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She was a frail old woman, with wisps of gray hair and soft blue eyes. She lived across the street, and every day she would come out to water her flowers and sit on her porch to bask in the sunlight. Every holiday she baked cookies for the neighborhood children. When fathers were called to war she would hold the fearful mother’s hand. She would tell them a story, one of a young couple that was deeply in love. They bought a small house and they were happy. Then one day he was called away, and he never returned home.

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We sat outside, gazing at the flickering fire before us. It radiated rays of yellow and orange warmth making the blankets unnecessary. The jokes we told made us hysterical. As the moments of silence came about, I began to think why the jokes were so funny. I began to wonder if the warmth from the fire and the love we share is why the jokes were so funny. I wondered if the s’mores tasted so good because I was surrounded by the people I love. I wondered what it would be like if I was alone. But I didn’t want to think about being alone. So I enjoyed the company I had.

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She slept peacefully, wrapped in my warmth. I never knew someone could look so beautiful in their sleep. Here she was, her silky brown curls spilled across the pillows, her rosy cheeks were sprayed with tiny specks of happiness. The way her heart beat in rhythm against mine while her slow breaths sang the tune. I nuzzle into the crown of her head and lose myself to her sweet cinnamon scent. I close my eyes and picture her bright eyes as they smile at me. A chill tickles my back as I slowly open them again to a shiny gravestone.

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Walking down the street car bumper to bumper. They are frozen staring at the red light blinking overhead as you walk by passing unfamiliar faces none of which you can see. The skyscraper's over head standing over you observing your every move. Crossing the street you see nothing's different although you’re in a different place. Or did you just make a circle. Don’t ponder long just keep walking and the people will still pass by with their blank faces. Crossing the street again you notice no change except the green flash and the cars move past and across the intersection.

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She was a crazy old woman, always yelling at the kids playing in the street. Never had a lick of joy in her life. No one would visit her. Everyone was scared of this crazy old woman. She didn’t have a job because she was too crazy to work. But that's all ok, because at the end of the day she went into her room and saw her lovely bears and for a moment, just a moment, she was happy, nothing in the world existed when she was with her three bears she met when she was a little girl.

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Flowers bloomed, leaves on the trees change colors, and birds chirped beautiful songs, as she and her friend walked. The sun beat down upon their faces. They didn’t know where they were going. A high pitch scream comes from behind. When she looks to her side, she finds nothing but the empty space around her. Looking to find sight of her friend, another scream blows in the wind. A cry for help? She traces back her steps. Looking above to find her friend trapped in an animal trap. Hearing the branch breaking, which holds her friend’s life in its hands.

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The waves crash against my numb, tiny feet. They lick at my skin, beckoning me, taunting me to release myself to its bottomless depths. My gaze follows the horizon. The sun has left kisses of colors across the canvas of the heavens. Further in the distance, giants rumble and tumble towards me. I know I must make a choice, but my legs are numb to the bone. The waves rose from the waters, grabbing at my frail body. My soft hands graze a rough surface. I shift my stiff neck to fix upon a cliff, a way out, my way.

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To Feel like a Cigarette by Paige Winter

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To Feel like a Cigarette by Paige Winter

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Do not let yourself be treated like a cigarette. Someone can get addicted to you and decide that you’re no longer good enough. You don’t make them feel quite the same way they used to when things started out. When you are treated like a cigarette, you allow people to use you. They light you up when they’re bored and step on you when they’re done. You satisfy them for a short time but when the flame is gone, they leave too. They’re gone until they decide they want that feeling again and decide to relight the flame once again.

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She lied down on her bed, quietly gazing up at the ceiling. She felt warm and everything seemed blurry. The mattress was plush and comfortable as she fell back into it. She drifted away and everything faded to black. She woke up in a dark room, noticing that it seemed eerily darker. The room was hers, but not the same. The wind began to howl, and the lights vanished. The curtains began to fly as the wind picked up. She looked up at the window as the figure appeared behind the curtains, shadowed by a hood, saying, “Don’t be afraid.”

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SMACK! The scrawny girl slammed against the wall. Her weak body lay at the foot of the living room door. She lay there, mother stood by the stove, turning the big kitchen knife meticulously in her hands.. You should’ve learned by now, telling them about me the mother snarled. You filthy child. The girl placed her hands on the floor and slowly moved herself into a sitting position.  Mother’s cruel smile filled her blurry vision and she felt the sting of Mother’s calloused rough hand, hard against her bruised face. When would this end? When would she be caught beating?

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Walking the beaten path, I see ones less taken but ignore them. My shoes are getting eaten by mud. I see a silhouette, noticing I’m down to my knees. I start screaming for them but they keep shrinking; I need them to save me. I’m down to my waist. They’re coming back for me, I hear twigs breaking around me. I’m down to my chest. I hear the silhouette before my ears get covered and I take my last breath., “You should’ve taken the other path, the ground is much more solid.” They walk away grinning, providing more false hope.

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Jack sat on the hill staring at his past. Just underneath the hill lay his high school and the football field were him and his teammates had many games. On the other side was the track field where him and his buddy would practice their hearts to win meats. He remembered so many great memories like the time when Josh and him pulled the fire alarm and got into trouble. All those memories but that's what they were memoirs, no more pranks on teachers, no more anything because he will graduate tomorrow and will leave this place in the dust.

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In a world full of beauty and chaos, she hid from her family, from her fears, from everything. She was flawed. She knew it and so did everyone else. People laughed and pointed at her clothes, her hair, her face. Everything. Each day she tried to fit in. She went from being a brunette to a blonde, from wearing hoodies to crop tops, and from a natural face to one caked with make-up. Even then people didn’t notice her, so one day she gave up. It’s a shame that nobody saw her for who she was, until she was gone forever.

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the end is near for all. the human side of you will be lost and there is nothing you can do about it. it is all because of the revolution, humanity must be saved somehow. war makes monsters out of either side, and there is no right or wrong in this fight. whether you’re good or bad, an abomination or lover, or side with heaven or hell. this holy ground is stained with the bloodshed of warriors and it is scorched at my unruly touch. this war made me alive. i was ancient and tender, but now i am victorious.

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“The jury finds Mr. Evola guilty on all charges.” A month ago Tony would never expect to hear these words. A month ago he was at art shows across the country and Europe to further his career. A month ago Tony met Clarabelle, she was beautiful, she thought his work was stunning. A month ago Tony was blinded by a smile that clouded his judgement. A month ago Tony woke up in darkness, a foreign bed, bags filled with money and of ghostly white power. And of course, in carefully written cursive there was a letter that read “I’m sorry.”

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As she walk down a path in the woods she feels the sun shine on her face. The sun warms her and the cold fall breeze cools her creating a perfect medium. She hears the sound of crunchy leaves beneath her feet. These woods are a calm happy place, except for this one spot. As she arrives she feels a burden of sadness being laid down on her. The tree with the gravestone and the small pond nearby brings back sad memories. Even though these memories make her sad she still has to remember that he’s in a better place.

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You’ve always looked under rocks, but you’ve never tried unlocking a door. You keep looking for something, no matter what you try, you can’t find. You always go for the easy things, not the difficult stuff; maybe that’s your problem. You can’t find it, because you don’t look. If something means a lot you’d look everywhere. But what if what you really want isn’t anywhere near. What if something you want doesn’t exist. What if it’s just that you miss someone. What if it’s something that was here for a while, you can’t open a locked door without a key.

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By: Derek Stahmann
A cold morning, Never closer to friends. Here at the state meet, some of us were scared stiff. As a freshman, I was VERY nervous. Hundreds of eyes watching every step. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. The rhythm of my heartbeat as we approached the start. And quicker than ever, the gunshot like an alarm in my head, GO, millions of thoughts screamed through my brain, GO, no going back now, GO, I reached the end. Stop. It sunk in. It was the last race with those Seniors. So I thanked, each and every one of them for the experiences, were irreplaceable.

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By: Maleigha Dehn
The clang of the bat slapping the ball to center field, the bash of the ball being caught in our gloves, the butterflies when you step up to the plate, and the rush of adrenaline you get as you push to catch a fly ball. When people ask why I put up with cleat scars, scratches from sliding, and long practices, I can’t explain it. I can’t force them understand the feeling of running the bases for a home run. I have battle scars marking my body, telling the story of how we fought our way to get a win.