Technology 01 Diversity 01 Is The Constitution Rel-evant? 02 Modern Advancement 02

Restaurant Review: 131 Main 03

Arcade Fire‘s ―Reflektor‖ 04 The Bell Jar: 50th Anni-versary 05-06 Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them 06

NASCAR Nation 07

A Detachment of Society From Death: An Explica-tion of Robert Frost‘s Po-em ―Out, Out‖ 08 Darkened Hope 09 Miserable at Best 10-13 Untitled 14 Distance 14 Night 14 Stagnant 14 Who Do I Want to Be? 14 Just a Dream 14

If someone were to tell me that

I could only use one word to describe

the process I‘ve undergone in produc-

ing this newspaper, I would choose

―arduous.‖ For those of you that

might not know, the word is defined

by Oxford Dictionary as ―involving or

requiring strenuous effort; difficult

and tiring.‖

When I chose to become the

editor and graphic designer of the

school newspaper for my senior pro-

ject, I never anticipated the difficulty I

might face in doing so. Encouraging

fellow, former, and non–students to

submit pieces to me has made me

appreciative of those who are sympa-

thetic enough to spend their precious

time producing pieces for the sake of

others; I will, most likely, clasp my

hands in praise of your generosity for

the rest of my days.

If anything, choosing this as

my project has reinforced my inde-

pendent nature; I don‘t like having to

rely on the contributions of others to

do what needs to be done. I have a

profound, and newfound, respect for

the editors of publications much larg-

er than my own. I have a hard time

imagining the difficulty you must face

in producing a bigger piece than mine

in less than two months; sometimes,

even twice a week.

I have been required to cut

sections from the paper, and to cut

issues altogether. I had originally in-

tended to publish not only a Novem-

ber paper, but an October one as well.

As you can obviously see, the October

paper was thrown on the cutting-

room floor in the hopes that more

submissions might find their way to

me come Thanksgiving.

In a sense, I was correct; I

have eighteen times the submissions

that I had at this time last month.

However, much more valuable to me

is the lesson that I‘ve learned from

the lack of enthusiasm given to my

newspaper by the majority of those

around me; I now know how to think

on my feet and how to improvise

when my plans do not play out ac-

cordingly. This publication has be-

come less of a newspaper and more of

a literary magazine. I‘ve learned, even

more so, how to fend for myself when

given little else to count on.

I‘ve often said that, given the

opportunity, I would go back and

choose a different project that did re-

quire me to be as reliant on the kind-

ness of my peers, but when I take the

time to really consider this, I know

that I would not change a thing about

my project thus far.

Knowledge, in my opinion, is

not about the experiences we have,

but the lessons we learn from them.

We often do not have the ability to

change our circumstances, but we do

have the potential to take a piece of

wisdom from them and grow as peo-

ple.

I am quite aware that there

are a few risqué pieces being pub-

lished in this paper. I ask you, as

readers, to keep an open mind to the

things you are about to take in and

attempt to do just as I have; try to

bring away as much as possible from

the items included after the break.

Without further ado, I present to you

the Rosman Roar.

01

I have many reasons to be

optimistic about our nation‘s fu-

ture, but there is one that stands

above the rest. I have high hopes

in our advancement in technolo-

gy. Technology today has made a

significant improvement over the

past decade, and it continues to

advance greatly every day. To-

day, we have made great innova-

tions in technology, ranging from

video games to prosthetic limbs

that move with our thoughts.

Video games are the best exam-

ple of our advancement because

we have managed to make them

look relatively real. Video games

have also helped with our ad-

vancement in other areas as

well; these areas include our own

military power, which uses the

controller developed by Microsoft

to run some of the unmanned

machines used by our brave

troops. This has not only saved

lives, but has been able to train

people to work them with no

problem because it is almost the

exact same control scheme as

some video games.

With our advancement of

some technology, we have man-

aged to find out new ways to

fight the diseases that curse the

human body. Diseases like can-

cer and other life threatening ill-

nesses have been around for ag-

es; now, with the help of some of

the most advanced technology to

date, we can almost rid the hu-

man body of it, but sometimes,

only to a certain extend. That

certain extent can give someone

a few more years of life with their

family, but other times, nothing

can be done. The most spectacu-

lar find in recent years was the

discovery of penicillin, which can

cure a variety of diseases but is

most commonly used to cure

strep throat.

With these things in our

arsenal, there is nothing we can‘t

do. Without people to discover

these newfound technologies, we

will be left in the dust by every

other nation and be eventually

annihilated by someone else with

more advanced weapons and

technology. So, my hat goes off

to the people who help change

the world every day in what they

do to further our advancement of

all technology.

I recall once talking about

black and white people in school,

how the class was divided. That

was then; people think that the

class is no longer divided, but

that is way off base. We are still

divided: the populars, the ston-

ers, the band geeks, the rejects,

the geniuses, the ball players.

Some may overlap, such as the

populars and the ball players,

but the populars and the rejects

would not even be on the same

planet if it weren‘t for school.

Everyone knows who is in what

group; we know who runs the

school and who calls the shots. I

find it funny that those who

don‘t really have anything im-

portant to say never seem to

keep their mouths shut. Those

who have everything to say never

say anything. Even though si-

lence does end up being the un-

derdog‘s friend, I think that,

when they do say something,

people tend to shut up and lis-

ten. They‘re not like those who

just talk to fill the empty space.

02

In 1789, the United States rat-

ified the U.S. Constitution. Even in

today‘s society, the United States

stands by this ancient document.

The Constitution is made up

of twenty seven amendments that are

called the Bill of Rights. This gives

U.S. citizens certain rights; these

rights include freedom of speech,

press, religion, and many more. The

Constitution also gives African Ameri-

cans, women, and other immigrants

their equal rights. Along with rights,

the Constitution grants the govern-

ment control over foreign affairs, pro-

vides for the national defense, and

regulates trade. Whether we realize it

or not, the Constitution plays a role

in everyday life. State and Federal

laws cannot infringe upon our rights.

It also gives Congress the right to de-

clare war. However, the question at

hand is whether or not a document

written in 1789 is still relevant in to-

day‘s society. With all these examples

listed, it would be hard to believe oth-

erwise. Even if we did draft another

Constitution, it would most likely be

completely different. Our country was

built on the Constitution, and we took

pride in what our government did a

long time ago. Too much work was

put into it for us to disregard it. If

someone does not agree with the Con-

stitution, they have a right to give up

their citizenship. We are the land of

opportunity; our Constitution outlines

this. Immigrants needed toe scape

from harsh persecution, so we moved

to North America. We built a govern-

ment that would not deny us rights

that we needed. If I am not mistaken,

we still need those rights. We are a

Democracy. Even though we are be-

coming a more advanced society, we

would not be where we are today if no

one had met to establish a Constitu-

tion. If our Founding Fathers could

see us today, I imagine they would be

incredibly ashamed of the people.

This country is our Founding Fa-

thers‘, we are just looking after what

they worked so hard to make. We

need to preserve and respect the Con-

stitution, not change it to suit a

handful of people. No matter how

much a society advances, there will

always be a need for individual rights.

The Constitution was, and still re-

mains the cornerstone of American

society.

I feel optimistic about my nation‘s

future because I think we are the greatest

nation in the world. Our country is full of

leaders in the fields of finance, military,

and technology, just to name a few. Being

a citizen of the United States gives a per-

son many opportunities that are not avail-

able to other people in this world.

Our government continually

makes attempts to care for the people of

this great nation. Protecting the people of

the United States is, and always will be, a

top priority. If the government feels a ma-

jor threat, then they will send the military

to help and protect the people.

The military has advanced greatly

over time. The technological advances in

the military have grown. One such way is

with the weaponry. In the past, the mili-

tary did not have computers to help them

on the battlefield. Now, a soldier can

watch different locations all over the world

and even ―fight‖ with weaponry using vari-

ous methods without having to even leave

the safety of his or her desk. Years ago, we

did not have the chance to send in electri-

cal devices to help determine the safety of

our troops; we now have that capability.

Having grown by leaps and bounds, I am

sure that the technological advances with-

in the military will grow and advance.

The future of medicine is advanc-

ing every day. Research and development

of new treatments and procedures on how

to deal with infectious diseases, all the

way down to the common cold, have ena-

bled the people within our government to

provide treatment in our nation that sur-

passes any medical treatment available in

other countries. The medicine has ad-

vanced and so has the technology within

the field; many machines and other medi-

cal equipment have improved and contin-

ue to improve every day.

I am optimistic about our nation‘s

future because of all of the advances avail-

able to our people.

03

Location: 308 Thetford

Street, Asheville, NC

Reservations: Reservations

available, relatively essential

on Friday nights

Price: Lunch, Dinner, and

Gluten-free menu available.

Dinner entrees $16-$30

Hours: Sun-Thursday 11:30

AM—9:30 PM, Friday-

Saturday 11:30 AM-10:30 PM

Parking: Nearby parking gar-

age and parking spots (if

available) nearby throughout

Biltmore Park

Cuisine: Contemporary varia-

tions on classic Southern and

Cajun cuisine

Located in beautiful

Biltmore Park, the city within

a city, 131 Main is relatively

new to our area, but is a

growing name across North

Carolina, with three other lo-

cations. 131 Main falls some-

where between the categories

of Southern and Cajun cui-

sine, with a few interesting

options with non-American

influences.

The setting of the res-

taurant is beautiful, even be-

fore you walk in. As you walk

along the sidewalk before en-

try, you can plainly see inside

of the kitchen, and watch

chefs prepare various ingredi-

ents for meals to come. Upon

entry, you are welcomed with

a hearty ―Welcome to 131

Main!‖ After your senses be-

come accustomed to the at-

mosphere, you begin to take

in the sight of the beautiful,

sleek, cozy dining area, with

views of an open kitchen,

which, as a person that is

largely intrigued with the culi-

nary arts, I find to be an inter-

esting and welcoming experi-

ence. Quickly after, your nose

and ears should be tingling

with excitement; Frank Sina-

tra in the background joined

with the incredible smells

wafting towards you from the

kitchen makes the atmos-

phere a desirable and welcom-

ing experience.

Menus are seasonal,

with some items being year

round. On my most recent

visit, I ordered the shrimp and

grits; as a southerner, I took a

risk...grits are an incredibly

difficult starch to properly

prepare properly, and this

time, I was not disappointed.

The mountain of grits had

mild hints of white cheddar

cheese, and were rather tasty

for something as bland as

grits normally are. The real

hero of this dish was the

sauce, however, which was an

intensely flavored roux with

pieces of ham and shrimp

throughout; that made this

particular dish one of the

most flavorful, yet simple,

dishes I have ever tasted in a

chain restaurant setting.

Overall: The atmosphere

alone makes the restaurant

worth trying at least once. The

food is absolutely wonderful.

Service was good, but almost

to the point of being overbear-

ing; that is my only real com-

plaint with 131 Main.

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blog/wp-content/

uploads/2013/05/131Main.jpg

04

Reflektor, the highly antici-

pated album by indie-rock dar-

lings turned stadium anthem pro-

ducers Arcade Fire, was released

on October 28th, 2013, just less

than one month ago. Never ones

to underestimate the power of out-

landish, attention-grabbing mar-

keting, the Canadian band,

formed in 2001, created a sense of

mystery to surround their fourth

album, releasing its first single

under the faux title, The Re-

flektors, scrawling Haitian in-

spired graffiti on buildings across

the country and, following their

fourth musical appearance on Sat-

urday Night Live, airing a bizarre

thirty-minute special (entitled

―Here Comes the Night Time‖) ded-

icated to showcasing their new

material.

Over the years, the mem-

bers of Arcade Fire (which include

married couple Win Butler and

Régine Chassagne, have made

themselves no strangers to con-

sistently refreshing their musical

style; from their first album, Fu-

neral, they have delved further in-

to the delicate topics of death, war

-plagued homelands, the complex-

ities of religious culture, and the

urbanization of our country. The

band, for the most part, stuck to

the baroque pop genre for the ma-

jority of the songs included on Fu-

neral and the albums following

(Neon Bible and The Suburbs, re-

spectively), citing Elvis Presley as

one of their heaviest influences.

On their latest release, they

verge closer to the disco-infused

realm of David Bowie, who pro-

vides guest vocals on the album‘s

title track. Butler has also stated

that the 1959 Brazilian film Black

Orpheus largely inspired the work,

although this should be obvious to

fans, due to the fact that two

tracks, ―Awful Sound (Oh Eurydi-

ce)‖ and ―It‘s Never Over (Hey Or-

pheus)‖, share names with the

film‘s main characters and the

Greek legends the film is based

upon. Reflektor is also largely in-

spired by an essay entitled ―The

Present Age‖, written by Søren

Kierkegaard, which states: ―The

present age is one of understand-

ing, of reflection, devoid of pas-

sion, an age which flies into en-

thusiasm for a moment only to

decline back into indolence.‖

The first, and titular, track

―Reflektor,‖ covers the disconnect

from reality experienced by many

of today‘s adolescents, usually

caused by an overload of technolo-

gy. At one point, butler and Chas-

sagne harmonize, bearing the

question ―We‘re still connected,

but are we even friends?‖ Stretch-

ing to almost eight minutes in

length, the track, although catchy

and relevant to our modern socie-

ty, tends to become somewhat re-

petitive. The song that follows,

―We Exist,‖ might be a cry from

the unnoticed underdog, begging

for attention and requesting that

their voice be heard. ―Flashbulb

Eyes,‖ a personal favorite, possibly

refers to the overexposure that we

have become accustomed to in our

modern media, asking ―What did

the camera really do to your

soul?‖

In ―Here Comes the Night

Time,‖ the band praises the al-

most religious freedom that music

can bring to a listener. ―Normal

Person‖ speaks of the efforts most

people go through to conform to

societal standards. ―Afterlife,‖ a

song whose music video includes

clips from the previously men-

tioned film Black Orpheus, is ar-

guably the album‘s most Haitian-

influenced track, bringing a festive

feeling that makes one think of

Carnival.

While this is certainly not

my favorite Arcade Fire album, I

can see its merits and appreciate

the route the band has decided to

take. It takes real courage for

such a huge (both literally and fig-

uratively) group to change their

direction so quickly and vastly. I

think that the piece will grow on

me with time, as many things do.

05

This year marks the fiftieth

anniversary of the publication of

Sylvia Plath‘s semi-

autobiographical, and only, novel,

The Bell Jar; it also marks the an-

niversary of her following, now in-

famous, suicide. Plath, though

known mostly for her ground-

breaking dark poetry, received

high acclaim for her account of Es-

ther Greenwood, an intellectual

prodigy who, following a scholar-

ship-funded summer in New York

City (spent interning at a promi-

nent, unnamed fashion magazine),

experiences a lengthy battle with

depression, resulting in her even-

tual institutionalization.

It is arguable that the novel

would not have received the same

amount of fame had Plath not suf-

fered a tragic, self-inflicted death

roughly a month after its publica-

tion; the poet thrust her head into

her apartment‘s gas oven, the

kitchen off by placing wet towels in

the gaps beneath the doors. Her

official cause of death was carbon

monoxide poisoning, a direct re-

sult of the fumes emitted.

Plath had two children,

Frieda and Nicholas, with poet Ted

Hughes; the couple had a tumul-

tuous relationship that ended in

separation upon the discovery that

Hughes was partaking in an adul-

terous affair with Assia Wells, a

married woman renting a flat from

Plath and Hughes. Many feel that

Plath‘s final desperate attempt to

end her life was sparked by her

inability to provide her children

with a sustainable home life; as a

single mother in the early winter of

‗63, she lived in an apartment

without a telephone, and with no

heating.

Her last suicide attempt

was not her first, though. Plath

suffered from depression for the

better part of her life. The first

documented attempted occurred

during the summer of 1953, ten

years before the publication of The

Bell Jar, whose plot was largely

inspired by these events. Plath

purposely overdosed on sleeping

pills before slinking into her family

home‘s crawl space, where she

was left unfound for three days.

At the time of its publica-

tion, The Bell Jar was almost un-

precedented in its extremely accu-

rate portrayal of mental illness, a

subject considered taboo by most.

Plath played a significant hand in

humanizing supposed madness,

and in letting readers across the

country see that those in positions

similar to hers were not ―crazy.‖

Plath represented a large demo-

graphic of women who, at the

time, were not being taken seri-

ously by the society in which they

lived. Esther‘s mother encourages

her to learn shorthand and be-

come a secretary, following in her

footsteps. However, Esther sees

greater things for her life, but can-

not bring herself to pursue them;

she lives in the constant fear that

her life will not go as planned and

that, as a result of her innate

fears, it will not really take place at

all. In one of the most well-known

selections from the book, Plath

(technically hiding behind the

name of her character, Esther)

compares her life to a fig tree; ―I

saw my life branching out before

me like the green fig tree in the

story. From the tip of every

branch, like a fat purple fig, a

wonderful future beckoned and

winked. One fig was a husband

and a happy home and children,

and another fig was a famous poet

and another fig was a brilliant pro-

fessor, and another fig was Con-

stantin, and Socrates and Attila

and a pack of other lovers with

queer names and offbeat profes-

sions, and another fig was an

Olympic lady crew champion, and

beyond above these figs were many

figs I couldn‘t quite make out, but

choosing one meant losing all the

rest, and, as I sat there, unable to

decide, the figs began to wrinkle

and go black, and, one by one,

they plopped to the ground at my

feet.‖

Plath‘s novel was published

under the pseudonym Victoria Lu-

cas to avoid raising conflict with

the author‘s mother and with the

friends, enemies and

06

and acquaintances characterized

in the novel. She feared that her

relationships would suffer if she

was revealed to be the author of

the work. Three years passed af-

ter its original publication and

Plath‘s death before the novel was

published in London under her

true name; it was not published

in her home country, America,

until 1971.

Nowadays, many look at

Plath as a martyr of sorts, a ro-

mantic but tragic heroine who

crumbled under the overwhelm-

ing pressures of society while at-

tempting to cope with a debilitat-

ing mental illness. Her life is

widely regarded as a fever dream

of sorts, with many skimming

over the horrific details of her

psyche, focusing only on the

beautiful works her sad state

helped to produce. However, even

five decades later, in a completely

different century, Plath‘s only

novel remains a coming-of-age

must-read, a piece of art that

sends readers on a downward

spiral of their own as they are

brought underneath Plath‘s suffo-

cating Bell Jar mentioned in the

title.

The problems presented in

The Bell Jar remain relevant to-

day; the exploration of sexuality,

the pursuit of a future career, the

feeling of hopelessness that

makes itself known when facing

an uncertain destiny, experienc-

ing a disconnect between a wilt-

ing mind and the body it is en-

trapped inside of.

There is good news for

Harry Potter fans; a new movie is

soon to be under way. Although it

will not be a prequel or sequel to

the Harry Potter movie franchise,

it will be set in the same universe

as the ever-popular boy with the

lightning scar. The movie, titled

―Fantastic Beasts and Where to

Find Them,‖ will be based on the

text-book that Potter used in his

studies at Hogwarts. It has been

released that Newt Scamander,

author of said book, will be our

hero in this movie as we follow

his travels and studies. It will be

set seventy years before any of

our previous characters are born,

centered mostly in New York City.

J.K. Rowling has said that

Warner Brothers approached her

with the suggestion of another

movie. Rowling could not bear to

leave her perfectly crafted world

in the hands of another author,

so she went on to pitch her own

idea for this film. ―Although it will

be set in the worldwide communi-

ty of witches and wizards where I

was so happy for seventeen

years,‖ she says, ―Fantastic

Beasts and Where to Find Them

is neither a prequel nor a sequel

to the Harry Potter series, but an

extension of the wizarding world.‖

With the Harry Potter franchise

being the highest grossing fran-

chise in movie history, it is clear

that fans will be eagerly awaiting

this movie.

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harrypotter/images/5/5c/Rowling_Teleread.jpg

07

NASCAR is one of the most

popular sports in America. With a

loyal fanbase of over 75 million

people, NASCAR is one of the most

watched sports, not unlike football

or basketball. It is even said that,

with this big of a fan base, 1 in

every 3 adults in the United States

is a NASCAR fan. This is a stagger-

ing number that continues to grow

each day. NASCAR grew in the

roots of the South and, since then,

has spread to all regions of the

world. Its door-banging, paint-

scraping, car-crashing action is

what draws in fans to watch it to-

day. It is not just left-hand turns

over and over again, (for your in-

formation, there are tracks where

there are right-hand turns), it is

strategy, skill, and aerodynamics

at their best. It takes all of these

and more to even have a chance to

win a race, much less a champion-

ship.

Many don‘t understand how

NASCAR even works. However, the

NASCAR points system and the

race layout are very simple. There

are 36 races in each season. The

person that has the most points at

the end of the season wins the

championship. Every position on

the track is worth one point. So, if

there are 43 drivers running in

every race, the winner of the race

gets 43 points, second gets 42

points, all the way down to 1 point

for forty-third position. Then, there

are what are called bonus points. If

a driver leads a lap on the track,

he gets one extra bonus point. If a

driver leads the most laps he gets

one more point. Now, when a driv-

er wins the race, he also gets three

bonus points for winning the race.

So, the maximum number of

points a driver can get in a race is

48 points. During the NASCAR

season, there is a playoff known as

the Chase. The Chase layout is a

little more complicated. To get in

the chase, a driver can be in the

top ten in points. However, there is

another way to get into the Case

through what people call the Wild

Card spots. If a driver is in the top

20 in points, but not in the top 10

(positions 11-20), they are eligible

for one of the two Wild Card posi-

tions. The two people in positions

11-20 with the most wins get the

spots. If some of the Wild Card

drivers are tied in wins, the point

totals for each driver will be added

up to see which two drivers have

the most points to get the spots.

When the drivers are set in the

Case, the point totals for all 12

drivers are reset to 2,000 points.

Then, the top 10 drivers get bonus

points for wins they received in the

regular season. Each win is worth

3 bonus points in the regular sea-

son. However, the two Wild Card

positions (11th and 12th) do not

get any bonus points for having

wins. Winning the championship,

however, is not as easy as it

sounds. To win, a driver has to be

confident, consistent with their fin-

ishes, and most of all, win races.

Oh, and they also have eleven driv-

ers breathing down their necks

who would do anything to win the

championship.

I love to watch football and

basketball any day of the week;

you‘d better believe I pull for Clem-

son Tiger football and UNC basket-

ball, but when it comes to Sun-

days, I have to watch my NASCAR.

Personally, I pull for Dale Earn-

hardt, Jr., but there are 42 other

drivers on a weekly basis to pull

for. Lots of people just write NAS-

CAR off as a boring sport, like golf,

soccer, or lacrosse. However, I

want to challenge you. Next time

you are flipping through the chan-

nels and a NASCAR race pops up,

give it a chance; maybe you will

become part of the family of NAS-

CAR that includes myself and so

many others.

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d6/NASCAR_practice.jpg

08

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard

And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,

Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.

And from there those that lifted eyes could count

Five mountain ranges one behind the other

Under the sunset far into Vermont.

And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,

As it ran light, or had to bear a load.

And nothing happened: day was all but done.

Call it a day, I wish they might have said

To please the boy by giving him the half hour

That a boy counts so much when saved from work.

His sister stood beside him in her apron

To tell him ‗Supper.‘ At the word, the saw,

As if to prove saws know what supper meant,

Leaped out at the boy‘s hand, or seemed to leap—

He must have given the hand. However it was,

Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!

The boy‘s first outcry was a rueful laugh,

As he swung toward them holding up the hand

Half in appeal, but half as if to keep

The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—

Since he was old enough to know, big boy

Doing a man‘s work, though a child at heart—

He saw all was spoiled. ‗Don‘t let him cut my hand off—

The doctor, when he comes. Don‘t let him, sister!‘

So. But the hand was gone already.

The doctor put him in the dark of ether.

He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.

And then– watcher at his pulse took fright.

No one believed. They listened to his heart.

Little—less—nothing! - and that ended it.

No more to build on there. And they, since they

Were not the one dead, turned to their af-fairs.

All, but the last two lines of Robert Frost‘s poem, ―Out, Out,‖ is focused around a young boy who works with a buzz-saw in order to earn wages and provide wood for

his family‘s woodstove. The poem uses a great deal of personification, exclusively for the buzz-saw. All of the words the writer uses to describe the buzz-saw and its ac-tions are negative and spiteful; verbs such as ―snarled and rattled‖ are similarly used to characterize a beastly imp, looking for victims to suffer its wrath of ill-will. This dangerous, evil thing is paired up with an innocent, young boy. Frost does write ―he was old enough to know‖ in his poem, giv-ing us a better idea of this boy‘s age; upper teens, old enough to fight in a war, proba-bly. There are two main points I see in Frost‘s poem: (1) hard-working labor, suited for adults, shouldn‘t include young boys who haven‘t fully matured yet and (2) peo-ple ignore death and become indifferent in order to cope with it; they treat death with-out tears or rage.

Analyzing the first 5 lines of the poem, we are introduced to the cold-hearted, belligerent buzz-saw. Line 1 states: ―The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard,‖ which gives us a chaotic intro-duction by personifying the tool. The next 2 lines remind us what this instrument is made for: ―And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood/Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.‖ This second line gives us the reality check; it‘s not living; it‘s a machine used to cut wood to size, which is used as fuel for heating the home and preparing food. The third line, in a way, seems to compliment the buzz-saw by stating that there is ―sweet-scented stuff‖ from its product, but nature‘s ―breeze‖ is required to notice the pleasant smell. And from there, it goes into a description of dis-tant scenery and location with lines 5 and 6: ―Five mountain ranges one behind the other/Under the sunset far into Vermont.‖ This gives us a clue of how late in the day it is and how the young boy must be exhaust-ed. From there, it continues with lines 7-12:

And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,

As it ran light, or had to bear a load.

And nothing happened: day was all but done.

Call it a day, I wish they might have said

To please the boy by giving him the half hour

That a boy counts so much when saved from work.

These lines indicate that the boy was over-worked and his family had poor work ethics by making him labor so extensively. We no-tice again the personifying actions of ―snarled and rattled.‖ Also, line 9: ―And nothing happened: day was all but done,‖ is a mysterious line to me. It could serve as a form of foreshadowing, for there is more to come. It can also support the suddenness of death.

As we proceed into the poem from this point, the poem takes an abrupt turn and has the boy‘s life come to its last event before ending. The sister of the boy tells ―them‖ that it‘s time for ―supper.‖ At the announcement of this dinner call, the saw then leaps at the boy‘s hand, severely cut-ting it. I‘m sure the sister was directing the dinner call just to her brother and not the

saw, but Frost makes it appropriate by hav-ing the saw ―leap‖ directly after the an-nouncement, at the boy‘s hand. It‘s as if the boy‘s hand was the saw‘s meal. ―The saw has to eat what is offered.‖ Frost doesn‘t blame the boy for this accident, because he is still ―a child at heart.‖ This is why he gives the machine personification, so he can‘t blame it for the tragic ending. I pitied the innocent child when he spoke out to his sister: ―Don‘t let him cut my hand off/The doctor when he comes. Don‘t let him, sis-ter!‖ The follow line, line 26, informs us that things get worse: ―so. But the hand was gone already.‖ The word ―So,‖ followed by a period, provides a short pause for further disappointment, but later aides in the idea of people continuing on with their lives from such tragic events. This ―so‖ reverberates from that point on and you notice it more after reading it a second and third time. It gives the reality of death. It‘s saying in es-sence, that ‗there it is, there you have it.‘ The boy‘s life was limited and painful in ways that he himself did not realize, and it was finally ruined by forces that neither he nor we can comprehend.

In the last two stanzas of the poem, we are given in poetic details, the boy‘s last dying breaths into his death. ―No one be-lieved. They listened at his heart./Little—less—nothing! - and that ended it.‖ His death was the result of massive blood loss and from there it ends: ―No more to build on there, and they, since they/Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.‖ Death means nothing to these people. They are preoccupied with personal affairs and can‘t give grief, for it doesn‘t solve anything. ―No more to build on there‖ means just that. After one dies, in this case, the boy‘s death, you can‘t build off of that. To cry, get angry, deeply saddened is out of the question. In the context of the time period this poem was written, WW1 was still in effect. The correla-tion between the young boy and a young soldier at battle can‘t be interfered. This idea of emotional detachment is undergone with war. The people ignore the boy‘s death just as soldiers must do on the battlefield in regard to their fellow soldiers. The young men that are enlisted die early and un-knowingly just as the boy did in this poem.

So, these two prominent themes mentioned earlier can be seen by the dis-section of the poem. The extensive labor carried out by the boy resulted in fatigue and restlessness, and those two ailments don‘t mix with a buzz-saw. This is a result of a boy doing a man‘s job. There may be a more profound meaning with nature being involved, but it is clear that Frost was put-ting to light the poor work ethics of people using young, maturing boys for labor pur-poses in that time period. The deepest meaning of the poem seems to go past that, though. The title, ―out, out‖ is referencing William Shakespeare‘s ―Macbeth,‖ and Frost‘s poem seems to modernize one of the themes from Shakespeare‘s work, in which life is meaningless and amounts to nothing. But death too, in its intrinsic nature, with darkness and absence of life, is the bitter nothing in which we cease to exist. Since that is where life leads us, nothing equals nothing, and there should not be any griev-ing when we witness it. That is the mentali-ty of the people in Frost‘s poem.

09

We take in our last

breaths of fresh mountain air and

wander back inside the empty

house. The darkness outside

made me feel so alone; I clutch

Anna‘s hand as tightly as I can.

We make our way up the spiral

staircase to my bedroom. I grab

the handwritten note off my desk

in the corner. We step into the

bathroom, where we have our in-

struments of choice laid out on

the counter. I pick up the sharp

razor and let out a deep sigh. I

look at the old mirror hanging on

the damask printed walls and see

Anna starting to cry as she holds

her razor.

I grip her smooth hand

even tighter and try to kiss the

wet tears off of her pink cheeks.

She turns to me and tries to give

me a smile, but it turns out very

small and pitiful.

Anna says, in her tiny

voice, ―Emily, you know I love you

more than anything, right?‖

―Oh, of course I do, you

know I love you even more than

that, don‘t you?‖

Her smile grows a little

bigger, and her deep blue eyes

lighten a little. She loves it when I

try to outdo her.

―Well, I‘m not so sure

about more, but yes, I know,‖ she

answers with what could only be

delight.

The sweetness of the mo-

ment seems wasted, considering

what we‘re about to do. Her frown

returns when she realizes what

I‘m thinking of. I take in a deep

breath and she nods her head.

It‘s time.

I let a single tear fall down

my face. I let go of Anna‘s hand

and look at the soft flesh of my

left wrist. Her flawless face starts

to crumble when she spots my

tear. I try and give her a brave

smile. I decide I might as well give

her a goodbye kiss, I can‘t imag-

ine going without it. I lean my

face close to hers and she closes

the distance. Our lips caress ever

so lightly. It‘s almost as if it didn‘t

even happen, but it‘s too perfect

and meaningful for it to not have

been real. Anna pulls away and I

put her light blonde hair behind

her ear. She touches my face gen-

tly and then grips her blade tight.

I realize that she‘s really ready to

do this, so I grip my razor tighter

as well.

She‘s the first to cut, and I

have to look away quickly. It

hurts too much to watch the per-

son you love hurt themselves. I

slice as deep as possible only se-

conds after witnessing her cut

into her beautiful skin. I feel as

though I might puke, but the un-

believable pains wins over sick-

ness. I see Anna cringe when she

glances in my direction. I know

this is ripping her apart just as

much as it is me, for us to have

to watch this.

So much blood is running

out of my fresh wound already. I

can tell Anna is feeling dizzy be-

cause she stumbles backwards a

bit. Even though my vision is be-

ginning to blur, I grip the razor

tighter and slice right beneath

the last cut I made at the same

time Anna does.

Somehow, mine is deeper

than the last. I can barely see her

now, I‘m‘ so light headed. Blood

is covering almost every inch of

the white marble sink. The next

thing I know, my knees hit the

cold bathroom tiles. I can faintly

hear a car pull into the driveway.

I look in Anna‘s direction and see

red all over her white summer

dress. I look down at my own

clothes and see that the floral

dress I had been wearing is also

drenched in crimson. She‘s hold-

ing her wrist and crying so softly.

I scoot closer to her and we hold

each other on the floor. The last

thing I hear is the sound of

Anna‘s sad whimpering and the

last thing I see is her closing her

eyes. I close mine as well, then

darkness.

10

Darkness sinking in,

threatening to choke me. I can‘t

feel my body. It‘s completely

numb. I attempt to open my eyes,

nothing. I‘m trapped somewhere,

a windowless room with no way

out. At first, I think I‘m paralyzed,

that a fall from that height did me

in. I curse under my breath when

I can suddenly see out of one eye.

There‘s a man, leaning

over top of me with a sorrowful

look across his face. He‘s lifted up

one of my eyelids and then shuts

it back. This gesture does some-

thing to me. I suddenly find my-

self not in complete darkness, nor

looking up at a man who found

my mangled body beneath a

twenty story building. I‘m some-

where entirely new. It‘s a plain,

half-empty room. The only things

inside are a lumpy twin bed and a

night stand with a lamp on top.

Walking across the room, I look

at the white, bare walls, wonder-

ing where I‘ve landed. I sit on the

bed and it makes an eerie creak-

ing noise. I lift the shade of the

lamp to find the bulb underneath

is broken. I whisper under my

breath, ―What is this place?‖

―Hello,‖ I hear a haggard

voice say.

Adrenaline rushes through

my veins, but there‘s no one

there. I sit back down on the bed

and see that there‘s an odd older

woman sitting next to me. She

has light gray hair, almost white.

Half of it is falling out and what

remains doesn‘t look like it will

hold on for much longer. Her skin

sags around her dark, hallow

eyes, and twisted mouth.

For a moment, we just sit

there. Mostly because I have no

idea what‘s going on and I‘m ac-

tually terrified of her. I look at her

quickly when I think she‘s staring

away. She catches me and smiles

a sickly wide smile. Her teeth are

jagged and have what looks like

blood smeared across them. I feel

bile building up in my throat. My

plan starts to sweat. I‘m about to

jump up and leave the room

when she speaks.

―Wait, my dear boy. Why

leave in such a hurry?‖ Her voice

sounds almost seductive, which

makes the bile double in amount.

―Stay with me. We can play

games, please.‖ She‘s scooting

closer as her words spill out and

fill the dim room. ―I know lots of

games, fun ones too.‖

She has removed all space

between us. I feel her hot breath

against my cheek. The smell is

rotten. My throat tightens. The

feel of her tattered, black sleeve

against my forearm gives me

goose bumps.

Fighting back the fear in

my voice, I calmly ask, ―Could

you possibly tell me where I am?‖

She seems almost amused

by my question. She shakes her

head a little before saying, ―I don‘t

think that‘s such a good idea.‖

―And why would you say

that?‖ I ask. Still trying to keep

control of myself. Still hoping the

situation doesn‘t escalate.

―Because if I did that, then

you might not want to stay with

me.‖ Her head cocks sideways

and she smiles again, showing all

of her sharp teeth. Some of them

are pointing at angles that make

them stab into her gums. I would

like to think that the blood caked

on them is her own, but some-

thing in my guts tells me other-

wise.

Before she‘s able to realize

the plans going through my head,

I sprint for the door in the corner

of the room. I grab the handle but

am stopped when I feel rough,

boney fingers grabbing at my

hair.

―You mustn‘t leave, my

lovely boy,‖ she practically spits

the words at me. She slams me

on my back so hard I feel the

breath leave my lungs immediate-

ly. Her hand runs along my torso,

up to my chest, then my throat.

11

I think she‘s going to choke me

before she moves her hand to my

jaw. Slowly tracing it, she says,

―I‘m so hungry. I haven‘t had

such a nice looking meal in quite

some time.‖

Then her mouth opens,

just a little at first, then it be-

comes wider and wider under the

corners of her mouth are snap-

ping apart and blood starts pool-

ing out. I gasp just barely and

she lunges. She has latched onto

my shoulder, and I feel her teeth

digging in as deeply as she can

get them. I scream out in pain,

hoping someone can hear me,

but knowing better than that.

I feel her detaching herself

from my shoulder and I leap at

the opportunity. I punch the side

of her head with all my strength

and she‘s knocked onto the floor

next to me. I quickly start to

crawl for the door, unable to

make myself stand. Her sickly

fingers wrap around my ankle. I

kick in every direction, hoping I

make contact with something

that will slow her down. I feel an

empty eye socket; I Hear the

crunch of her nose as I keep

kicking my foot. Finally, she lets

go and I seize the moment to

sprint for the door. I‘m about to

shut it when I see her arm com-

ing towards me. I hesitate a se-

cond too long before slamming

the door shut. I step back a little,

seeing the flailing limb on top of

the doorstep.

I close my eyes and take a

deep breath. I collapse on the

wood porch, feeling as though

movement would be the death of

me. As my breathing become

steadier, I tell myself that I need

to get up and go; that I need to

put as much distance between

me and that beast as possible.

But just as I‘m thinking about

where to go, everything goes

black.

I awake what feels like on-

ly moments later, but there‘s no

longer any light outside of the

house. My entire body feels like

it‘s on fire. My senses are height-

ened. I hear every tiny creak in

the floor boards as I stand up.

There‘s a large festering sore on

my left shoulder. I can almost

sell it. I lean my head over the

side of the porch and heave my

guts out. I keep retching, but

there‘s nothing left in my stom-

ach to come out. I start walking

down the sidewalk, hoping to put

a lot of distance between me and

that house.

I stop at a rundown gas

station a mile or so away to see if

anyone is there. I grab the door

before noticing that there‘s a

bloody handprint on the handle.

I quickly let go and start step-

ping backwards. I whisper to my-

self, ―Where am I?‖

―This, my boy, is no-

where,‖ says a deep voice behind

me.

I turn around to see a

man, not much older than my

father, standing right behind me.

He has blue jean overalls on that

look a hundred years old, with a

dirty white t-shirt underneath.

His hair is combed over to one

side, very thin. He twitches every

time he looks up at me. It makes

me feel uneasy.

―What‘s your name, boy?‖

He asks a little louder than I ex-

pected, almost like he‘s spitting

the question at me.

―Samuel, sir,‖ I stutter as

it comes out. ―Or just Sam.‖

―Well, ‗Just Sam‘, what do

you think you‘re doing? Trying to

break into my station, here?‖ he

yells.

I study him briefly. At

first, all I noticed was his age

and the condition of his clothing,

but as I take a closer look, he

reminds me a lot of the old wom-

an back at the house. His hair is

falling out, his lips look as

12

though they haven‘t been parted

to speak in years. His entire body

is covered in a layer of dust, like

he‘s just been sitting and waiting.

―Uh, no, sir. I was just, I, I

was looking for someone to help

me, actually,‖ I‘ve never been very

good in tense situations.

He speaks with more ease

this time. ―Then I guess you‘ve

come to the right place. I‘ve been

here long enough to help you out.

What is it that you want to

know?‖

What is it that you want to

know? I consider this a moment

before answering. ―To be honest, I

just want to know how to get out

of here.‖

He approaches me with

caution. His large boots dragging

the ground with very step. Every

hair on my body stands straight

up as he slowly inches towards

me. I notice him staring at my

bloody shoulder. His head twitch-

es. He takes a pair of reading

glasses out of the front of his

pocket. They‘re layered with dust,

but he puts them on anyway, as

if he could possibly see out of

them.

―Is this Agnus‘ handy

work?‖ He calmly asks me as he

starts to poke the disgusting

wound.

I wince at the pain and

take a step back. ―Agnus?‖ I let

out the breath I‘d been holding.

―That thing that attacked me has

a name?‖

―Of course she has a name,

stupid.‖ He says in disbelief.

―Who else is going to greet the

newcomers?‖ He lets out a whole-

hearted chuckle.

―Welcome?‖ I gasp. ―She

tried to devour me. A nice fruit

basket or even a friendly hand-

shake would have been much

more appealing than having some

old, decrepit woman try to seduce

me into being her lunch!‖ I‘m

breathing heavily now. Slowly fill-

ing with rage and disbelief at the

situation I‘ve been put in.

―She‘s what you would call

a guard of our realm. You see,

this state of purgatory is just for

those who have committed sui-

cide,‖ he lets out a sigh and plac-

es the glasses back into his pock-

et. ―And, by the look of that

chunk of skin missing from your

arm, it looks like you‘ll be taking

ole Agnus‘ spot.‖

―What do you mean? What

does her practically biting my

arm off have to do with how I

spend the rest of my pathetic af-

terlife?‖ I spit the question at

him.

His eyes wonder to the in-

side of his broken station. ―That‘s

something you‘ll have to take up

with her.‖ He begins to stutter, ―I-

I‘m unaware of the details.‖

The man then walks to the

front of the shop and sits in a rot-

ted, wooden rocking chair. His

eyes stare off into the dark gray

sky. He begins to rock back and

forth, his mind going completely

blank of all thoughts. I wave my

hand in front of his face as the

rocking chair comes to a stop,

but he‘s gone. His dark eyes are

filled with nothing, as if life had-

n‘t been in them only moments

ago.

I put my right foot on the

first step, trying to pluck up the

courage to force myself back in-

side. It‘s completely black outside

now. The only audible light is

that of a candle inside the house.

I can smell my puke from earlier

and it makes me want to heave

again, but I refrain. I feel a sharp,

burning pain in my wounded

shoulder. I grit my teeth and suck

in a large gulp of air before climb-

ing the few steps to the door. I

gently place my hand on the han-

dle of the door, but it slides open

before I can twist the knob. The

wind wisps inside and makes the

candlelight go out I smell fresh

blood as I step into the darkness.

13

―Lovely night out, isn‘t it?‖

Agnus says once I‘ve entered the

room.

―Let‘s cut to the chase.

What‘s going on with my body?‖ I

ask. ―What did that bite of yours

do to me?‖

I can only see her silhou-

ette. I can tell she‘s smiling be-

cause the smell of her rotting

mouth is wafting in my direction.

She says, ―Quick to pick up on

things, aren‘t we? Don‘t you want

to make it up to me for cutting off

my frail arm?‖ I can hear a quiet

dripping sound coming from the

area where her arm used to be.

I go for a different ap-

proach, ―I‘m sorry about your

arm. Can I help you with that?‖ I

slowly walk towards her, afraid

that if I move too quickly, she‘ll

pounce.

I reach the nightstand next

to the bed and grab the set of

matches. I hesitantly light the

candle, afraid of what I‘ll see. In

the dim lighting, she looks worse

than before; I didn‘t realize that

was possible. Her hair is nearly

all gone, just a few patches here

and there still remaining. Her

eyes are hollow, but still filled

with a lust for blood. Her mouth

is hanging slightly open. Dried

blood is crusted in the corners of

her mouth.

She stares at me for a mo-

ment before saying, ―Take a good

look, my dear boy. You‘ll look a

lot like me before you know it.‖

―It‘s the bite, isn‘t it?‖ I ask,

hoping to pry as much infor-

mation from her as I can before I

kill her.

―Of course it‘s the bite, stu-

pid. What else could it be?‖ she

states, slightly shifting her

weight. When she does this, blood

from her absent arm gushes out

onto the mattress. ―Sadly for you,

though, I‘m not ready to go just

yet…‖

She lunges off the bed onto

me, knocking me backwards. I try

to throw her off, but she‘s still

stronger than me. Her sharp teeth

caress my cheek. I take my fist

and bury it into the side of her

gut. I feel a few ribs break be-

neath my punch. She screams

out in pain, but doesn‘t stop

gnawing me. My ear, my neck.

She won‘t slow down long enough

for me to get a grip on her wrig-

gling body.

I finally wrestle her to the

ground. I‘m crouched over top of

her, trying to snap her neck,

when her head breaks free and

takes a chunk of my thigh out. I

yell in pain. I‘m at my last resort

with energy; if I don‘t kill her

soon, I‘ll become her midnight

snack. I detach from her arms

and throw myself to my feet. I

grab both of her shoulders and

turn her body over. Her face

slams into the hardwood and it

gives me an idea. I take the back

of her skull and start pounding

her face into the floor as hard as I

can. I hear blood and teeth hit the

wood floor. Her body finally stops

fighting it. I lay her on her back;

she gives me a pleading look in

hopes that I‘ll shoe mercy. I twist

her neck until I hear it snap.

Even though I didn‘t get all

the answers I was looking for, I

know what‘s going to happen

now. I will become her. My body

will deteriorate and I will be

forced to feed on the newly dead,

just like her. I tear off some cloth

from the old woman‘s dress and

start to clean my wounds. I sit at

the end of the bed, dabbing at the

blood on my face and neck. I start

to push Agnus‘ body underneath

the bed when the room starts to

shake.

The next thing I know,

there are two girls standing in

front of the door. One is tall and

has rich brown hair, the other is

shorter, sickly looking, with soft

blonde hair. I see blood dripping

down both of their arms; it smells

rich and delicious. When they no-

tice me sitting across from them,

they grab each other‘s hands in-

stinctively. I feel a sickening sense

of happiness as a smile stretches

across my face.

14

“Untitled”

By: Savannah Norton

All her life, she‘s been told.

Been told what to wear,

What‘s socially acceptable,

How to act,

Who to be friends with, what things she should own,

What or whom she should be interested in.

She‘s also been told to be herself.

How can she ever be herself

When the things they tell her are so completely anti-her?

When her perfect outer mask starts to crack

And the real her begins oozing out,

They back away and revolt.

―Just be you,‖ they cant.

―That‘s not you.‖ they say…

What they don‘t realize is that the ―her‖ they knew

Was never actually her.

The real her was buried deep in the recesses of the girl they invent-ed,

Suffocating under the mass amounts of pressure she was facing

To somehow transform her very soul into something else.

Perhaps that‘s the reason why she can never work up the cour-age to end her life,

Even though she thinks about it every day.

She knows if she does it,

She can kill the monster that she‘s encased inside of…

But, in doing so, will also end every chance

The real her might someday have to be released.

“Stagnant”

By: C.O.

Once a raging river,

A disarming power of

Force,

Life,

Ambition,

And drive,

I am now

Stagnant.

A slow and still breed-ing ground for the pests:

Depression,

Anxiety,

And never-ending dread at the thought of leaving my house.

And try as I might

To pull myself out

Of its suffocating depths,

My fingers can‘t find a way to grip the earth at the surface,

And my lungs fill with water

As the insects dispose of their larva

Inside.

With no current to push me

Toward the shore,

I can feel myself

Slipping under.

Drowning.

“Just a Dream”

By: Jenah McCall

Last night

I dreamt of you

And, once again, I woke up

Wishing it were true.

It‘s so hard to forget

Someone who meant so much

I remember your voice

I remember your touch

I love you so much

But I want to cry

I keep denying it

And I think I‘m gonna die.

“Who Do I Want to Be?”

By: Tiesha Pressley

I want to be the person

That everyone knows to be good.

I want to be the person

That isn‘t afraid to stand out.

I want to be able

To speak what is on my mind.

I want to be able

To stand, not hide.

No, I don‘t have all the answers,

But I know that I will be fine

If everyone lives their lives

And lets me live mine.

I want to be

Me.

“Distance”

By: Lauren Mahoney

Distance.

It should be a barrier,

It should make the heart grow fonder,

Yet it‘s holding us back.

I want you

More than anything I know;

I want to be there in your arms,

But instead I‘m here alone.

I know it‘s there, you feel the same way too.

We could begin our ―forever‖.

Instead, we are stuck;

It needs to happen,

I need to be with you.

I look to our future in hope,

But what do I find?

Distance.

“Night”

By: Jenah McCall

Night.

Night is dark, it is not bright.

The only light

Is from the stars.

Stars.

They‘re up in the sky,

Shining down,

And waiting;

Waiting on someone

To wish on them,

Or gaze at them

Just like we did

That night.

So tonight,

I‘ll go outside

And gaze at the stars,

And wish on them,

And think of you

And that night.