Creativity: key to expression

Students showcase talents through variety of mediums Part 2

Amelia is not a happy girl. She abandoned any dream of happiness long ago. The rains had battered her far too much, and the sun had shined far too little for her to be hopeful any more. Hope became Amelia’s source of condemnation, and her conviction became a past hope; a manipulation of her history in which she tried to rewrite an ineradicable present. But no matter how hard she tried, her future was ironclad in calamity; nothing more than a matrix of her past. Amelia had always hoped that the future would be a promise land, but to her it was only bewilderment. It took her a long time to realize that the unknown can never be anything else. In many ways she had been enlightened by her bleak circumstance, but she had never before felt more dark. Amelia became conscious of her future; but as she discovered, it was not some distant aspiration; it was present, and it was anything but hopeful.

One night, her father came home in one of his drunken stupors, shouting and cursing into the wind. Amelia quickly tried to retreat to the bunker that was her closet, but before she could, her father stopped her.

His voice boomed. “Where you going girl”

“To my room papa”

“Like hell you are, come here”

Amelia just stood there. No matter how hard she tried, she was too afraid to move.

“Come here girl” … “Girl if I have to tell you one more –

– “You’re scaring me papa!”

And he looked at her; tears streaming down her face, her body just frozen in place… and he lunged.

The rain fell hard that night; the dense drops of water mercilessly splattered the ground below, mauling the vegetation that fruitlessly tried to grow from their filthy roots.

-Courtland Triplett, senior

 

“…I made it to the kitchen door and then I heard something from across the halls, like doors were slowly closing and then pictures started to fall off the walls. I hid under the bed, praying that everything stops. Then the bedroom door swung opened and “it” walked in and circled the bed, it knew where I was but it didn’t look at me it just walked out of the room and that is when everything turned black. I later woke from a startling noise, but when I awoke I realized that I was in a different bed and I didn’t know if I was still in my house. I got up and looked around to see if there was a way out but all I saw was old wood flooring and musty walls, there was a metal outline of a door but instead of a door it was the same musty wallpaper that had been torn from what looked like human claw marks…”

I made this piece during my sophomore year of high school. When I started this project we were learning Frankenstein in my English class and that had inspired me to finish this story which I later gave to my English teacher to help proof read this, however school work got in the way and I wasn’t able to finish the story.

Brandon Mulhall, junior

 

May I compare thee to a flash?

Here and gone as quick as a snap.

Jumping into my life creating a splash

Leaving behind, in my heart, a crack.

Or may I compare thee to a quake?

Breaking my fire down to a sizzle

Making me feel as if my world has a constant shake

And if my tears were rain, they’d now be nothing but a drizzle.

You may have tried to break me,

But you were only successful in setting me free.

Emily Whitaker, senior

 

Hurricane

The sinister waves scoffed at the desperation they were leaving behind.

With an ostentatious crash, they easily engulfed another portion of the city.

Dread washed over the patrons far more quickly than the water,

And the deadly, dark liquid received glee at every scream it induced.

The frothy water was a rabid dog: Angry, insane, and dangerous.

In certain sections of the city it moved almost languidly,

As though relishing in the ruin.

Each sloshing of waves was a bellow, a call for more brutality, more devastation.

The storm was agitated, and as one wave crashed over the next,

The hatred it spew left a catastrophe that none would ever forget.

Shelby Otte, senior

 

Excerpt from Gray

                  Past the lawn, past the hole in the fence, past the dirt road, and we’re free from the headquarters. I’ve got Joey in my arms, hardly 40 pounds. He clutches my white shirt, nuzzling his head into my chest, as if he’s scared that if he looks, agents will be coming up the hill toward us.

                  We keep running, too terrified to look back or care if our boots break sticks. Wildflowers are blooming after last night’s rain. Water droplets on the petals refract light the color of blood.

                  Rose stumbles to the side, vomiting beside a tree. I have the same nausea, but I am also carrying Joey.

                  “We can’t stop,” I say, gulping.

                  She bends over, and then vomits again, her back tense and shaking. She spits. A long string of saliva hangs off her lip.

                  “I can’t believe,” she pants slowly, “All those things in there. I can’t believe it. Who could do something like that?”

                  Joey whimpers. He’s urinated. I set him down so he stands. He looks away from me with shame, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist.

                  “Hey. Hey, buddy,” I kneel beside him. “It’s okay. It can happen to anyone, and you’re just a…” I stop. My heart stops. I look to him with colorless cheeks. “You’re just a little kid.”

                  I undo my jacket, instructing Joey to remove anything wet so he can wrap that around him. He’s trembling so much I have to help him. His legs are quivering.

                  “There,” I say, tying it off in the back. “What a wonderful gypsy skirt you’ve got.”

                  He appears puzzled, as if wondering why I’d crack a joke in a very not-joking situation. Well, that’s the purpose of jokes, isn’t it?

                  “We’ll circle around the forest and get to Turtle Cave a new way,” Rose decides, walking ahead. I pick up Joey and follow.

—————–

                  We make it to the cave, and that’s when I see Rose has tears streaming down her face. I set Joey on a sleeping bag, giving him the ‘one second’ gesture.

                  I go to Rose, expecting the worst. I know what we saw in there, and those images will never leave us. She has her arms crossed, bowing her head.

                  I hesitate to hug her, give her some kind of consolation. Rose looks up to me.

                  “Promise me you’ll never become an agent.”

                  I can’t speak. It feels like a full minute before I say softly, “I don’t make promises. I can’t.”

                  “Do this one. Just for me,” she says. “Promise.”

                  I stop short, looking to her rainy gray eyes. “Okay. I promise.”

Heather Jackson, senior

 

Tiger was beautiful. There was nothing that he couldn’t get away with. His pure gold fur made it easy for people to trust him. Everyone thought he was a gift from the gods and would give him whatever he wanted. Despite his beauty, however, he was evil and had no regard for human life.

He would take whatever he wanted without any consequences or remorse. Whenever a village started to catch on to his evil ways, he would simply move on to the next village. No one could stop Tiger, he would kill who he wanted, take what he wanted, and destroy everything in his path. Nothing could stop Tiger no matter how hard anyone tried.

All changed when Guan-Yin, the goddess of protection, saw what he was doing. She was angry at how easily he could trick the villagers. She knew there was no reasoning with him; he would continue to kill innocent people unless he was stopped. She didn’t want to kill him, but he had to be punished for his crimes.

Jaquelyn John, junior

 

Up on Powelter St. there lived a man. His neighbors knew him as Mr. Ricard, and that was what he liked to be called. Ricard was one of those people that everyone knew. He was ubiquitous and ever cheerful. Ricard never failed to smile, and you could hear his laughter peal through the town at any time of day. Many liked to comment that his laughter was as cheap as air.

He was a landmark. A fixture that was synonymous with the street itself. Long after the kids had grown old and left that little town, one of the few things they remembered was Mr. Ricard. His was the face that they recalled when they thought back to those childhood days. Of all the adventures they had and the imaginary monsters they would hide from, because they all knew that Mr. Ricard kept a careful eye on them.

When he died, many years later, it was a shock. He had still seemed so young. His timeless face and cheerful manner just belied the truth, the people thought. He was buried on a ridge far from the town that had a scenic view of the church’s steeple, some miles away. He had no family, and no close friends either. No one spoke at his funeral, but some muttered prayers as they stood watching the freshly turned dirt.

His once lovely garden grew weeds, and his house began to sag. What was once green became brown and white, yellow. For some reason no one ever bought that nice little house on Powelter St. The home that used to ring with laughter sat slowly decaying, absent of life.

Time passed, and eventually Mr. Ricard was forgotten. His house was replaced with a new building, and it was only, after all trace of him was long gone, that laughter was once again heard on 13th Powelter St.

Liam McMullin, senior

 

Not Hard Feelings, Just Remorse

It was raining then too,

Don’t you remember?

Or have you just forgotten

That there was a time when we

Thought we would be together forever.

I don’t have the same feelings anymore

Nor do I request their return.

Our friendship is wilted today,

But hey, we can still pretend its ok.

Don’t trouble yourself over my wellbeing.

I’m not sure if you do or not, but if you’re anything like me there’s a bit of an Obligation.

I’m sorry for how it all ended.

Not just with you, but with all of them.

I’d ask you to tell them I love them but

You lied enough for me in the past.

Maybe I’ll come home, maybe not.

I never planned on seeing you again,

And I really did hope he was right for you.

I’m sorry he failed you too.

You’ll find someone, I’m sure.

But don’t settle for another until you find

Someone who makes you feel the way I do now:

Far better than how I made you feel.

Anthony Hartnell, junior

 

My ponderings tremendous; actions few

Solemnly silent; whispers uncertain

Hath I measured the worth of pleasures new?

Hath eyes deceived my ease; remain certain

Tumultuous time, how shall I compare?

Endless history; boundless mystery.

Oft I arrive into the Devil’s lair

Oh, loathsome life, thou art my misery!

Come revolution or revelation here.

Let not these happenings overshadow

My self, taking a stand; harrowing dear,

These trials tear and snare, must I follow?

Copious crimson illuminates dim lodgings,

Alas, my demons began the plotting.

-Jamie Pellikaan, junior

 

The Plague

The plague struck our town horribly, almost killing off the whole town. There were only eight lone survivors, thankfully we made a pact among each other. We have no clue what he disease was, but it was horrid to watch. Everyone struck with the disease went mentally insane, until eventually taking their own lives. There was four stages of the disease; first was depression, it created the victim to become immensely sad and empty of any other emotion, then anxiety, constantly giving them panic attacks, next was a dissociative personality disorder, where the alter ego would emerge as a form of that persons worst self, and would do the most sinful things. Many would kill loved ones, then their alter ego would disappear, leaving them clueless of what happened the past couple of hours. But finally the schizophrenia emerged, which made them hallucinate all the terrible things they did while in their alter ego. It would also make them imagine many other unrealistic, terrible things. For instance, my mother was struck with the disease, and when the final stage hit, she always thought that my throat was slit when I was talking to her, and she would assume I was dying. The fear I saw in her eyes every time that happened, was no where close to describable.

One weird thing about the plague is, that somehow, whenever someone died, their shoes would be placed on the main road through out our tiny town. Eventually you couldn’t drive through it because there were to many shoes to count. I guess it was something the universe evilly planned to do, to torture everyone who was immune to the plague. Or maybe it was just a way to remember everyone by, but honestly all I could remember is watching everyone’s final days, and seeing heir humanity completely draw out of them, day by day.

The eight of us came together one week before today. Everyone sane made sure to keep connected, and update each other on who was lost. We began to plan out leaving, each of u gathering money, food, water, first I’d kits, gas, cars, medicine, and whatever camping supplies needed. We knew the closest town was 20 miles out, but we didn’t know if it was safe. These people, in the third stage were easily capable of harming or killing a person, so we had to keep caution. We tried to reach out to the other town, but had no signal somehow. We still planned to leave this town behind, the pain you felt seeing this town and remembering what it was, then remembering all that happened was truly heartbreaking. It was hell on earth staying here, none of us could bear the pain.

It’s funny because of course one of the survivors is Eric Elliot, the one boy I truly liked, who never liked me back. I mean I was to scared to ever talk to him, but now I was forced too. It was that type of crush where you just watch them live their life and fall for stupid little ting they do, but never grow a pair and actually get to know them. I was a pretty confident person, thanks to my friends I used to have.

The other people in the group were Pastor Jonathan, the town’s priest, Victoria, a young thirteen year old girl, who I secretly admired because she kept herself together so well, for being so young, while I keep falling apart and crumbling to pieces. Then there were Gage and Damen, they were a gay couple, so that really thrilled Pastor Jonathan. Next was Elise and Eric, they were insuperable twins who around their middle twenties, they restored the group of happiness and optimism. Next was Willow, she was a very kind old lady, everyone in town respected Willow and was friends with her. We all got along well as a group, and travelled peacefully together.

We only had two cars, which were a 2005 Jeep Liberty, and an 1979 Honda Civic. But now enough gas. The Jeep had awful gas mileage and was already left almost on empty, so we ditched that in our first 10 miles, because we only had a couple gallons of gas to spare. Then by the 15th mile, on our 20 mile journey the civic broke down. At least it was only 5 miles for us to go, but it still was dangerous to be out at nigh, and we didn’t know if Willow could handle the walk. But eventually, twenty-eight hours later we reached the outskirts of Windsor, Kansas.

“ Gia, what are your plans if the town is safe?” Tyler asked me.

“Honestly I never thought about the future somehow, I was too scared I guess. Like I don’t know how I’m going to live without my family or friends.” I replied, I really was clueless, alone, and afraid. I don’t know what was more terrifying, what happened to our town, or what to do with myself now.

“Considering we are the only ones who can understand each other the most, I think we should tick together for awhile.” Tyler said staring at the ground.

I wish I could tell what he really meant, but either way I really liked the sound of that.

“I agree, that’s a great idea” I said to Tyler smiling. He smiled back and nodded his head. I couldn’t read him, but this was the only happiness I had felt for awhile.

We finally arrived to the inside of the town, and when we did I felt a million waves of hope rush through my body. It was around 8:30 at night, and the sun would be down soon, so we quickly tried to find the police station. It was strange though, while we were walking through the town seemed to be deserted.

After walking for fifteen minutes a huge van came down our way, and it came fast. I saw Damen and Gage start to run so we followed. We begin running down the street until we took a left onto another street. And right when we turned that corner we stopped dead in our tracks. Because on that street was a pile of about twenty shoes. We all looked at each other and Pastor Jonathan said a prayer. How will we survive this one?

-Alex DeCarlo, junior

 

  1. There I am waiting for the end of the hurricane,
  2. With the wind thrashing and slashing against my house
  3. While the rain chaotically cascades outside my haven,
  4. Completely crushing any chance of escaping
  5. This wet and windy hell.
  6. As the storm pounds all around my house, I reflect
  7. On my previous plan: to rapidly (and rashly) retreat
  8. From the oncoming onslaught about to obliterate
  9. My home. Instead I decided that the storm would weaken when
  10. It came upon me. But I now realize that I am in the teeth
  11. Of this terribly strong tumult, and with the flooding rushing past me,
  12. And the crashing of lightning echoing around me,
  13. I realize I have no choice but to waste away the hours until this
  14. Horrific storm has halted.

-Connor Horn, junior