics. Watch out Rondo, L.I.S.D. is about to take your start-ing job!

Two superstar basketball talents, products of Lewisville I.S.D. high schools, now living under the NBA limelight. Two former students, who ate the same sludge from our high school cafeterias and shared the same uncomfortable laminate wood desks with the attached school colored chair. It almost brings a tear to my eye. Go L.I.S.D.!!!F irst off, it may seem a little

awkward for a Farmer to read an ar ticle from an LHS-Killough e-pub that only fo-cuses on and pumps up for-mer student athletes from ri-val high schools.

However, this isn’t to suggest that LHS has never produced famous or notable athletic alums, Walt Garrison, former NFL player for The Dallas Cowboys, was a Fighting Farmer. But LHS pride isn’t the focus here as much as L.I.S.D. pride is. This is about two recent grads, sorry Walt the 70’s isn’t recent, who have gone on to be superstar professional athletes in the NBA. This is an ar ticle about former students and current point guards Deron Williams

and Marcus Smart. I gradu-ated from Flower Mound High School in 2003, one year after Deron Williams graduated from The Colony High School. I must admit, looking back I find it pretty cool that a kid just a grade above me and three high schools over would go on to be a top five point guard in today’s NBA. I had friends who went to The Colony back then. Perhaps we knew some of the same people from overlapping social cir-cles? Anyway, it’s still fun to think back on.

Featured

By: Hoskins

Career I’m talking a with Forensic Technologist. Rachel, thank you again for this interview.

“No problem, thanks for having me”So what’s it like to be a “real” C.S.I. scien-tist?

“Nothing like T.V. I can tell you that”But you get to work in a lab do tests for criminal cases, so I’m guessing you have to be pretty smart, to land a job in foren-sics?

“Actually, funny story, I didn’t go to school planning to work in forensics. I started as a Medical Technologist major and was even told by my advisors my sophomore year that I would never work in a lab be-cause my current GPA wasn’t perfect enough”Did that motivate you? Someone telling you that you would never do something?

“D@#m right, oops sorry, darn right. That lady didn’t know me and so I changed my major to Biology and ended up working in four different labs before I graduated”Did you take forensic classes in college?

“Nope”Then how were you able to get hired at “Cellmark Forensics” did I get the com-pany name right?

“Yes, you did, traditionally people who do what I do have a dual Biology/Chemistry degree. I was only Biology; however, since one of the labs I worked in was a Genomics lab, or DNA lab, I had enough experience with the equipment and types of tests I would be doing as a Forensic Technologist, so they hired me”Plus, it probably doesn’t hurt that your cute and also really nice:

“You’re just saying that cause you’re my boyfriend. This isn’t going into the inter-view is it?”

Hehe...Of course not [eyes shifting]

So what does your typical day look like?

“Well, first thing I do is “gown up” to go into the lab. I put on my lab coat, gloves, face mask and then sanitize every part of my clothing before enter-ing. Then I set up and bleach my work bench, which means, find out what tests I need to preform, set up all the tools and chemical agents I’ll need for my tests. I work in the Accessioning lab, and we are the first to handle evidence that comes in and our job is to pinpoint likely areas where DNA is mostly to be extracted. Then we send are results on to the next lab. It’s like an assembly line of sorts”Do you have an office desk too or do you only work in the lab?

“Oh no I have a separate desk with a com-puter and phone and that is where I type up my reports after I leave the lab. But I’ll spend most of my day in the lab” Here’s a question I’m sure everyone’s thinking: What happens if you need to go to the bathroom while you’re in the lab?

“Well seeing how it takes us approxi-mately 45 minutes to “gown up” and about 30 minutes to “gown down”, we usu-ally hold it till we are done working”What would you tell a high schooler who may be interested in a job in forensics?

“First and foremost probably that foren-sics is a very stressful and high stakes profession. Since evidence is handled by so many different people, everyone de-pends on you to do your part right. One tiny slip or contamination can case a whole case to be thrown out. Not to men-tion that the higher-ups expect us to push at least 10 cases a day. It can get pretty crazy. Also expect to deal with very tragic and sad cases that may never be solved and if they are the technologist who pre-formed the tests will never here about it because trails can last years and we are always moving on to the next case”

To learn more about a career forensics check out “Career Crusing”

“I was told I would never work in a lab”

SpotlightA Peak Inside Interesting North

Texas Professions

An Interview w/

A Forensic Technologist

Submitted by: Hoskins

Rachel Swain

Age: 29

Company: Cellmark Forensics

Major: Biology

Summer Travels San Antonio, a.k.a. The River City,

San Antone, Alamo City, Military City USA, Countdown City...ok, enough already.

Summertime. Time to escape the hus-tle and bustle for a little “fun in the sun”,right?

Me? Nah...

I prefer a little fun“where it begun”. Cheesy I know, but as a teacher my fabric is interwoven with bad puns and a love for history, culture, and above all things learning.

San Antonio, named after Saint An-thony of Padua, whose feast day is on the 13th of June, or so says Wikipe-dia. Hey, I had to do a lil’ background research before attempting this write-up. But this article is less about the facts of the city, and more about my experience traveling as a foreigner in this “Mosaic City”. That’s the new “a.k.a.” I just gave it and it’s more fitting than the others. Let me ex-plain.

My travels began with an early morn-ing stroll out the front lobby doors of my hotel, which happen to be situated right on the River Walk. Thanks, Groupon! Ivy is slowly taking over the historic mission style walls and arcs that line the River Walk. Ducklings franticly trail their mother as an ugly tourist boat gurgles it’s dominance

through the canal. I see tour-guide, with his crackling megaphone, enthusi-astically directing the attention of the over weight, fanny pack wearing, tour-ists. Half have binoculars while the others hopelessly leak sweat. Why do you need binoculars, the River Walk is only 20 feet wide? I take this sad sight in with shame as I quickly stop snapping photos with my iPhone and hurriedly try to look as non-touristy as possible.

I couldn’t help taking pictures though, the city was simply too beautiful. I nicknamed San Antonio the Mosaic City because of it’s skillful blend of juxtapositions. Around every down-town street corner, there seemed to be another beautiful fusion of modern meets historic or nature overtaking the man made. I mean, what other metropolitan US city, with its sleek, glass skyscrapers, has an 18th century spanish mission planted randomly at it’s core? With trendy new hotspots that neighbor trees that have existed longer than our country?

No, it’s because of this inter-splicing of opposites that San Antonio has a splendor that only a few cities can match. This is the heart of San Anto-nio and this is what I took in, con-spicuously with my iPhone of course. More importantly; however, this is was I took away.

Visit San Antonio, a.k.a. “it’s bucket list worthy”a.k.a. Mosaic City

“The city is a mosaic”

San Antonio

Submitted by Hoskins