Hemispheres 2019

Hemispheres 2019
A Wichita Collegiate School Publication

Hemispheres
Contributors
Ayah Al-Tabbal
Sam Bachrodt
Ben Brake
Eleni Chapas
Tyler Chapple
Sarah Chocron
Julia Cox
Blake Clay
Elizabeth Crosby
Addison Dart
Isabella Do
Caroline Duarte
Ryan Edwards
Awab Elamin
Stephanie Gentile
Hannah Geoffroy
JeAnna Gregg
Sydney Gwyn
Skylar Haag
Eric Haberman
Paige Henry
Justin Highbarger
Chase Horton
Eley Johnson
Maddie Kemnitz
Ellie Luetters
Victoria Lyczak
Sharon Mabasa
Maddy Mairs
Emily Mallard
Caitlin Mattar
Abby McCoy
Melissa Mellion
Austin Miller
Alex Owens
Lindsey Post
Harun Raffi
Hannah Rai
Zach Reddy
Abby Sahatjian
Max Salemi
Vanessa Sickmon
Addison Squires
Spencer Sullivan
Connor Sweetman
Allison Tee
Alessandra Vedder
Aidan Walsh
Greg Watts
Mallory Wells
Ashton Winter
Front Cover by JeAnna Gregg

Nostalgia
Haylee Allen

Take Me Back
Take me back, take me way, way, way back
To dirt-covered fingers
Reaching for an old toy buried, a proud momentum of endurance
Then moving inside, washing off,
And discovering a new picture book to enjoy.
My blanket was my best friend,
I cried and cried when my mom washed it.
My companion for years,
I finally gave it up at the request of my parents.
I had always loved Band-Aids,
With the vibrant colors and patterns,
So I covered my face with them.
I didn’t care we were about to go out to dinner,
I just wanted Band-Aids on my face during that moment.
Upon seeing me,
My mother pinned me down
And ripped them off.
It’s safe to say that never happened again.
On warm Saturday nights, we’d feast at the Chick-fil-A in suburban
Scottsdale,
And go to the drive-through at the Brown Cow.
I’d get a root beer float with chocolate ice cream,
And my sister vanilla.
One day, my grandma visited
All the way from snowy Michigan
She took me to Toys ‘R’ Us,
Bought me my heart’s desires,
And coaxed me out of my car seat,
Leading me up the driveway back into my house
To show my parents my winnings.

My most prized possession, however,
Was always a giant stuffed gorilla.
He was bigger than me,
And I’d rest on him while I read “Goodnight Moon.”
When I was older, I gave him to my sister
As a plea for forgiveness after my teasing.
My parents told me I’d regret it (of course I didn’t believe them)
And I did.
As job opportunities opened,
We moved to Wichita.
Loading our big white SUV
And preparing for the five-hour drive from Dallas, my second
home,
I didn’t understand what this change would mean.
The car ride was long, and I was bored,
So I layered the car’s windows with stickers galore,
Including fairies, rainbows, and hearts.
Oh how I trembled
Under my father’s wrath
When he saw the embellished windows
Of the car we soon had to sell.
Later, wearing tight plastic headbands,
Going to church hand-in-hand with my sister
We’d do crafts, cover our hands in glue,
Just to peel it off.
And when I got home,
I would open a chapter book,
And read all the words.
-Julia Cox

Zach Reddy

Identity
Identity is such a nostalgic thing. It is the town where you grew
up, the home in which you were raised, your childhood friends, and
the hopes and fears and dreams that you don’t dare to speak to
anyone. Identity is the books that you keep thinking about months
after you read them and the music whose lyrics you can sing perfectly
at the top of your lungs. Identity is skinned knees and secrets
whispered among friends. It is the vast, yawning summers when you
can drive to nowhere with music that’s too loud and the friends you
love singing along in the backseat. It is all the places you have been
and all the places you have yet to go. Identity is everything that you
love, everything that you hate, and everything in between- the very
foundation of you.
However, foundations can crumble, worn away by the humdrum
noise of everyday life. You may forget the words to your once favorite
song or the way the branches of the birch tree outside of your
childhood bedroom tapped against your window when the wind blew,
but you would still be able to hold on to something, something bigger
than that nostalgia. No, your foundation truly crumbles when you lose
your ambition. As lovely as it is to reminisce on the past, it is your
goals for the future which keep you from getting washed away in the
monotony of school, work, sleep, repeat. Without ambition, you
become a shell, going through the motions but going nowhere. The self
is on a constant upward trajectory, and without ambition, the self
becomes stagnant and eventually ceases to exist.
-Hannah Rai

The Glue of Our World
Nothing’s quite so clear now,
Nothing’s quite the same.
Time alone does not allow
To keep alight this flame.
I blink an eye, I glance away,
But nothing seems to last.
For when I lead my mind astray,
I realize time has passed.
Gone are the days of running free,
Of doing as we please.
For where we thought our youth would be,
We found old age and fees.
I long for days with so much love,
The cup might overflow.
But nowadays we push and shove,
I’m ashamed we’ve stooped so low.
Something’s very clear now,
There’s something we must do.
We must find our hearts somehow,
For love is our world’s glue.
-Emily Mallard

Elizabeth Crosby

Alone, Lonely, and Isolated
Isolated, alone, and lonely are three terms often seen as synonyms that when considered in
their full entirety have very little to do with each other. By definition they are not all that different,
but it is the emotion that sets them apart. The two most commonly placed together are alone and
lonely. These two terms even share most of their letters with each other, but they do not share their
meaning. To most people, being alone means you are lonely, and being lonely means you are
alone. But people are perfectly capable of being alone without feeling lonely. And just because you
are not alone, doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely. We have all known that feeling of emptiness as our
soul leaves our chest in favor of some other location less… lonely. And we have all felt that when
standing in a crowd. Even surrounded by the people supposed to be your closest friends, all it
takes is one false glance or the intrusion of an unwanted invader to feel lonely. Clearly in this
situation you are not alone. You are the opposite of alone. You are surrounded by others and yet
you feel lonely. So clearly alone does not mean lonely. Yet still we seem to think loneliness is
caused by being alone. Is it because society has taught us that we are required to be around people
and integrate?
Being alone doesn’t mean you are lonely. The constant movement of society leaves so little
room for being alone that we often forget the liberating feeling of having no one around. Suddenly
all your thoughts flow freely through your head, gently tearing down the mud and rock of stress.
Being alone means you are not around anyone else, but it doesn’t mean you are longing for the
companionship of someone else. We all have sat in a room encompassed by an overwhelming
quiet, complacent in our position. In that moment you are not lonely. This clearly means that
loneliness does not accompany being alone. So why do we associate these two terms? Is it because
we have adapted to think that the lone wolf gets left behind? Is it because of our innate fear of
never finding love of some form?
Loneliness is purely sentimental. Lonely is your heart calling for another warm heart to
love on. Lonely is your mind’s searching for another mind to talk to. Lonely is your body looking
for another body to touch. Lonely is a feeling that encompasses your entire being without ever
reaching the surface. Its solutions, while there are many, are much more complex than those of
being alone. You must appease each aspect of it then and only then can you feel a respite from
the emptiness in your heart. The hole in you that has grown in time must be mended using
time. With love, words, and kindness we can slowly mend the uncontrollable loss we feel. The
term alone is purely secular. Alone means having no one else present. It means you stand in a
space where no one else stands. It is easy to change and rarely the root of your problem.
Alone is the lack of people around you, and paired with Lonely it is excruciating, but
compared to Isolation it is nothing. Isolation as a term is the hardest to understand of the three.
Isolation itself means far away from everything and traced back to its roots it is a lonely island.
It’s a term that can be used in such a versatile fashion that its true meaning gets lost among its
simpler synonyms.

The word sounds like a cold, dark expanse with only you in it. Your heart gets lost
somewhere among the syllables of the word. To some people the word has a gentle roundness
that rolls off your tongue like sweet candy. To some it is their worst fear. Isolation means Alone,
Lonely, Everything, and Nothing. Isolation is you having no one. Isolation is you pushing others
out. It is the wings that free your thoughts, and the dread that fills your heart each time they
walk away. Isolation is the look in their eyes when the last of their love for you drips out like
sand in an hourglass. Isolation is the final hug goodbye as you part ways knowing that your
hearts will never be the same. Isolation is despair. However, it is in this state that we may learn
the most. It is the state where we are willing to push boundaries and break borders we never
would have even approached before. This is where true cruel hope can be found.
-Vanessa Sickmon
Sharon Mabasa

What’s Not Yours- A Dramatic Monologue
I think it’s safe to say that life as a teenager is not the easiest. We are at
an age where adults want us to stop acting like children, but still don’t
treat us like adults. We learn the most about ourselves in high school,
even if it means constant embarrassment. But understand that whatever
you may be going through, I don’t want you to feel alone. I could tell you a
hundred empty phrases about “Don’t give up” or “It’s worth it in the end”,
but instead, I want to tell you this: your life does not belong to you. You
have shared experiences with people, and made loving, lasting
friendships with individuals who care about you. Along the way to get
where you are, you have been giving away pieces of your life. When you
were born, your parents were left with a piece of you. When your first day
of school came around, all the way through high school, your teachers got
to know you and care for you. The people you sit with at lunch have come
to know you. The people you meet in stores and shops who you
sometimes talk to, even they have a connection with you at some point in
their lives. Little pieces of you get chipped away at and given to others
over time. You may not notice, but it happens. You are a part of their
lives. And for that, your life does not belong to you, and it isn’t yours to
take. You wouldn’t feel anything if you took yourself out of your own life,
but when you’re gone everyone who knew and cared for you feels empty,
because that little piece of livelihood that you shared with them, you
quickly snatched back to make things right in your mind by disappearing,
but that piece of you? It no longer belonged to you, because you gave it
away. Don’t take what isn’t yours just because you think you can justify it,
because no matter what you say, you left them with an empty space in
their hearts for taking what’s not yours.
-Abby McCoy

Someone’s Identity
People and places can have a magical effect on an individual and help influence
reactions, responses, and behaviors. People I know and places I have spent time have helped
shape my identity. My friends and family, individuals whom I love dearly, have helped me find
who I truly am. My interactions with my family and friends create a sense of security and
happiness, allowing for joy and warmth in my life. I feel safe with these people because I can be
myself. I can grow; I can flourish as a person. Inside jokes or serious conversations prompt a
laugh, a smile, or a tear. All these responses allow a person to find where they belong or feel like
they matter. Without my friends and family, I would feel lost. Every friend or family member has
impacted my life in some way. Places can also play a role in shaping an individual. My family,
in particular, has a deep association with a place that I feel has contributed to many aspects of
my individuality. As someone who has moved around for all her life, it seems as if I have only
one “permanent” home. Traverse City, Michigan has been my safe landing and what I call
“home.” My family and I have vacationed here since I was born.
Because I always return to this same house on the same lake during the same days within
a calendar year, it provides me with a sense of familiarity and routine. If I were to lose this
special place, I would feel disoriented. A part of me would be missing. What is “home” for many
people is a rooted place. My family’s cottage on Lake Leelanau is part of what makes this my
“home,” but it is also the city itself. Without the buttered sourdough toast from 45th Parallel
Café on a summer morning or the succulent and bittersweet cherries from one of the many
cherry orchards, this whole place would lose all meaning. Part of what makes Traverse City so
meaningful to me is the fact that I know I can always go back. It’s always there.
I have abundant memories associated with this location as I grew up here every
summertime and had some of my first-ever experiences. I learned how to waterski, drive a boat,
drive a car, kayak, canoe, play volleyball, ride a horse, and tie my shoes. When I go back to my
familiar spot, memories such as my firsts come rushing back to the point where I can almost
relive them. My family contributes to these Traverse-City-related memories because of their role
in making each memory so special. When I was first able to slalom ski, my mom, dad, grandpa,
and sister were cheering on the other side of the ski rope on the boat because of my huge
accomplishment.
Even though I gave my grandpa vertigo the first time I drove a car, I still have a fun, lighthearted
memory regarding a first-ever experience whenever I look at his Jeep. Each memory I
have in Traverse City is unique. It plays a role in my identity because of the life qualities that I
have learned from spending so much time here. Because I have been acclimated to the cottage
on Lake Leelanau since 2002, it would be so hard for me to say goodbye. My whole childhood has
been associated with this place because of all my past endeavors. Despite only growing up here
in the summertime, Traverse City showed me that it could still be considered my childhood
home because it is up to you to define a place and its worth in your life.
-Stephanie Gentile

Hannah Geoffroy

Only as Sane as You
Two boys sit outside, underneath a tree. Sometime ambiguously in the mid-20th century. They
are students, 14-16 years old. The conversation is natural, and at times immature and/or
vulnerable. Forced recitation of the lines takes away from the integrity of the piece.
Boy 1: It’s nice out, isn’t it? Well I guess it’s almost spring. Still, it’s nice. God… I’ve missed
the sun.
Boy 2: It’s supposed to snow tomorrow, though. At least I think it is. Mr. Walters certainly
seems to think that it will. He gave us an additional reading assignment to keep us busy on
the off chance it does. I think he’s delusional.
Boy 1: He’s incredibly smart though, if you can look past his…well…eccentric behavior. He
seems to like you, at the very least.
Boy 2: I suppose it’s nice… Did you know he has a son?
Boy 1: How old?
Boy 2: Sixteen… He’s not in the grade above us. I think he stays at home and is privately
taught. I’ve heard… well… he’s maimed.
Boy 1: Really?
Boy 2: That’s just what I’ve heard. Apparently, Mr. Walters stabbed his son in the eye with a
knife.
Boy 1: Christ!
Boy 2: An accident, of course, but who really knows? They say it was at a steak dinner, and
Walters was cutting a steak with a butcher knife and flung the knife up right as his son sat
down at the table. Right into his eye. Blind. And he wears an eyepatch so no one can see.
Boy 1: God…
Boy 2: And he stays in his room, except at night. That’s when he does his schoolwork. He
walks through the halls and… well I don’t believe it. I’d be stupid too. If Walters ever did that
to his son, he’d kill himself first, we both know it.
Boy 1: I suppose… Is he married?
Boy 2: Yeah… I’ve seen her once, she dropped something off in his classroom. She’s a
hideous woman… she and Walters are perfect for each other.
Boy 1: (Laughing) You’re wicked!
Boy 2: It’s true… What’s that book you’ve got there?
Boy 1: It’s for English. It’s about a 16th century philosopher.
Boy 2: Sounds dull.
Boy 1: It is… but there’s some things in here that have got me thinking. The trouble is I can
barely understand it.
Boy 2: Here… let me have it. (Flicking through the book). “Human spiritualism and union of
the soul- the intrinsic human experience”- what a load of pretentious-
Boy 1: (Cuts him off) Maybe to you.
Boy 2: I guess…

Boy 1: (Grabs the book and reads a line) “And the people wept together, and their souls
became one. We are all but of the same.”
Boy 2: Except for Walter’s son.
Boy 1: Do you believe it?
Boy 2: That Walters stabbed his son?
Boy 1: No, that we are all connected somehow. That it’s within each of us. It’s not enough
to believe in an outside force if we haven’t looked within ourselves and found something
there that we believe in. It’s probably stupid… but I just feel like I’m having an
experience. Like I’ve been thinking so much, and I feel like I’ve found the answers. Is that
arrogant? Because it feels like a singular and personal experience, and I know that
others before me must have felt this way, but for some reason it feels entirely my own.
Boy 2: … You’ve been thinking about this too much. It’s all the same to believe in
something, you don’t need to look so deep. You’ll be unsatisfied for the rest of your life.
Boy 1: Unsatisfied? Isn’t it worse to never give yourself the chance to find out? To
purposefully live a life of ignorance?
Boy 2: Perhaps… I’d rather not think about it… Did I ever tell you about my aunt? Well,
she’s sick. Not physically, she’s funny sick. She sees shadows of things that aren’t there.
She’s not married. Do you know why?
Boy 1: She’s not married?
Boy 2: No, why she’s sick. 'Cause she thought so much. She would think so much about
everything until she started thinking about stuff you can’t see, and that’s when she started
seeing it.
Boy 1: You're not saying you think I’ll become…
Boy 2: No, but…
Boy 1: (Slamming the book shut) I hope it doesn’t snow. I was thinking we could go down
to the lake tomorrow.
Boy 2: I can’t. My parents are coming tomorrow, remember? And I’ve got trigonometry.
Boy 1: Oh…
Boy 2: I admire it though. You know… the thinking. Even if you’ll end up insane. Not that I
want you to. Not that I would do it myself. But somebody’s got to. Or else we will fill our
brains with nothing but intellectual rubbish, not the things that are truly important.
Boy 1: Is it worth it then? Studying so hard?
Boy 2: Sure, it is! How else are you going to make money? I see it as this way -- you have
two lives. One in which you are totally focused on survival, and the other is on morality
and all that. And that’s what makes us different, you know? From other living things. They
only have the instinctual need to survive. We have it too, sure, but we also have to find
balance and spiritual goodness and all that philosophical jargon. But they don’t ever go
hand in hand. You have to favor one over the other.
Boy 1: You mean…

Boy 2: Look, I want to get out of here. I like it well enough, but I want to move to a suburb and
work in the city. You know, in business or something. And I’ll have a car, and a big house that’s
got its very own garage, and I’ll be married, and, in the summer, we’ll travel and… you can’t do
that without money.
Boy 1: Yeah, but just because it takes money doesn’t mean you can’t look out for someone. Or
that you have to let your conscience suffer for each paycheck. You won’t fall down if you help
someone else up on the way to the top.
Boy 2: What if they get there first? You’re an idealist, you know that? And maybe I am too, and
my visions of the future don’t leave room for doubt, but I think I am realistic in recognizing the
road to get there. You’re going to be the kind of guy that has absolutely nothing, you know that?
A minimalist. Giving what you don’t even have to give and taking nothing back. You’re going to
be penniless, and people will worry if you’ll land on your feet. But God, you are going to be
happy. You’re going to be so happy, and yet you’ll have nothing. And I’ll try, but I’ll never
understand it. (Pause) I’ll never understand…
Boy 1: (Pausing) Maybe Walters will be right. About the snow.
Boy 2: Maybe… (A moment). Did you know Walters has a daughter?
Boy 1: (Hesitant) No.
Boy 2: I swear. But she’s without an arm.
Boy 1: You’re kidding…
Boy 2: Of course not. You see, it had happened that one night at dinner Walters asks her to take
the chicken out of the oven and bring it to the table. And she does, and he gets out his knife
and before he realizes chops her arm off. He had missed the chicken.
Boy 1: (Laughing) You’re insane!
Boy 2: Only as sane as you.
-Mallory Wells
Polaroids, by Mallory Wells

Eleni Chapas

Editor Feature
Matika Wilbur- Through the Lens
In looking at the black-and-white photographic works of Matika Wilbur,
there is no doubt that she captures the vibrant culture of the Indigenous
population of America. Beyond the typecasts defined by figures such as
Pocahontas and Sacagawea remains a pulsating population of 5.2 million
Native Americans within the contiguous United States. With over 2,000
languages and 562 tribes, Wilbur’s lens has been able to grasp the
various walks of life that transcend preconceptions of her people. As an
artist, she defines her style through a story told through portraiture. The
following works are from her Project 562, a cultural exploration in
representing the 562 Native American tribes.
-JeAnna Gregg

Nature
Addison Dart

50 Word Story
A tree grew on the edge of a canyon. It wanted to see what's below, so it
grew over the edge, but it couldn't see. It kept growing across the canyon,
but it still couldn't see, and its roots broke, and began to fall, falling to
finally see what's below.
-Max Salemi
Alex Quian

Scapegoat Sky
I've been lost on a particularly hot day,
The ubiquitous heat is suffocating and thick
And adds to the tension of separation and anxiety
Detached and spiraling further and exponentially
Confusion when you can't locate yourself
Or locate others you love or any ounce of familiarity
The sun lingering above you
Silently kills from beyond an immaculate sky
I've endured particularly rough storms,
Ones that shake the house and fill the rooms with grey dread
Charcoal and moss tinted clouds roll and fester
Like spiders kempt in a jar deprived of a meal
Tempests that flood the depths of the darkest basements
And lightning that exposes every glint of fear in my eyes
Hail that seizes the ground to the beat of my heart
Paired with dragon like winds that manifest the sky
And night comes around every day
The sky's pastels morph into eerie dark tones
Only little dot stars and a curling moon provide any light
Despite the daunting boundless black shade
I know in the back of my head the sun will rise in the morning
And free me from the fetter of blindness
The darkest hours can occur even in broad daylight
But it’s wrong to place blame on the vast blue mirror
-Connor Sweetman

Spencer Sullivan

Butterfly exploration essay
It can be undeniably said that butterflies are one of the most majestic beings on this
earth. At all times, they can be seen to have an aura of grace as they gently flap their wings
to go from one task to the next. Butterflies are peaceful creatures that are pictured in
serene images of a beautiful garden. In addition, like magic, they undergo an awe-inspiring
transformation that grants them the gift of flight. Ranging in infinite colors and sizes,
butterflies that are unique can be found all over the world. An example of one such unique
butterfly is the Precis octavia. This spectacular species can be found throughout sub-
Saharan Africa, and these butterflies are one of the most widely distributed in Africa. The
Precis octavia can be found mainly in the savannah biome, especially rocky areas. It is
almost never found in forest and does not survive well in very dry areas. One of the most
amazing things about the Precis octavia is that it has two strikingly different forms
according to the season. In the wet season, this butterfly is a bold, bright orange with some
black markings. In the dry season, it looks completely different and is a brilliant blue that
seemingly sparkles, with a rich red band on the tips. At times when it is in between these
two seasons, both forms are present. This marvelous morph has been described as one of
the most astounding of any butterfly. In fact, these two forms were at one point thought to
be distinct species.
Despite the differences between these two forms, they are still the same species.
Behind the contrasting colors, they are one and the same. Whether they are orange or
blue, they are Precis octavia. None of the butterflies choose their color; nature gives it to
them.
If a blue one came into contact with an orange one, would it see it as different? Or
would it recognize that they are truly both the same? Would it treat it differently? Would it
make assumptions about it? Just as these butterflies are truly the same, all people are the
same at their cores. When people can look past the superficial characteristics, it is easy to
see that everyone is a human being just like them. It sounds like a very simple thing to do,
yet it is so difficult for many. Too many people fail to look past things such as race.
Whether a person is brown, white, black, or anywhere in between, they are human. No
race is better than any others. Rather, they are all equal. Yet, because people fail to see
this, there is hate, violence, and hurt in the world. This is something that has to be fixed.
When will come the point where skin color doesn’t dictate a person’s perception? When
will come the point where the first thing that is noticed about a person is their character,
rather than the color of their skin? When will come the point where people see their
similarities rather than their differences? There has to be hope that one day the point will
come where true equality is achieved.
-Isabella Do

Ashton Winter

Paint Chip Poem
Yellow & mellow, I lie on the grass.
Morning to night, the time flies too fast.
I drift off to sleep to the hum of the wind,
Embraced by the grass, warm and untrimmed.
Morning mimosas fill my dreams,
Sliding down rainbows and dancing in sun beams.
I wake from my slumber to the ring of a bell,
Vanilla chai fills the air, what a wonderous smell!
Yellow & mellow, I lie on the grass.
Morning to night, the time flies too fast.
-Emily Mallard

Night Sky -- A Single Syllable Story
As I sat in the cold, damp grass and felt the breeze kiss my
skin, I looked up to the sky. I saw how full of life the night sky
was as the stars danced. While the moon cared for the bright
stars, they were full of life. In them I could see lots of tales. I saw
a young boy run and hide in a lush, green bush just as a small
girl laughed and said, “I found you!” I saw an old man smile as he
rocked back and forth in his wood chair while small specks of
light buzzed by him. I saw twins have the most fun with just
rocks and sticks. In the stars, I saw the world smile.
-Isabella Do
Ellie Luetters

Ayah Al-Tabbal

50 Word Story
I walked through the forest seeing the wonder of nature around me. Beauty
could be seen everywhere except... a tree being cut down, smoke billowing
from a factory, an animal being shot for sport, the destruction of our
world.
I tried to wake up, but it was no dream.
-Justin Highbarger
Alex Owens

Sky Sprinkles and the Garden
There is not much in the world that is as peaceful as rain. There is something about
the little droplets of water plummeting from the sky that makes me feel calm. It was a busy
day in October, and I was feeling the immense burden of all the schoolwork that I needed
to do in addition to a nearly suffocating amount of music and dances I needed to
memorize for my extracurriculars. To put it in simple terms, I was in a state of panic.
Time was flying by, and all of the deadlines and due dates were just around the corner.
It was at the peak of my state of panic that I happened to look up from my laptop. I
saw a bushy tail race by the window. I looked a little to the right, and there was another
bushy tail. I began to watch the squirrels chase each other around the trees. Upon closer
examination, I noticed that the sky was crying. She was letting her burdens descend from
her arms – one by one in the form of tiny sprinkles. She was taking her stress and
troubles and turning them into something beautiful. She was taking her pain and
transforming it into a gift for the earth.
So often we hear of ugly crying, but I believe that crying is something beautiful. As the
sky released her pain and, in turn, blessed the earth, we can rid ourselves of our own
troubles and turn them into something good. About five years ago, I stumbled across a
quote from Brian Jacques’ The Taggerung that I have never forgotten. “Don't be ashamed to
weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow
without water.” This quote immediately captivated me; it was the first time in my life that a
quote expressed why crying can be a good thing. I had always thought of tears as being
cleansers of emotion, which is true, but I had never pictured them as serving an actively
good purpose in life.
Emotion is real. It drives some mad, and others would prefer it did not exist. No matter
how much you try to escape it, emotion does not let anyone get away perfectly unscathed.
Emotion takes you into its hands and shapes you into the masterpiece you were meant to be
bit by bit. There is a type of beautiful vulnerability that comes with this process. It is only
through this shaping that you are able to prepare a gorgeous garden. Without it, you are
leaving all of the pain and sorrow as just that; you are not transforming the suffering into
something positive.
Tears are a promise. They are a purifying of the heart, of the soul. In the same way that
God promised he would never flood the earth to destroy mankind again with a rainbow, the
garden cared for by our tears promises that we will never be destroyed by the soldiers of
emotion. Crying is a gift in disguise, and it does not just stop when the tears stop falling. It
goes on to make something breathtaking. It is true that the garden is a reminder of the
struggles and the pain, but, more than that, it is a display of the strength you had to turn the
suffering into something wonderful.
-Victoria Lyczak

Storm -- A Single Syllable Story
Out of the blue, the sky turned dark as night. A storm was on the
way. The clouds turned from white to black. The trees blew so
close to the ground that they brushed it. With a loud roar from
the sky, the rain came down. Cars sped up as they tried to reach
home as fast as they could. Rain flowed down the streets like it
does down a stream. The rain turned to hail the size of golf balls
used on the course on a warm, June day. The sky roared as loud
as a lion roars when he fights. The sky blinked white, and then it
all went black.
-Sydney Gwyn
Abby Sahatjian

50 Word Story
The scientist had spent years studying subatomic life. One day, after
many hours spent creating a new microscope, he inspected a droplet of
water. He could see a minute spherical object within, He zoomed in. He
paused and rubbed his eyes. He zoomed in more. He was looking at earth.
-Aidan Walsh
En Verre, by Emily Mallard

Arc-en-ciel, by Emily Mallard

Editor Feature
Favorite First Lines of Novels
The first line of a book can be incredibly telling. Even the least prolific of
readers have heard Charles Dickens’ famous verbiage, “It was the best of
times, it was the worst of times.” Some authors use this line to introduce
a major theme or allegory, some authors use the first line to hook in the
reader by surprising them, and some authors even break the fourth wall
in order to form a relationship with the reader. Regardless of style, the
first line is undeniably setting up for the rest to come.
-Connor Sweetman
Greg Watts

Mrs. Stokley: "This book was born as I was hungry."
- Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Sarah Chocron: "Maman died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure."
-The Stranger by Albert Camus
Sabaa Ahmed: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a
good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”
-Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Alexa Do: "At the time I first realized I might be fictional, my weekdays were spent at a
publicly funded institution on the north side of Indianapolis called White River High School,
where I was required to eat lunch at a particular time — between 12:37 P.M. and 1:14 P.M. —
by forces so much larger than myself that I couldn’t even begin to identify them."
-Turtles All the Way Down by John Green
Austin Miller: "Gwaaaaah!"
-So I'm a Spider, So What? by Okina Baba
Connor Sweetman: "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own
way.”
-Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Mallory Wells: "When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie
house, but only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home."
-The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
Victoria Lyczak: "Now that I've found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the
night?"
-Matched by Allie Condie
Emily Hua: “Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best
ending for one.”
-The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
Jeanna Gregg: "All children, except one, grow up."
-Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie
Stephanie Gentile: "A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of
experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead."
-The End of the Affair by Graham Greene

Academia
JeAnna Gregg

Jem vs. Holden
In literature, a bildungsroman is a type of novel that deals with one person’s formative
years or spiritual education. In particular, it focuses on the character’s psychological development
and moral education. There are many great examples of bildungsroman novels, such as The
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, or Jane Eyre. Two of the most celebrated and acclaimed
bildungsroman novels of all time are The Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger, and To Kill a
Mockingbird, by Harper Lee. In these novels, the themes of losing innocence and attaining
maturity are presented through the actions of Holden Caulfield, the narrator of The Catcher in the
Rye, & Jem Finch, Scout’s brother in To Kill a Mockingbird. Between the two novels, The Catcher in
the Rye is able to present a more convincing picture of growing up, because it deals with multiple
facets of growing up, whereas To Kill a Mockingbird is limited to the theme of racial injustice.
In To Kill a Mockingbird, Jem Finch was introduced as the brother of Scout, the narrator.
The story itself was introduced as the events that led up to Jem breaking his arm, which would
occur when Bob Ewell attacked him and Scout after the Halloween pageant. Throughout the novel,
one of the most striking qualities of Jem was his faith in the system of law, and in justice. Jem’s
faith in the system of law was likely influenced by Atticus, his father, who was a lawyer himself.
Unfortunately, Jem’s belief in justice would be challenged immensely by the trial of Tom Robinson
and the subsequent verdict. Despite overwhelming evidence against Bob and Mayella Ewell’s
account of the events, the jury still decided to convict Tom Robinson of rape, signifying the deep
racial prejudice imbued in the town of Maycomb. This verdict would stun Jem, who was certain
that Tom Robinson was not guilty, and would cause Jem to lose his innocence and his faith in
justice. After witnessing this injustice, Jem became skeptical and distrustful of his neighbors,
showing that he had lost his childhood innocence.
Whereas Jem’s loss of innocence was presented through the trial of Tom Robinson, in The
Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caulfield is presented as a character who was already in the process of
losing his innocence and becoming an adult. Throughout the novel, Holden participated in several
“adult-like” activities, such as hiring a prostitute and drinking alcohol. In many ways, Holden was
shown to be an individual already in the middle of losing his innocence, and trying desperately
not to completely lose his childhood innocence and immaturity. The themes of sexuality,
loneliness, prejudice, and death all contribute to Holden’s loss of innocence, as the passing away
of Holden’s brother Allie had an especially profound effect on Holden’s demeanor. Throughout the
novel, Holden was not only growing up, but he seemed desperate to protect the innocence he
adored in children, such as his younger sister Phoebe. “…I have to come out from somewhere and
catch them. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all”(Salinger 191). Holden
confessed to Phoebe that he desired to be the “catcher in the rye” and that he wanted to stop
children from “falling off a cliff” and losing their innocence. Holden hated the fact that he was
losing his innocence, and thus, he desired to protect the innocence and naivety he saw in children
such as Allie and Phoebe.
Therefore The Catcher in the Rye is able to present a more convincing picture of growing up
than To Kill a Mockingbird, because it illustrates far more facets of losing your innocence.
Holden’s loss of innocence was influenced by multiple themes, including sexuality, prejudice, and
loneliness, whereas Jem’s loss of innocence was limited to the theme of racial injustice.
-Harun Raffi

Sam Bachrodt

From Revealed to Discovered Knowledge in the High Middle Ages
In the High Middle Ages, a profound transition occurred, moving from an
emphasis on revealed knowledge by way of divine revelation to an exaltation of
discovered knowledge by way of sensory perception and experience. Underlying this
transition was also a shift from old Platonic thought, which had defined Christianity
since its inception, to a new adoption of Aristotle. Indeed, the link between Aristotle and
discovered knowledge is a direct one. But to better appreciate this newfound Aristotelian
mindset, it is necessary to examine how it came to be at all, and what it really meant to
change as it did. The development of universities and the translations of Aristotle’s
works both helped set the stage. From there, great men emerged who used their
education to synthesize Aristotle and Christianity and to define this new way of
discovered truth. Others then applied this synthesis to various parts of life, from
religious doctrine to scientific examination. It was by all these that the transition
occurred and forever impacted the Middle Ages and the West as a whole.
Prior to this transition, the Middle Ages were based in a longstanding Christian
tradition dating to Antiquity. Christianity emphasized divine revelation, revealed truth
from God. One avenue of this revealed truth was Scripture, God’s Word, canonized in
the early centuries and maintained as constant in the Church. Also manifesting from
this religious foundation was the belief in visions and prophecies as divinely revealed
truth. Hildegard von Bingen is one notable example who not only claimed to receive
visions from God but was also generally accepted by the community as legitimate in her
divine revelation (Cahill 79). Another extremely important part of the predominant
mindset prior to this change was in philosophy. As an outgrowth of Antiquity,
Christianity rooted itself in Platonic thought. “Plato, not Aristotle, was the Greek
philosopher beloved of the fathers of the ancient church and, for that matter, of the
whole ancient world” (Cahill 196). The Patristics of the early Church followed Plato’s view
of the material world as but a shadow of the truth. The Forms, as they were referred,
were another world, the real world, in which real truth lies. The material world is finite,
corruptible, corporeal; the eternal truth infinite, incorruptible, incorporeal (Cahill 196).
The significance of this mindset comes in its effects on the perception of this world
and its possibilities for knowledge. Such thought tended to minimize the importance of
the material world and lacked any substantial sort of scientific inquiry. Reason was
valued, but it was reason understood as an apprehension of that other world, an
understanding apart from the material (Cahill 197). It was these two factors, divine
revelation and Platonism, which defined Christian tradition and so in turn defined the
whole of the Middle Ages, up until this great transition took place.

The transition itself can be explained by a variety of causes. One such avenue was through
the development of universities which arose during this time. Some concept of the university had
existed in centuries past, but it was far less structured or impressive. It was in the 12th and 13th
centuries that structured universities emerged and spread throughout Europe, and it was in these
new universities that students were educated on “medicine, law, theology, and the arts…” (Cahill
192). Without these universities, the transition to discovered observable truth would surely have
been impossible, for it was by these institutions that the new age of thinkers were educated.
But while the universities provided the platform for education, the real defining transition came
through the introduction of Aristotle to the West. His works, having been preserved by Muslims in
Arabic, were effectively translated into Latin by Averroes in the 12th century and so were made
accessible to Christian Europe (Cahill 207). In time, Aristotle would become the core of Medieval
thought and his work the cornerstone of this great transition. It was his philosophy, in direct
contrast to Plato’s, which brought about the whole shift towards that of discovered knowledge. This
new way of discovered knowledge was, as mentioned, founded on the teachings of Aristotle. It was
a way based not on some other eternal world distinct from the material, as Plato and the early
Church had been, but rather on this material world itself. Truth could actually be discovered in
this world through sensory perception and experience. The Forms were not existent apart from
reality, but rather existed within reality itself in the forms of universals (Cahill 197). This
difference between the Forms extramentally existing outside the world and the universals existing
within the world is the fundamental distinction between the old way and the new. And it was the
acceptance of the latter which brought the shift to discovered, perceived, experienced truth.
Abelard was one of the first to bring about this shift, specifically through the use of
Aristotle’s logic. This culminated in Abelard’s famous and controversial book, Sic et Non, an
objective analysis of the works of the Church Fathers and a practical tool for teaching to think
critically to approve or disprove claims (Cahill 197). He elevated the use of reason to the point of
challenging the supposed harmony of Church Fathers and Christian tradition and so directly
helped lead to the elevation of reason. Another contributor to the shift was Thomas Aquinas, who
worked to synthesize Aristotelian thought and reconcile it with Christian thought (Cahill 208). By
Aquinas and those who followed him, sensory perception and experience were emphasized as the
true modes of knowing, for this world can actually be known by our senses, and truth derived
from it. “He [Aquinas] believed we lived in our bodies, created good by a good God, and received
true perceptions through the media of our five senses…He replaced the shadows of Plato’s Cave
with the sunshine of everyday reality” (Cahill 209). In Aquinas, we find the essence of this
Aristotelian synthesis, and his own wide acceptance throughout the Middle Ages shows the overall
shift of the time. “With such thoughts as these did the medieval schoolmen (or scholastics) move
the Christian worldview away from its previously pessimistic meditations…toward a worldview that
was happier, more incarnational, and more appropriately Judeo-Christian” (Cahill 210). And while
Aquinas elevated reason, Roger Bacon worked to especially elevate experience. Since it was agreed
that this world could give us truth and that the senses were the mode of knowing, then experience
must also be elevated to new heights. For without experience, reason cannot hope to teach us the
things of this world (Cahill 222). The transition, then, was marked by a new elevation of reason by
sensory perceptions and also experience.

Practically, this new transition regarding knowledge gave forth a whole new fervor for
science and discovery. Religion was still the center of society, but new examinations were
given to things previously held simply as divine mysteries. A society once defined by
unquestioned authority of Scripture and visions now found itself examining everything for
deeper understanding. Practices such as the Eucharist were reexamined, with hopes of
properly and scientifically explaining what was occurring (Cahill 220). Alchemy rose to new
heights, as men tried to scientifically change various substances into gold based upon
Aristotelian science (Cahill 225). Bacon himself made extraordinary leaps in the realm of
science, developing eyeglasses, accurately arguing for a finite speed of light, and helping to
reform the erroneous Julian calendar (Cahill 224). And laymen too found new ways of
examining their religion. Artwork became a new mode of storytelling for the common man.
Paintings were abundant, full of vivid imagery and profound artistic style, often times
religious, and all culminating in a new style for a new age (Cahill 218). So all of society, not
just the small class of educated philosophers, was brought up in this great cultural shift
rooted in a newfound appreciation for personal experience. It must be emphasized that all
these new investigations, both in art and science, whether accurate or not, stemmed from the
transition from rationalist Plato to empiricist Aristotle, and from divine revelation to
discovered examination.
These are the things which defined the shift from revealed truth to discovered truth.
Prior to this transition, the Middle Ages were defined by their Christian roots based in both
an acceptance of Scripture and visions as divine authority and in a Platonic thought which
held a comparatively negative view of the world. The product of this transition was a culture
of Aristotelian thought, an empiricism which valued this world and looked for knowledge
through sensory perception and experience. The transition itself was marked by the
emergence of universities in the 12th and 13th centuries, the translation of Aristotle for the
West, and the synthesis of Aristotle by men such as Abelard and Aquinas. Bacon and others
built on this reasoning to examine other parts of life and to establish a real scientific method
of inquiry. And the common man found in artwork a new outlet for deeper examination. All
of these together helped to bring about the transition from revealed to discovered knowledge.
-Ben Brake

50 Word Story
She sat down at her computer and stared at the blank page. She began
to type. The- backspace. A- backspace. She- backspace. It was a-
backspace, backspace, backspace. The cursor blinked at her mockingly,
and the blank page stared back at her again. At last she got to fifty
words.
-Hannah Rai
Alex Owens

Maddie Kemnitz

The Impact of Clarisse on Guy
Novels classified as science fiction novels, unlike fantasy novels, typically strive to
present plausible futuristic societies. One famous example of these types of novels would be
Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, which centers around the main character Guy Montag and
his dissatisfaction with the society he lives in. Throughout the novel, Montag is impacted
thoroughly by surrounding characters within his society. These characters shape his
actions throughout the entire plot. By far the most impactful secondary character is
Clarisse McLellan, Montag’s young neighbor, who truly changes Montag’s mentality about
his society.
Montag's first meeting with Clarisse is perhaps the most impactful scene in the
entire novel. The first interaction between the two was short, but themes that are present
throughout the novel are first developed here, including the theme of happiness. Towards
the end of this scene, Clarisse asks Montag if he is happy, to which Montag has no answer:
"Then she seemed to remember something and came back to look at him with wonder and
curiosity. 'Are you happy?' she said." (9) Montag dismisses the questions as meaningless;
"'Happy! Of all the nonsense.'" (10), but as the plot progresses, it becomes apparent that
Montag is troubled by this question. Montag eventually comes to the realization that he is
not very happy at all, and this realization is what motivates Montag to meet with Faber and
plan to start a revolution. Clarisse’s impact on Montag is first demonstrated by her
question about happiness, which motivates Montag to change his worldview about
everything occurring in society.
Another scene in which Clarisse's impact on Montag is shown is the scene in which
Montag first meets with Faber. Montag, having stolen a book from an old lady's house, is
clearly very disturbed and confused at this point in the novel. Desperate for answers to his
questions, Montag travels to Faber's modest house and confesses all his ideas to Faber.
One moment that stands out in this interaction is the part where Montag questions
Faber about the value of books. Montag asks Faber if books are the missing key to
happiness: "'... we aren't happy. Something's missing. I looked around. The only thing I
positively knew was gone was the books I'd burned in ten or twelve years. So I thought
books might help.'"(78) Clarisse's question about Montag's happiness impacted him in
such a way that he risked his family and his life to try and find the missing piece of life
that would give him happiness. Montag also demonstrates his determination to find
happiness later in his conversation: "'That's the good part of dying; when you've nothing to
lose, you run any risk you want.'"(81) Montag's central conflict in the novel resides with
his dissatisfaction with his life, and this quote shows just how devoid his life truly is. Once
again, Montag's realization was catalyzed by Clarisse's questions and the subsequent
change in his actions and beliefs. The determination which Montag demonstrates
throughout the scene with Faber illustrates the significant impact of Clarisse’s questions
toward him.

The final scene in which Clarisse's impact on Montag was demonstrated was the scene
after Montag had escaped the Hound and was beyond the city limits. Following Faber's direction,
he journeyed from the river until he found the railroad, which he decided to follow. When
Montag finds the railroad, he suddenly becomes convinced of a singular thought which he
cannot prove: he believes that Clarisse herself once walked his path as well: "Once, long ago,
Clarisse had walked here, where he was walking now." (138) This belief, which can be described
as certitude, describes the faith Montag has in Clarisse's words and actions. In many ways
Montag views people like Clarisse as role models, for their actions motivate him to pursue his
happiness as well. Montag's sudden certitude that Clarisse walked his own path is a defining
feature of Clarisse's impact on him.
Despite not having any tangible proof that Clarisse had walked the same path,
Montag believes that Clarisse did, and that certitude demonstrates the parallel between
Montag and Clarisse, in which Montag is walking the path which Clarisse never had the
chance to. "But Clarisse, he remembered, was dead." (151) Towards the end of this scene,
Montag finally comes to terms with Clarisse’s death, which he had never done before. This
scene not only demonstrates the immense regret Montag has over Clarisse’s death, but it
also demonstrates the pride that Montag feels that Clarisse’s beliefs would vicariously be
acted upon through Montag and his new group. Montag’s pride at this fact once again
showcases the impact Clarisse had upon him.
Despite only appearing in two meaningful scenes in the novel, Clarisse McClellan,
Montag’s young teenaged neighbor, leaves an unbelievable strong impact on Montag that
is demonstrated throughout the novel.
-Harun Raffi
Alessandra Vedder

Justice and the Afterlife in Dante’s Divine Comedy
In his famous literary work Divine Comedy, author Dante Alighieri explores the various
realms of the afterlife in his three parts: Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno. In the Inferno
specifically, he examines the fate of all those who were sentenced to Hell. Dante sets up an
elaborate system of punishment based on justice, in which Hell is categorized into various
circles of severity, and individuals, from the virtuous pagan to the most vile traitor, are dealt
punishments directly corresponding to their decisions in life. Closer examination of the
Divine Comedy, and the Inferno specifically, will help to clarify the relationship between the
afterlife and justice as Dante views it. To understand the intricacies of Dante’s view of justice,
proper examination must first be given to the predominant thought of the time regarding
matters of salvation and the afterlife, as well as how these thoughts emerged.
It was believed that salvation comes by Christ and involves the individual partaking in
the sacraments. It follows, then, that those who do not know Christ nor partake in the
sacraments cannot attain salvation. Hell, separation from God, is their eternal fate. By such
Tradition, “…because the pagans were never saved by Christ through baptism, they lack the
capacity for seeing God and must be kept somewhere apart from Heaven…” (Cahill 288).
Such concepts dated back to Antiquity, famously with Augustine of Hippo. The Augustinian
notion of original sin, which held all humanity as depraved, all sharing both in the
punishment and the guilt of Adam, gave a low view of humanity and an emphasis on the
need for divine salvation (Cahill 198). By such reasoning, even the unbaptized baby would
presumably be damned.
However, such judgement troubled the later Medievals and led them to develop new
categories for the afterlife, specifically for the nonbelievers in Hell. Thomas Aquinas
proposed a sort of ‘“borderland”’ between Heaven and Hell, a place called Limbo, where the
unbaptized babies, those who did not receive God’s Grace, could reside without sharing in
the suffering of the condemned (Cahill 130). This new mentality, that not all nonbelievers
deserved or would receive the same punishment in the afterlife, would have particular
influence on Dante as he developed his own views on the afterlife and on the fate of the
virtuous pagan.
‘“The relation of the virtuous pagans to the Christian scheme of salvation was a
matter of acute and peculiar difficulty for Dante”’ (Cahill 288). Dante greatly appreciated the
wealth of knowledge that had come from pagan Antiquity. Plato had been the favorite
philosopher of the Patristics, helping to setup the Tradition of the faith (Cahill 196), and
Aristotle became the cornerstone on which Medieval Scholasticism was established (Cahill
210). So Christianity, at some level, was indebted to the pagans. What’s more, such pagans,
while not of the faith, no doubt lived relatively good and virtuous lives. Dante did not want to
see them suffer needlessly in eternal damnation.

His solution, then, is to grant to them ‘“a noble castle’ in Limbo, ‘seven times
encircled by high walls and defended all around by a lovely stream,’ and ‘a meadow of
fresh verdure…”’ (Cahill 288). So these good men will spend eternity apart from God, but
will do so honorably. Indeed, Limbo itself was equated with the venerable afterlife of the
Old Testament [Abraham’s Bosom] in which the ‘“saints”’ of the faith anticipated the
descent of Christ who would eventually bring them up to Heaven (Cahill 287-288). Even
more astounding than this, in the Paradiso, Dante decided to place certain pagans into
Heaven itself, despite their lack of traditional qualifications (Cahill 288). It is by these
things, placing certain pagans into Heaven and creating a castle in Limbo, that Dante was
able to, in his mind, grant the virtuous pagan a just sentencing in the afterlife.
Underlying Dante’s placement of the virtuous pagans at Limbo is a deeper concept
which Dante addresses throughout the Divine Comedy: justice. In Dante’s Inferno,
individuals are punished based upon the actions of their lives. Each circle of Hell
descends further into comparatively harsher punishments, and individuals are placed in
their respective circle based on the actions of their lives. But whereas the punishment
itself changes in degree at each stage, justice is constant throughout. This is because the
punishments are themselves utterly just and correspond exactly and precisely to the guilt
of the recipient. In fact, the punishments are but a product of the life lived by the
individual prior to death. For if a punishment is to be just, it must be tailored to the
specific crime which was committed. In order to best understand what is meant by this
and to evaluate Dante’s unique view on justice and sin, some examples from the Inferno
must be presented.
The First Circle of Hell, Limbo, has already been examined. But to reemphasize,
now bearing in mind a proper understanding of Dante’s justice, the castle given to the
virtuous pagans should be viewed as a result of the lives they lived, a continuation of their
goodness. In life, these people were virtuous and just. In death, they continue in that virtue
and justice. These residents at the castle in Limbo ‘“…spoke seldom and with gentle
voices”’ which, in Dante’s time, was itself a virtue, as opposed to the vice of loudness and
attention seeking (Cahill 289). So these virtuous pagans continue in the afterlife what they
had begun in life.
After Limbo, Dante examines the Drearies. They were those who ‘“lived without
blame or praise”’, residing in between the first and second circles. They are doomed to
roam as “whining wraiths who never truly lived at all, the lukewarm, who are ‘as hateful
to God as to his enemies,’ the people no one claims” (Cahill 287). The outcome of living
life with no aim is to continue in that aimlessness. In some sense, nothing changed for
those individuals who became Drearies. In all essential aspects, their afterlife matches
their former life.

The same principle is present in the Second Circle. Here reside the lustful, those
who partook in sexual sins in their lifetimes (Cahill 291). Now in the afterlife, they are
“blown about like small birds on fierce gusts of wind” (Cahill 289). Dante’s imaginative
description does more than paint a vivid picture; it justly punishes the individuals based
upon their former lives. For if sexual sin is seen as a yielding to carnal temptations, then
in some sense the sin is as much a lack of self-restraint as it is a purposeful decision to
do wrong. The punishment, truly modeling itself after the particular life, is to have that
individual continue in such a lack of restraint and fortitude: they themselves are blown
about by fierce winds endlessly, unable to rule themselves.
So Dante continues down the circles, descending into ever worse places filled with
ever worse people (Cahill 292). There are some noteworthy decisions that Dante makes in
how he orders these circles from least to greatest sins. Lust is the first and least of all the
substantial sins listed. Dante himself believed that while such lustful desires were still
sins worthy of judgement, they were not so vile as the rest (Cahill 291). Also interesting to
modern readers is Dante’s decision to place fraudulent acts of deception below that of
violent acts.
Dante felt that thieves, hypocrites and other such deceivers were comparatively
worse than those who committed acts such as murder and suicide. But perhaps most
significant is that Dante sentences to the Ninth Circle those whom he deems the most
vile of all sinners: the treacherous (Cahill 293). The lowest circle is divided into four
realms, each named after their most infamous historical residents. Those treacherous
to their kindred can reside at Caina, those who betray their country and cause may stay
at Antenora, those treacherous to their guests will go to Ptolomea, and those who betray
their Lords and Benefactors will stay at Judecca (Cahill 293). For Dante, traitors, of
whatever sort, are the worst of all sinners.
Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy offers an intensive insight on his view of the
relationship between the afterlife and justice. It must be contextualized in the time in
which it was written, a time in which the Medievals, in order to address the problems
raised by Augustine, gave more critical examination to the afterlife. Dante himself
seemed uniquely interested in the outcome of the virtuous pagan. And underlying that
too was his concern to make the punishments precisely fit the crime. The modeling of
each punishment is based upon the lives of those who receive them. In some sense, the
afterlife of a given individual merely continues the trend of their life, with the eternal
punishment replicating their earthly choices. Within this framework, Dante then
uniquely expressed his own views on the particulars of sins, ranking them by degree
and inflicting proper punishments accordingly. All this reveals Dante’s view both on
justice, as pertaining to punishment, and on the afterlife as a whole.
-Ben Brake

50 Word Story
11:30
A boy is sitting in English class. The teacher is talking about chapters he
hasn’t read. The world starts to spin slower, and air turns into a thick
syrup. The lights in the boy’s eyes flicker, turn off, and then turn back on.
He glances at the clock.
11:31
-Eric Haberman
Ellie Luetters

50 Word Story
He felt ready for a new day. He felt emotionally prepared for his first day
at a new job. He felt responsibility when handed the keys to a customer's
truck to pull in. He felt the customer's truck scrape against the wall. He
felt a new job application coming on.
-Ryan Edwards
Sam Bachrodt

50 Word Story
It's Saturday and I can finally relax. I wake up without stress about
homework or tests, I know I'll deal with it tomorrow. I enjoy my day
without a bit of worry. Finally, I lay down to sleep, and then I realize, I
didn't do my Membean.
-Ellie Luetters
Greg Watts

Addison Squires

Editor Feature
Tyrants Fear the Poet
A Profile of National Youth Poet Laureate Amanda C. Gorman
As the crowd hushed over the echoes of the Library of Congress’ historical dust, an original
poem, In This Place (An American Lyric), was read for the first time. Crafted for the inauguration
of Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith, this poem, proved once more that words are fundamental to our
understanding of human empathy. The author was none other than Los Angeles native, Amanda
C. Gorman, the first-ever Youth Poet Laureate of the United States.
Gorman was raised by her mother, a public-school English teacher and a writer, who
fostered and emphasized the importance of creativity and expressionism all throughout her
childhood. As a result of premature birth, Gorman developed an auditory processing disorder at
a young age which resulted in a speech impediment. As a child, she aspired to become a
songwriter and described herself as “very cute, but very sad.” Gorman’s inner turmoil fueled her
to map the words to the source of her sadness- only beginning her exploration into writing as a
means for the times where she lacked the courage to speak. She forever struggles with the
pronunciation of R’s and yet, has found her inevitable vocation in speaking words in front of
crowds of thousands and making audiences feel as though poetry was just the common-speak
slang of the masses.
She began entering the national scene when she became youth delegate for the United
Nations at the age of sixteen upon hearing a speech given by Nobel Prize laureate Malala
Yousafzai. Shortly thereafter, she was named Youth Poet Laureate of Los Angeles in 2014. Gorman
would then publish her personal anthology in 2015 entitled “The One for Whom Food is Not
Enough.”
Her achievements as a mere twenty-one-year-old are unparalleled. She is currently a junior
at Harvard University ranking at the top of her class, fulfilling both the obligations of her college
education and her role as Poet Laureate. Perhaps the most remarkable trait about Amanda C.
Gorman is her desire to expand the possibilities of expressionism for young authors and the
undeniable simplicity in her style that allows universality to transcend her words.
In first hearing In This Place (An American Lyric) in 2017, audiences greeted her
performances with applauses that resonated with the hope bestowed in poetry
An excerpt from the piece itself-
Tyrants fear the poet.
Now that we know it
we can’t blow it.

We owe it
to show it
not slow it
although it
hurts to sew it
when the world
skirts below it.
Hope—
we must bestow it
like a wick in the poet
so it can grow, lit,
bringing with it
stories to rewrite—
the story of a Texas city depleted but not defeated
a history written that need not be repeated
a nation composed but not yet completed.
There’s a poem in this place—
a poem in America
a poet in every American
who rewrites this nation, who tells
a story worthy of being told on this minnow of an earth
to breathe hope into a palimpsest of time—
a poet in every American
who sees that our poem penned
doesn’t mean our poem’s end.
There’s a place where this poem dwells—
it is here, it is now, in the yellow song of dawn’s bell
where we write an American lyric
we are just beginning to tell.
For many, it is clear that Gorman’s story has just begun being told as she engages in various
future endeavors including the founding of her own organization One Pen One Page which
provides helpful tools and platforms for storytellers. Facing adversity with grace is certainly a
path of familiarity to Gorman as she continues to endure hardships by writing for the writers
who write “in a notebook, on the bus, on the softest part of [their] palm, on the climb of [their]
tongue or the canvas of [their] thoughts.”
-Sarah Chocron

Rolling Stones
New York Times

Creative Responses
Me, Myself, and I, by Alessandra Vedder

(No) Cell Phones
(Prompt: Imagine a world without cell phones. There are still computers though.)
The telephone rings, emitting a harsh noise that I can hear from two rooms away.
It’s really frustrating to have to walk all the way out of the kitchen, through the
entire dining room, and into the far corner of the living room just to pick it up. I
figure it’s probably Mom just checking to see how I’m doing since she’s been gone
for most of the day to a party at a friend’s house. I pick up the phone right after the
fifth ring: “Hello, what is it?”, I ask, out of sheer habit. “Just checking up on you. Just
wanted to tell you that I’ll be home at 7 PM tonight,” my mother replies. I wonder
what time it is right now, so I can see how long I have to play Solitaire and Pac-man
on my computer before hastily botching the chores. Most people have watches for
that kind of stuff, but I don’t like wearing them because you have to adjust them all
the time because of Daylight Savings and whatnot, so I painstakingly crane my neck
to discern the numbers on the dining room clock. Cool. I have about two hours. “Do
you want me to get you anything while I’m out?,” asks my mom. “Nah, I’m good,” I
reply. I sniff the air a little, smelling something faintly… burning? “Oh no, I left the
spaghetti on the stove too long!” I exclaim. I had completely forgotten to turn off the
stove just now. I start to rush to the kitchen, phone still in hand, until I was forcibly
jerked back when I pulled the cord taut and nearly ripped the landline out of its
socket. Man, I wish these things were portable. I bet if someone could make a
landline you could carry around with you, they’d make millions. As I quickly turned
off the stove, I think about school yesterday. I was probably going to fail the next test
because I didn’t copy the notes down from the board before the teacher erased
them. I wish my mom would buy me a camera so I could snap some pictures of the
board. Talking about school, I wish they still had recess like they did in Elementary.
The only thing I can do when I’m finished with lunch is just twiddle my thumbs and
maybe play the same four games on my school-issued computer. Oh, the agony of
being horrible at directly interacting with your peers! Now on the topic of
computers—computers are cool. I can chat with some online friends on the
Tweetbook, but the problem is that the site’s banned at school, and I can’t connect
to WiFi at anywhere other than home and school. I wonder what would happen if
Makrosoft made really small computers that you could carry around?
...
Nah.
They can’t possibly fit that much information in something so small that you could
conveniently hold it in your hand—that’d be impossible.
-Allison Tee

Lindsey Post

The Bitter, yet Sweet Drink
Rushing to the nearby shop, tantalizing smells waft through the
open windows. As I abruptly open the door, the wonderful aromas of hot
chocolate and croissants fills the air. I hear the grinder crushing the
beans that I previously ordered. As the sack is placed into my hands, I
squeeze the bag as though it is a stress ball, leaving me feeling calm and
relaxed. Quickly, I rush home, anxiously anticipating my fresh cup of
warmth and joy. Sitting on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet is the
machine I use to create these brews beckons me. Immediately, pouring in
the water, some of it splashes onto my face. I place the filter into its
designated spot, reminding me of placing a puzzle piece in the correct
position on the board. Abruptly, I grab the bag and measure two
spoonfuls while my spoon sinks into the smooth fresh grounds like my
feet sinking into the warm sand on a beach. I notice a trail of the remains
is sprinkled across the counter. I assemble every single piece of the
machine in its place, plug it in, and I turn it on impatiently waiting to take
a sip. As I open the drawer, I pick up a spoon and realize the device has
finished its job. I pour the yummy, yet bitter, drink into the mug and pair
it with milk and sugar. I remove the lid from the jug and the delectable
scent makes me crave the beverage even more. As the creamy milk mixes
with the masterpiece, I see a beautiful design inside my cup just like the
pattern watercolor paint creates when touching the canvas. My body
relaxes completely while enjoying the satisfying smells that surround me.
The ripping sound of the sugar packets ruins my calm emotions, as I
pour the sugar into my cup. Sitting down with my yogurt and beverage, I
am finally able to enjoy the fruits of my labor. As I take a second sip, I
watch my hand approach my face coming closer and closer. When the
mug’s rim touches my lips, the steaming hot refreshment satisfies me,
and I begin to relish the happiness I feel in creating such a marvelous
treat. I look out the window realizing I rely on this brew, just like I rely on
my pulse, to help me survive. In the end, I feel a great deal of pride
because I made an amazing blend that begins my day on the right foot.
-Caitlin Mattar

The Art of Collecting Broadway Playbills
Broadway is a state of mind. It’s a swarm of individuals who sing, act, and dance
in a miraculous fashion. This lovely energy is what intrigued me about Broadway and its
captivating influence in New York City. The yellow-topped magazines called “playbills”
that one receives upon entrance to the theater has always been one of my favorite parts
of my experience visiting Broadway. There are two types of people who frequent
Broadway shows. The first set are the careless people who toss the playbills aside,
walking over them as they leave for intermission or leave the theater. The second set are
the people who treasure every word, phrase, or image of the playbill. The second set of
people illustrate the true fans of Broadway, including myself. These playbills represent
a memory. Despite being a simple theater program made of paper, they happened to
represent a piece of my life, reminding me of when I would venture into New York City
to watch these spectaculars take place on stage. The lustrous lights, colorful costumes,
and melodic music would overwhelm my senses and take me into the world of
Broadway. I was mesmerized.
My family has always enjoyed singing showtunes. I also used to participate in
musical theater classes, dance classes, and voice lessons because I saw myself as a true
Broadway superstar. Yet when I visited Broadway, I quickly realized that my dream of
being a legendary star was never going to materialize. The reality was crushing, but I
quickly healed as I swooned over the phenomenon before my very eyes. Not only did the
choreography, the people, and the music fascinate me, but the playbills’ photos and
messages also caught the attention of my eye. The advertising of future Broadway
productions only pulled me deeper into my collection of playbills. The playbills were a
way for me to love Broadway as something I could admire from a distance. My playbill
collection of the 53/8 inches by 81/2 inch pamphlets rest in an ordinary laminated
binder that I keep in my bedroom. Flipping through endless pages of playbills from
shows I have watched instantly brings me back to happy moments from my childhood
and lifetime. For a second, I return to the shadows of my childhood, watching a
Broadway show in the musical soul of the world. While it may seem that I am collecting
an object, I am also collecting an experience. Every time I attend a Broadway production
and collect another playbill, I preserve another extraordinary moment and gain another
meaningful memory. Seeing musicals take part in the heart of New York City and
collecting a piece of the adventure, I capture and remember the unique flavors of this
wonderful world.
-Stephanie Gentile

Emily Mallard

Abby Sahatjian

Shakespeare’s Homie-
A Play By Justin Highbarger
Character List:
William Shakespeare, a slightly arrogant (greatest) playwright from
Elizabethan England struggling to find a new voice for his work.
Joseph, an archetypical modern teenager who knows all the slang
and helps Shakespeare learn that language
Romeo’s actor, an overdramatic actor pleased to be working with
the Bard
Juliet’s actress, an overdramatic actress honored to be working
with the Bard
Roman, modern teenage guy
Julia, modern teenage gal
Dr. Highbarger, Joseph’s English teacher

Act I: Scene 1
Lights up on the famous scene from Romeo and Juliet where Juliet is up on her balcony and
Romeo is listening to her speak. Juliet will stand while Romeo will simply kneel to her side.
Word for word the scene will progress for a while...actors will way overenunciate lines and
be overdramatic for comedic effect.
JULIET (speaking to herself): But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is
the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already
sick and pale with grief.
ROMEO (speaking to himself): She speaks! O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as
glorious to this night, being o’er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven.
JULIET (still to herself):O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? ‘Tis but thy name
that is my ene---
Enter William Shakespeare from the audience. He is interrupting his own play’s
performance at the Globe.
SHAKESPEARE: Knaves! Dost thou not knoweth how to act? Whence did thou come to
mine stage? Hast thee any notion of the art of drama?
ROMEO (shocked): I…dost not understand what error I committed!
JULIET (appalled): What shall we do to correct this grievous mistake, oh great playwright?
SHAKESPEARE (frustrated at the audience’s grumblings, speaking to audience): Cease
your conversation, knaves! Return to where thou didst come from. Eat chickens, drink
beer, drown thyselves in your foolishness, I dost not care!
He turns to Romeo and Juliet now.
SHAKESPEARE: Thine mockery of acting hast humiliated me in front of all the Globe!
Leave me! Your services are no longer required!
ROMEO (on the verge of tears): Sir, I beg thou, reconsider. I can’t go back to rat-catching!
JULIET (similar): Ay, now I will have to return to cleaning up horse excrement! Dost thou
know how disgusting horse excrement is, great Bard?
SHAKESPEARE: Your woes are of no concern to me. Now, go, leave me! Juliet and Romeo
exit. Shakespeare moves to the front of the stage to give a soliloquy. On the line where he
mentions his “less-filled seats”, he will move to the audience or playwrights’ box and find
an empty chair and pick it up in woe. He will place the chair back and move back to the
front of the stage once this is done. Once I was young, whence I became a great, nay, the
greatest playwright the world hast yet witnessed! Yet mine Globe’s seats look less filled,
mine own name once oft heard, now rarely muttered. I have placed the blame on mine
actors. Rat-catching and horse excrement! What have I sentenced them to? Truly, the
fault lies not with their actions, but with mine words.

Lights down on Shakespeare’s portion of the stage (stage right), he will silently continue his soliloquy,
making up words. Lights up on stage left. From stage left, Joseph walks in holding a paper. He is an
ordinary, modern teenager who knows all the ins and outs of modern slang.
JOSEPH (reading the paper): Dr. Highbarger gave me an F on my Romeo and Juliet test?! Are you
kidding me, bro? “You need to spend more time with William Shakespeare and truly understand
his language.” What does that even mean, spend more time with him?
Lights down. Lights back up on the whole stage. Joseph is now in Shakespeare’s world.
Shakespeare is not yet aware of Joseph’s presence and continues his soliloquy, while Joseph will
say his lines in an aside.
SHAKESPEARE: Where once I was able to captivate audiences and move the hearts and minds of
England, now only glazed eyes and hard souls look upon what would have been my masterpiece:
Romeo and Juliet!
JOSEPH (shocked): That’s William Shakespeare! How is that even possible, man? (light bulb clicks).
My teacher must have put a time travel spell on those words so that when I read them I would be
taken back to Elizabethan England!
SHAKESPEARE: Wherefore art thou, my former writing skill! Alack, I am lost.
JOSEPH: Dude, Shakespeare needs help with his language. (light bulb clicks again). If I can teach
Shakespeare modern language, his plays will be easy to read, I’ll get a good grade, and it’ll solve his
problem!
SHAKESPEARE: Hence I go to mine abode, hoping for some distant miracle to grace mine page.
The Bard is gone, now only remains the once proud Shakespeare.
JOSEPH (approaching Shakespeare): Yo, Billy, I can hook you up with that sweet new language skill
you looking for.
SHAKESPEARE (completely stunned): ……
JOSEPH: Too soon? All righty then…I’m here to help you Billy.
SHAKESPEARE: Where didst thou come from, apparition? What language dost thou speak? How
dost thou know mine name?
JOSEPH: Yuhhh, I’m from the future, I speak English like everybody does, and you’re a famous
playwright, man.
SHAKESPEARE (jaw dropping): ……
JOSEPH: Hmmm…Clearly that did not help the situation. Think of me as…your new homie!
SHAKESPEARE: How canst thou be a home when thou dost not even have a roof over thine head?
JOSEPH: Now I’m the confused one, bro! Forget what I said. Think of me as your dictionary to the
modern English language.
SHAKESPEARE: Thou dost not speak English, knave.
JOSEPH: Ummm…wouldst thou prefer me to speaketh liketh thiseth?
SHAKESPEARE: Ay! Now thy speak Shakespeare’s language.
JOSEPH: (I never was a good English student) …Anyway, I’m here to teach you to speak like the cool
kids, bro. You need new writing? Well, a whole new language is just what you need!
SHAKESPEARE: Thou may be right…I may be crazy…but it just may be a lunatic thou art looking
for…Shakespeare moves to the front of the stage for another soliloquy. This strange person whom I
do not know may be the answer to mine prayers! Nay, Shakespeare no longer, the Bard will reenter
the stage upon a grand scene of applause---

JOSEPH: Dude, are you soliloquizing right now?
SHAKESPEARE (slightly irritated): I ‘twas.
JOSEPH: My bad, dude, keep going! Everyone’s got to express themselves in their own way!
SHAKESPEARE: Nay, thy ruined the moment.
JOSEPH: All righty homie, enough gibber-gabber, it’s time to go back to the future! Dr.
Highbarger, take me back!
Lights down. Table will be moved off stage or to the back of the stage, space permitting. Chairs
will also be moved as needed. Stage should pretty much be empty. Lights up on Shakespeare
and Joseph in near identical positions but Joseph holding a phone now, Shakespeare shaken
from his journey.
Act I: Scene 2
SHAKESPEARE: Where is here? What didst thou do to me? What is that strange device
thou dost hold in thy hands? Be you a witch?
JOSEPH (texting): Huh, what’d you say, man? Sorry, just talking to my girl…
SHAKESPEARE: What? Didst thou say talking to? Thy lips did not move the duration,
and ‘tis no lady here!
JOSEPH: Chill, dude. I’m texting her, see? Joseph holds out his phone and shows
Shakespeare.
SHAKESPEARE (horrified): What is this light that yonder breaks from thine device? Art
thou a magician?
JOSEPH: Um…it’s called a cell phone.
SHAKESPEARE: Speak the Queen’s English!
JOSEPH: For sure, for sure. Think of it as a…script I’ve written to another person that I’m
able to send to them by pressing a button.
SHAKESPEARE: Thou art a playwright, too?
JOSEPH: No I am not…never mind! To learn about modern language, you have to learn
how to use a cell phone! Everyone has them, everyone uses them, and everyone--- He
trails off, texting again.
SHAKESPEARE: Wouldst thou focus on me?
JOSEPH: Of course, I’m sorry homie. A cell phone is how everyone communicates in
today’s world, and you will see people with them all the time. You feel me, bro?
SHAKESPEARE: Nay, not at all.
JOSEPH: Teenagers, like a certain romantic couple I know you’re writing about…use them
all the time to communicate.
SHAKESPEARE (his eyes lighting up): Verily! Thou are not a magician, thou art genius!
Yet, I dost not know how to speak like thou yet…
JOSEPH: Don’t worry homie, trust in the process…
Lights down again. This time the scene will be set with the table and two chairs set up on
opposite sides. Two more teenagers (played by same people as Romeo and Juliet) will be
occupying these chairs. Lights up.

Act I: Scene 3
JOSEPH: See those two over there? That’s the gang, those my ride or die right there.
SHAKESPEARE (curious): Ride or die? What dost that mean?
JOSEPH: Oh, for sure, like I would fight anyone or die for them because they’re my
homies!
SHAKESPEARE: Fascinating!
JOSEPH: These are my homies, Roman and Julia…check this Billy…Joseph walks over to
Roman and Julia, both of whom have their phones out and are currently on a date, and
begins a conversation, meanwhile William stands by astonished, soaking in the new
language.What’s good fam?
ROMAN: Nothing much bro, just chilling with my girl.
JULIA: Eating, drinking, laughing, the usual fam.
JOSEPH:Good to hear it homies. This is my friend Billy. He’s not from around here.
ROMAN: Wassup bro?
JULIA: Yo, did you guys see Ben’s snapchat?
JOSEPH: Oh, no way! All simultaneously pull out their phones and laugh.
SHAKESPEARE: Pardon me “homies”, but wouldst thou point me in the direction of
people knowledgeable in language? I am here to learn from these wise people.
JOSEPH: Dude, we just got roasted by Shakespeare! This is totally going on Instagram!
Joseph takes a selfie with Shakespeare while he stands confused.
ROMAN: Hold on a second, that’s William Shakespeare?
JULIA: You never mentioned that, Joseph!
JOSEPH: Yea, yea, we got no time for chit-chat! Billy needs help learning our modern
language, so he can write better!
SHAKESPEARE: I wouldst be forever indebted to thine kind souls ‘twere you to help mine
cause.
ROMAN: Wow…
JULIA: We have a lot of work to do!
JOSEPH: Repeat after us, Billy.
The following scene will take place in a montage scenario. Lights up and down when
stated.
SHAKESPEARE: Mine voice is thine to command.
ROMAN: ‘Sup, homie!
SHAKESPEARE: Salutations, companion of mine!
ROMAN: Dude, you got to be more casual, chill a little! ‘Sup, homie!
SHAKESPEARE: Greetings!
JOSEPH: This might take a while.
Lights down and up. New position. Eye of the Tiger will start playing in the background.
JULIA: “What’s good fam, did you see Melissa’s new story?”
SHAKESPEARE: Ay, thine homie Melissa is a playwright too?
Lights down and up. New position.

JOSEPH: “For sure bro, the fam and I threw hands but now he gone, can’t ride or die no more
dawg”
SHAKESPEARE: A dog cannot throw hands…a dog hast paws!
Lights down and up. New position. The teenagers will have McDonald’s sacks in their hands,
lying on the ground, very frustrated. This one can be pantomimed with Joseph next to Shakespeare
trying to teach him while the other two eat.
Lights down and up. New position. Roman will move to the back and pretend write out a word on
the chalkboard. Pantomimed again. Fail.
Lights down and up. New position.
JULIA: This is fire, bro.
SHAKESPEARE: Ah! The flames of Hades make their way here too?
Lights down and up. New position.
ROMAN (affirming something Joseph just said): Bet.
SHAKESPEARE: Thou art a gambler?
Lights down and up. Final position.
JOSEPH: He is batty, fam.
SHAKESPEARE (eyes lighting up):What didst thou say?
JOSEPH: Umm…I said you’re batty.
SHAKESPEARE (excited): Ah! Ah! I understand! Batty is a word I created! Thou art saying…
slang is Shakespeare’s turf, dawg!
ROMAN (amazed): That’s it!
JULIA (stunned): That’s amazing!
SHAKESPEARE: For sure bro, the fam and I threw hands but now he gone, can’t ride or die no
more dawg…Now I’m squared up to my girl and she not there for it dawg, but my fam know not
to post up without Big Billy’s permission!
JOSEPH:That’s sick, bro! I think you’ve got it!
Joseph looks at his phone and realizes it’s low on battery.
My phone’s at one percent battery, Billy…that means our time together is almost up. Just
remember the key thing to speaking like modern people: shortening words to create slang.
That’s what you did back in the day, Billy. And I know you can do it again.
Lights fading slowly.
Good-bye homie. I’m sure we’ll chill with the broskis again.
Joseph hands Shakespeare three phones, Shakespeare nodding in understanding.
SHAKESPEARE: I owe you mine legacy…homie.
Joseph smiles, and lights go down. The scene is the exact one at the beginning, same balcony and
everything for Romeo and Juliet. This time the tone is slightly different…both actors will be
holding phones. Lights up.

Act I: Scene 4
JULIET: What is that light I see? Bro, that sun is blinding, like, it totally sucks. It is the
west…no, the north…the south? Ooh, Nurse’s new story!
ROMEO: Say that again homie? You are so hot I could throw hands with the whole of Verona
to cuff you.
JULIET: Romeo, did you see Nurse’s new story?
ROMEO: Yuhhh, it was sick dude.
JULIET: You wanna climb up here and check out this new Snapchat filter?
ROMEO: For sure fam.
Lights fade on Romeo and Juliet, leaving a sole portion of the stage lit up. In comes
Shakespeare for another soliloquy.
SHAKESPEARE: Mine eyes fill with tears at the thought that mine name be spoken throughout
the lands yet again. The Bard returns to shine in the light, free from the darkness of his
writing block. Hast I found my way alone? Nay, ‘twere it not for that mysterious visitor, that
strange man from another land, Joseph, I ‘twould not be standing here.
His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out.
Oh, the King Snapchatted me! “LMAO, good one dude”
He looks off into the distance, grateful.
Thanks fam.
JOSEPH (off in the distance): Yuhhh…
Lights down. End. But wait! What’s this? Another scene? Once applause has ended, lights
back up. We’re back in Joseph’s time now. Everything has gone wrong. Instead of making
language easier to understand, the modern English language has now become Shakespearean
English. Table is set with Dr. Highbarger (me) reading something while Joseph walks in,
confident that his luck has changed.
JOSEPH: Yo, prof, wassup? You graded those Romeo and Juliet tests yet?
DR. HIGHBARGER: Silence, knave!
JOSEPH (fearful): Wh…what?
DR. HIGHBARGER: Thou hast no understanding of the fine concept of drama! I have writ
the letter F over thine paper, and I return it to you with scorn and contempt in my eyes!
JOSEPH:You…you’re fooling me, prof, right? This is just an elaborate joke?
Roman and Julia walk in.
ROMAN: Greetings, friend of mine! How didst thine paper go?
JULIA: Verily! I dost wish to know the results of thine examination!
JOSEPH (approaching audience for a soliloquy): Alack! Mine tomfoolery with the
timestream must have caused an unpredictable paradox to ripple through all of history!
In mine arrogance, the language of my peers has been altered to an unrecognizable
form. Wait! I’m speaking in Shakespeare’s English too? What have I done?!
Lights Down. End.

Zach Reddy

50 Word Story
I was on a road trip once. Being extremely bored, I continuously
accelerated. I then noticed many cars were behind, following
me. The faster I went, the faster they went. I could not escape.
For hours, I drove at top speed to escape, until I finally passed
the checkered flag.
-Chase Horton
Maddy Mairs

The Knuckle Ninny
Winnie E. Worries had a bad case of the worries. Her middle name was “Excessively,”
which happened to be an unfortunate family name from her mother’s side. Winnie’s worries
prevented her from having fun because she would constantly fret about the future with every
“what if” scenario. Her worries overwhelmed her to the point where it was nearly suffocating.
Like her middle name said, she worried excessively.
Agonizing, overthinking, brooding, and panicking were all things that Winnie
experienced on a regular basis. She had trouble concentrating because of her constant
worrying. This trait became an issue for Winnie because of how irrational she was becoming.
Winnie started to imagine things being worse than they really were. When she had a
headache, she thought she had a brain tumor. Winnie could not think clearly or focus on
reality because she was so caught up in the future by overreacting to every little thing. As a
coping method, Winnie cracked her knuckles frequently. When she woke up and a worry
emerged, she cracked her knuckles. When she was waiting in line at the department store to
return something, she cracked her knuckles. The cracking noise somewhat soothed her by
bringing her back to a more peaceful state of mind. When Winnie cracked her knuckles, she
was distracted from the real world. It was a successful coping method that worked for a small
period of time.
After adopting this new method, Winnie noticed some changes in her hands. They were
blowing up like balloons that had too much helium. Her hands appeared as large as big boxing
gloves. They were getting bigger and bigger like a weed in a garden. Once Winnie noticed these
unfortunate changes in her appearance, it only made her worry more. She was diagnosed with
arthritis. Due to the excessive habit she had adopted, however, there was no cure for her
hands. To make matters worse for Winnie, winter was approaching. As a resident of
Wisconsin, the weather grew cold and dreary. Warm gloves were the best way to survive a
Wisconsin winter, but wearing gloves proved to be a problem for Winnie because she couldn’t
fit her large hands into any pair of gloves. She contracted hypothermia, making her a
functional invalid. People began referring to her as the “Knuckle Ninny.”
Winnie was at her worst by the time spring came around. Her hand nerves no longer
functioned because of her excessive case of hypothermia. To make matters even worse, her
bad habit got her into even more trouble. When it was Winnie’s turn to go to jury duty, she
was stuck. She couldn’t drive with her swollen hands that would not fit into gloves. There was
also nobody around for miles because Winnie lived in a rural part of Wisconsin. As a result,
Winnie did not make it to jury duty. Not much later, the police showed up to arrest the
“Knuckle Ninny.” Winnie E. Worries was last seen when the police attempted to handcuff her,
but due to the size of her hands, were not successful.
-Stephanie Gentile

The Dream Bucket
I finally sigh with relief. I have been holding my breath since I got picked out of the cash
register at 12:32 this afternoon; it is against currency code to make any noise when it is possible
that humans will hear us. 12:32 was my chosen time to get back in the world. Well, at least that is
what I had thought. It had been a long journey. From a bank to the hands of a family determined to
road trip all the way across America and then to a cash register in the city of Decatur, Illinois, I was
finally back to a place where I felt at home. I was secured in a man’s wallet, and this was the life I
was most comfortable living. My comfort seemed liable to shatter at any moment, and that is
because my understanding of the world around me was about to undergo a complete change.
I had been left in the cash register of darkness for such an extent of time that I had no
concept of what time of year it was. For all I knew, it could have been a few days, weeks, or even
months. Darkness has a strange way of warping time, and I had fully experienced this truth in the
cash register. I was handed from the cash register to a man inside the establishment. I was excited
to get out of the cash register because it had become a cold prison for a dollar bill like me. It is
unusual for currency to have the fear of claustrophobia, but I am an exception in that sense. The
cruel black prison I was trapped inside seemed to get smaller and smaller with each passing day.
Maybe it was just an illusion because I felt my lifetime slipping away from me. I knew that no life –
not even that of a dollar bill – lasts forever. I felt that my time was running out, and, ever since I
stepped foot out of the United States Mint in Denver, I had always had one dream. More than
anything, I wanted to be a part of something good. I wanted to be a part of someone making a
difference. I wanted to make my mark in the only way I knew how.
That brings me to today. The man I had been handed over to still had me secured in his
wallet. I had yet to find out the character of this man, but something about him struck me as
different. I knew from the moment I was in his possession that something big was going to happen.
Knowing that I was in the town of Decatur, I figured that this might lead to the end of my life. I had
this belief because Decatur is known for its violence and crime scene. I was left powerless in the
grips of my greatest adversary, Overthinking. I could not help but question if my life would come to
an end before I would have the chance to make the difference I had always dreamed of. Bit by bit,
my hope was slipping away. I began to think over the journey of my life. I thought of every place,
every hand, every wallet I had ever been in. Maybe if one small thing could have gone differently
before now, I would not be stuck here approaching the state of hopelessness. All dollar bills know
that hopelessness leads us to our end, so I was headed toward my end – whether I liked it or not.
Suddenly, the wallet that had become my latest home was ripped open. I was terrified that
this was the end for me. Instead, I heard the cheerful jingle of Salvation Army bells, and I felt the
frigid air. December. Christmas. Red buckets. Jingling bells. I was finally going to be a part of
something good. I am currently surrounded by hundreds of other dollar bills embracing each other
in a glorious red bucket. It turns out that I am not the only one to have a dream of being a part of
something good. The dollar bills around me are my real family, and, somehow, we managed to find
each other. For the first time in my life, my fears are gone, and I am restored with the hope of
knowing that I am where I am meant to be.
-Victoria Lyczak

50 Word Story
The machine ticks, clicks, and taps. Spinning and the sounds of
metal clashing fill her head. Thirty minutes pass, the machine is
silent. The noises fill her brain and suck her memory into a slow
hypnotic rest.
They pull her out of the metal tin cylinder, showing her the results.
-Melissa Mellion
Eley Johnson

Wi-Fi
Alone. Silence imprisoning him.
The button beckons.
Suffocating silence. No chatter or cheerful commotion.
Eyes fixed on the button, he abruptly crosses the room.
Presses the button. Waits.
Three.
Two.
One.
Stomping feet. Sudden, boisterous noise. Chaos!
He smiles.
A female voice yells:
“Dad? Tyler turned the internet off again!”
-Tyler Chapple
Paige Henry

Personal Voice
Awab Elamin

Music is my White Noise
Voices fill my head every night.
Melodies hit when my thoughts take a turn
for the worse.
Chords strum out
as my heart tries not to cry out.
And as tears and notes fall in unison,
you will find me quietly singing myself
into a dreamless sleep.
-Austin Miller
Peace, by Emily Mallard

Alex Owens

Neighborhoods
Awakened by the noise of the masses;
the throbbed humming rendered as the everyman forever so softly
proclaims the tumultuous beginning we call every day.
Eternally divided by the borders of my hallowed compass,
by the transgenerational roads we traveled,
past the unnamed pipelines of binding corruption
unity is unearthed in the burden we desire others to bear,
the urgency of erasing unasked utterances,
and the pursual of a fate misled from the sacred’s arms.
Turn north toward the trodden road of trampled truths;
Where the unknowable remoteness between people
is unseen behind waxy veneers of prismatic colors.
Where nobility is only discovered in the pallid wrinkles
of the market vendor’s palms and his humble workings,
which if hugged to our ears, pulses the rhythmic heartbeat of earth.
Venture west toward the boulevard of other worlds,
where artists contour the street like the cramped
tropes and tribulations of my teeming tongue.
Where coffee roasters line the pews of this urban city
and harbor those who express god-like fancies of sentences,
yet write so little about God anymore.

Swing south toward the dusty powders of curbside trees;
where stories stack unto stars through the metal giants
that outline the Mighty and Powerful’s hands.
where people talk of a war,
which is any war, yet I know of no war anymore,
and dying appears more factual than the atoms that outline our core.
Speed east to where we all seem to wear grief
on our necks with the blood we bang on the tracks that divide us,
even before neighborhood could be said.
Where I find my home in the words articulated by my father,
In the refuge from the disregarded past,
and in the differences marked through shoes suspending from wires.
O Holy One,
Break down demarcations between souls; spark song-filled poems
into being
by perceiving an ember of hope that might be saved.
Shower radiant sparks bold enough to counterpoint gray,
leave us with winking words that linger with appeal and never win,
and neighborhoods that endure and never fade.
--Sarah Chocron

Sam Bachrodt

A Veteran's Night- A 50 Word Story
To the veteran, this night was full of fear and pain. Muffled gunshots
and explosions drove him to tears, as he could not forget the sight of
wounded friends.
"Daddy, you should come see the fireworks!"
Hearing his little girl, his face rose, and wet eyes finally gazed upon
hope.
-Max Anderson
Blake Clay

Heart and Brain
Thousands of times they had played this game; she had always won. He was nervous but
trying not to show any signs of anticipation. He quickly glanced over at her to see if she was
paying attention. If she suspected he was about to leap and fly away she would have held on
with all of her might. She acted as a shackle to his foot; a clip to his wings. Sweat was rolling
down his forehead and collecting under his chin. He began to tap his foot in a fit of
nervousness. He then looked up at the sun through the small hole in the ceiling.
A bright wonderful world flourishes up there, he just knew it! Yet he remained confined in
the dark, cage of a room. He knew this place like no other. He was safe here, but maybe he
didn't want to be safe. He had spent hours of his life anxiously running his fingers across the
walls, and pacing the smooth, chilled floor. Once again he looked at her, then back at the
aperture, then back at her. He repeated this for a while and anytime she gave him any
attention, he acted coy. He wanted to feel the sun on his face very much now. Proceeding to
psych himself up, saying that this would be the time.
"How are you today, Heart?" asked the woman, startling him.
"I," he stumbled to blurt out, "am just fine."
He was hoping that he wasn't obvious.
"That's nice to hear," she said.
"And," he tried to say casually, "how are you, Brain?"
Brain gave a swift, very artificial smile to show courtesy to her counterpart.
Heart got chills upon seeing her smile, even though he had seen it a million times before.
Heart quickly let his mind wander to what the outside world must be like. He wondered what
the people who live there are like. How it must feel to live and fly. Heart then began to think
about his wings, and what it would be like to give them enough room to spread out and soar.
"Daydreaming must be nice," said Brain who had deduced what Heart's awkwardness was
stemming from.
"It is," said Heart giving a genuine smile. "Sometimes it's nice to be somewhere that isn't here."
"Nonsense," replied Brain abruptly.
"That's utter stupidity. You're safe here. It may be cold and dark, yet no one and nothing can
harm you here. It's completely idiotic to be anywhere that isn't here."
"I know but," Heart said with hope in his eyes.
"No exceptions," Brain interrupted, "people up there. They die. They do outrageous awful
things to themselves and try to justify their actions with 'fun' "
Heart found irony in that Brain talked with such conviction, yet she has never been to the
surface herself.
Time passed and Heart found himself running his fingers along the walls again. Whenever he
thought Brain wasn't looking he would glance over at the aperture in the ceiling. Each time he
did, he would get closer and closer to spreading his wings. His desire was so strong it was
palpable, and even Brain began to suspect something was off. Brain didn't say anything
though, it made her feel good whenever she could stop Heart from flying away. She started to
think to herself about how foolish it was that Heart liked to pace. She always sat in the corner
where the floor meets the wall. It gave her full vantage of the room. Maybe she found security
in that she could see the other three corners from here.

Her careful watch of the three corners and Heart was interrupted when she noticed that the
light emerging from the hole was growing dim. She felt accomplishment as the bright light of
the sun was replaced with the cold imminence of the moon. She had completed another day
of playing sentry and keeping Heart from flying off to nowhere good.
Heart began to grow defeated as he noticed the light fading. He wished more than anything
for Brain to let him go.
"You'll cut your wings on one of the sharp rocks while flying up," she had informed him a million
times before.
Heart knew the risks, yet every fiber of his being knew that the surface was where he needed to be.
No matter how many edged rocks and pointed obstacles stood in his path, the sun was what he
would shoot for. He simply could not settle for anything less. Now that the moon acted as a
vexatious gnat to Heart's attention, he decided that tomorrow must be the day. He had to make his
great leap into the warm embrace of day. He lied down in the corner of the room and turned his
usual daydreaming into actual sleep. It took a little longer for Brain to fall asleep, for she had
nights filled with nothing but black and void.
Now it was morning. Brain was the first one up, for she had to be there to ensure Heart didn't fly
off while her attention was down. Heart stayed in bed this morning though, which piqued Brain's
interest.
"Heart?" inquired Brain.
"Are you awake?"
Although Heart was actually awake, he offered no reply.
"Peculiar," thought Brain out loud.
Brain walked very attentively, monitoring each step, up to the seemingly lifeless body of Heart.
She took her pointer finger, extended it out, and poked Heart on the shoulder. He wanted to hug
his knees upon feeling the cold finger tap his shoulder.
"Hm?" he said pretending to be just waking up.
"Don’t you want to get up?" said Brain.
"No," he replied, "I don't feel like it today. I think I am done with this game. No more trying to fly."
He pretended to sound defeated.
"Oh," she said pretending to feel remorse.
She felt no ounce of remorse or compassion in her body.
"I see"
Walking back over to her corner she kept an eye on Heart, only half believing what he said was
true. It wasn't until an hour or two passed until she began to believe Heart's bluff. Brain didn't
know what to do with herself. She didn't have a task to busy herself. If she wasn't guarding Heart
from himself she didn't know what to do.
"I will just sit here," she finally decided to herself.
Heart was now growing restless. The feeling of anticipation grew up his spine. He had felt this way
a million times before, but this time it was different. He could feel it. With Brain's guard down he
knew it was the perfect moment. He quickly got up, ran to the hole, squatted, and then leapt with
great strength. This sent him hurtling upwards.

He began to feel warmer as he ascended. He then felt a hand secure around his ankle. The hand,
cold as Brain’s stare, seemed to weigh him down. He tried to spread his wings, but there wasn't
enough room. His wings scraped the rough edge of the hole and pain shot up to his head which
was aching from intensity. He instinctively grabbed the rock nearest to him and held on for dear
life. He couldn't let go, he couldn't return to that safety which he forsakes. He wanted danger.
Hot tears began to roll down Heart's face. They dripped onto Brain who was still tightly fastened
around his ankle. This was the highest, and the closest he had ever been to the surface. The
highest he had ever jumped. It had been the highest leap for Brain as well. Brain couldn't let go. It
was ingrained in her to fight every act of passion Heart ever felt compelled to employ. Heart's
hands grew weak from clinging onto the sharp, coarse rock. His fingers slipped and he fell. His
wings bruised and his hands scarred, logic had won over Heart again.
-Connor Sweetman
Abby Sahatjian

50 Word Story
The power went out at approximately 11:58 a.m. on January 14, 2038.
The world was dumbfounded. What they did not know was that the
power was not going to come back, and in fourteen days, twelve hours,
and three seconds there would only be one person alive on the planet.
-Caroline Duarte
Skylar Haag

Meet the Editors
Sabaa Ahmed – Writing Staff
Who is your favorite author? J.K. Rowling
What music have you been listening to lately? Pop
Why did you join Hemispheres? I love anything pertaining
to literature, specifically reading and writing, so I joined
Hemispheres to evaluate and edit various types of writings.
Sarah Chocron – Editor in Chief
Who is your favorite author? Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie
and Carl Sandburg
What music have you been listening to lately? A lot of
everything… I particularly love jazz, RnB, classic rock, and
soul/funk. I can’t seem to ever settle on a single genre…
Why did you join Hemispheres? Writing has been an
intrinsic part of my life ever since seventh grade. Restarting
the literary magazine at Collegiate has been the most
wonderful opportunity to work with students who love to
express themselves creatively.
Julia Cox – Writing Staff
Who is your favorite author? Kurt Vonnegut
What music have you been listening to lately? Billie Eilish
and Frank Sinatra
Why did you join Hemispheres? To read and enjoy the
writing of Wichita Collegiate students.

Alexa Do – Writing Staff
Who is your favorite author? John Green
What music have you been listening to lately? Mexican
music
Why did you join Hemispheres? I wanted to improve my
ability to write and contribute to a magazine.
Stephanie Gentile – Writing Staff
Who is your favorite author? James Patterson
What music have you been listening to lately? Pop music
Why did you join Hemispheres? I enjoy reading and
writing.
Jeanna Gregg – Layout & Art Editor
Who is your favorite author? Stephen King, Neil Gaiman,
and Albert Camus
What music have you been listening to lately? Rex Orange
County, Tame Impala, Saint Motel, and the Strokes
Why did you join Hemispheres? Because I enjoy reading
and art.
Emily Hua – Writing Staff
Who is your favorite author? Ernest Hemingway
What music have you been listening to lately? Bruno Mars
and Taylor Swift
Why did you join Hemispheres? I participated in
Hemispheres because I wanted to improve my English
writing and reading skills.

Victoria Lyczak – Writing Staff
Who is your favorite author? John Steinbeck
What music have you been listening to lately? 80s music
Why did you join Hemispheres? I was happy to take the
opportunity to be a part of a creative collection of art and
writing, and I also really enjoy editing works!
Austin Miller – Writing & Art Staff
Who is your favorite author? Stephen King or Okina Baba
What music have you been listening to lately? A variety:
some rock, some alternative, some pop, etc. I really like
Panic! at the Disco right now as well as Roselia.
Why did you join Hemispheres? I wanted to join a club or
program that wanted to promote the students’ work in
their artistic classes and Hemispheres turned out to be the
perfect opportunity.
Connor Sweetman – Writing & Art Staff
Who is your favorite author? Leo Tolstoy
What music have you been listening to lately? The Waitress
Soundtrack
Why did you join Hemispheres? I really enjoy literature
and art.
Mallory Wells – Writing Staff
Who is your favorite author? I can’t pick!
What music have you been listening to lately? The Beatles
Why did you join Hemispheres? I love reading stories,
essays, and poems and wanted to help put together a
literary magazine for the school. It’s been a lot of fun.

Acknowledgements
There are countless minute details that have gone into
crafting Hemispheres. Everything from submission, evaluation, layout,
and art, to design is part of the process to create this unique literary
magazine. However, such a publication would not be possible without
the support of Wichita Collegiate School's high school head
administration, Mr. Ashbrook and Mr. Nesmith, who enthusiastically
advocate for any opportunity to have students' talents be displayed. We
would also like to thank the art faculty, Mr. Buettgenbach and Mrs.
Morales, for gathering the artistic works of their students and for their
unwavering support for the arts. Much of the writing in this publication
would not be of such quality if it were not for the guidance and
encouraging words of WCS's English teachers--Mrs. King, Mrs. Mykel,
Mrs. Stokley, and Mr. DeVries--who foster the potential in every student.
In addition, the editors of this issue were key in evaluating every work
we received while spending long hours conceptualizing and producing
every detail within these pages. More than anything, we would like to
thank the students who courageously submitted and contributed
to Hemispheres with the works of their pen, keyboard, paintbrush,
pencil, or camera and for letting us shine a spotlight on their respective
creative talents.
Back Cover by Sam Bachrodt