Aurora Magazine 2020

SM WC

Literary Ar ts Magazine

S a i n t M a r y - o f - t h e - Wo o d s C o l l e g e

2020

Aurora

Sa i n t Ma r y - o f - t h e -Wo od s Co l l e g e

Li t e rar y Ar t s Magaz i ne

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A Note From the Editor:

In your hands you hold an amazing feat – the 150th issue of the Aurora Literary Magazine . The student editors of Aurora recognize the significance of this tenure and are thrilled to continue building the magazine into something that can grow for years to come! This year has had its challenges – the Covid-19 pandemic and the push for racial justice, as well as the push back. There is no doubt that we are in the midst of the most challenging season we have faced and, as Midwesterners, that’s saying a lot. But we have a chance to respond to this tumultuous season by making sure that good art has a permanent place – a light shining in the darkness. This is what art and literature do: they amplify the cre- ative act of an individual to impact an entire community. That’s what this issue is about. I want to offer a resounding Thank You! to the entire 2019/2020 Aurora staff, as this issue would not have been possible without you. The fact that while facing a pandemic we were able to redesign and publish this year’s Aurora is a profound accomplishment. We’d also like to thank everyone who submitted their works to us. It can be scary to share a piece of your soul, but you allowed us to create a home for your art and for that we are grateful! Here’s to the next 150 years! As the great Stan Lee would say, “Excelsior!”

Alyssa E. Snively, Editor-in-Chief

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Aurora Staff

Editors-in-Chief

Alyssa Estelle Snively Elizabeth Boyer

Layout Editor

Emily Truax

Associate Editors

Ronald Brewer Mariah Brown Olivia Burns Hayley Cooper LA Fraley Emily Hansen Holli Hattery Nicole Hollowell Addison Hughes Tyler Kernstein Sam Mitchell Anwyn Payonk Tobias Pfeifer Elizabeth Reel Jacob Reinhart Bea Sider Emily Stattner Logan Thralls Shumin Wang

Faculty Advisor

Josh Maclvor-Andersen

Cover Art: From the “Infinitely Kusama” exhibit by Yayoi Kusama, Indianapolis Musem of Art, 2019. Photo by Alyssa Snively.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Poems:

Biohazard, Monsters, Earth

9 12 13 14 17 21 27 29 30 31 34 35 36 38 60 63 77

Haeleigh Hayden

A Weed

Dr. Penny Quinn

Untitled

MJ Esguerra

Prayer for the Faces of our Grief After the Loss of a LovedOne...

Constance Kramer, SP

First Frost

Amanda Studer

Roots

Lyz

Exist into the Midnight Sun

Michelle Carter

Earth

Mariah Lorraine Brown

Candle

Tavia Hedrick

My Song

Lyz

The Woods in Autumn

Linda Keat Renzi

Monday’s Class: A Teacher’s Poem

Amanda Studer

I of Broken Wing

Mariah Lorraine Brown

December, Dark, Death

Haeleigh Hayden

Recycled Thoughts

Tavia Hedrick

Landmark

Tavia Hedrick

Loneliness Is

Emma Taylor

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Zacchaeus

Linda Keats Renzi

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Fiction:

Sliding Doors

22 56

Kayte Greenfelder

Date Gone Wrong

Gwyneth Renfro

Creative Nonfiction:

Alcohol

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Hayley Cooper

Skaters Carve Memories Across Region Trail (The Journey)

18 28

Ronald Brewer

Humility

Noreen Gorman Perrone

As You Like It; or Love at First Sight

32 37 61

Elizabeth Boyer

Untitled

Anwyn Payonk

Captain Hook

Elizabeth Boyer

Conclusion – The Audacity to Be Divine

Judith Halbreich nee Mrozowski

64

Psychology in a Cat Café

79

Eric L. Hubbard

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Art:

Untitled

39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

Tobias Pfeifer

Untitled

Hayley Cooper

Daniels’ Sunflowers

Rhonda Daniels

Untitled

Bea Sider

Seahorse

Michelle Weisman

Untitled

Elizabeth Boyer

Infinitely Kusama

Alyssa Estelle Snively

The Calming Aspects Of Motherhood

Christina Standridge

Church

Teresa Dudley

Fruit More Perfect Than Gold

Rhonda Daniels

Just Alice

Alyssa Estelle Snively

Enlightened

Kiran Nix

D-MER Awareness

Christina Standridge

Hustle

Anna Bunch

Horse Painting

Jaylin Paullus

Adline’ s Tree

Michelle Weisman

Mystical Forest

Alyssa Estelle Snively

Play:

Untitled

70

Anwyn Payonk

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Celebrating 150 years

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2020

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Biohazard, Monsters, Earth Haeleigh Hayden

We speak with the wisdom and acid That comes from our minds and our stomachs The bile that roils in bellies that aren’t sated by pollution But sickened. We breathe chemicals like we breathe air – A man-made concoction just like everything else. A little bit of smoke from bio hazardous fossil fuels Burning in the buildings Venting toward the sky Enlarging the gaping hole in our atmosphere, Creating the mutant organisms that thrive in radiation and toxicity. We speak with pleas and cries for change But we are met with eye rolls and rage. These same people scream for murder of pedophiles And justice for the murders of people that shouldn’t have died Where is the justice for this planet? The biggest thing the Earth has to offer is Earth itself She gives life and nurtures death And still we choose to murder her. Our creator. Our home. We are the monsters.

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Alcohol Hayley Cooper

Poorly constructed “turkey” hands adorned the walls of the classroom, each a different size and shape. None of them resembling turkeys. Days before, we colored our Indian headdresses to wear on the day of our feast. I was especially proud of mine, as I chose each color with careful consideration and then colored each feather meticulously. The colorful paper headband sat on my desk in the back row of the second-grade classroom. I admired these details as I placed my bookbag and coat in my designated area of the classroom closet. I had been eagerly anticipating this day for what felt like weeks. You’d never been to one of my school functions. Some of my classmates had both of their parents make appearances at school functions, but that was never something I experienced. And I wasn’t envious, because Mom always came. I don’t remember why she couldn’t come to this one, the only school event she ever missed. Maybe she had something else to do, or maybe she thought you should finally make your appearance. I put on my paper headdress and looked at my unshapely turkey; I was excited and proud. Because I was a second-grade girl, I was worried about who we would sit by. Of course, I wanted to be near my best friends, maybe even near the boy I thought was cute. We moved our desks to the corners of the room, for the so-called “dining table” to fit. In reality, it was just two cheap white tables every school seems to have a plethora of. A dollar store tablecloth finished the look. On top of that, we placed our two nametags. One for ourselves, and one for our guest. Looking back, maybe I should have known you wouldn’t show up for the Thanksgiving event at my school. I wouldn’t get to show you around my classroom, where I sat, and where I placed my things. I wouldn’t show you the crafts I was so proud of, or see your reaction to them. I don’t remember much about the lunch we had. I couldn’t tell you what food we ate, or if I ended up sitting by my best friends or the cute boy. My memory starts to fade here, everything seems foggy and distant. What I do remember is one of my classmate’s mom taking a particular interest in me. I remember her blonde hair, still blown out and hair sprayed like she was in the 1980’s. She had a

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Aurora bright, toothy smile that was outlined with deep mahogany lipstick. She asked about my interests, what I liked and how I spent my time. She went out of her way to make sure I had someone. They all must have realized I was missing a parent – after all, I was the only second- grader with no mom or dad in sight. But she made sure I didn’t feel alone. I also remember you picked me up that afternoon. I asked why you didn’t come today, when I wanted you to so badly. I didn’t understand then. “You’re lucky I remembered to pick you up.”

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A Weed Dr. Penny Quinn

Standing apart, near a tangle of people The image of a flower that has grown outside the confines of the tend- ed bed… Or more likely, a weed Once which escaped the mower’s blade, by luck, circumstance, or direct intention Not pretty, but strong-stemmed and planted firmly in the soil Separate, disconnected… alone. But not lonely. Well, maybe a little… Considering the flowers in the tended bed… Loved and “taken care of” No desire to be contained… to be confined… to be controlled To be part of the “pretty things”

Remaining conscious of the mower’s blade… And the inevitable cycle of change.

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Untitled MJ Esguerra

Pennies for Profits exchanging in numerical forms and statuses Keep up with the Catharsis!

never forget that Money is power.

Adopting and Adapting the change to be Better, Greater; almost Grandiose swimming and searching the Ocean of Chances Capitalizing and Idolizing The Better, the Greater, and the Grandiose. Penny for Your Thoughts?

A dime in the jukebox Now Playing: Society in Numbers

“I post a picture that you want to see. Underneath’s a sea of Disbelief.”

#NotMyPresident but has never stepped foot in a ward #SavetheTurtles as she drinks through her plastic straw #FlintWaterCrisis since April of 2014

#NeverForget: Ignorance is powerful, too.

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Prayer for the Faces of our Grief After the Loss of a LovedOne... Constance Kramer, SP

When my faith is shaken, please God remind me of your love for me.

When I am jealous, give me the grace to accept my own grief journey.

When I am lonely, help me to reach out and share my feelings with others.

When I am stuck in painful memories of the past, give me the graces I need to forgive and be forgiven.

When I am in agony, hear my cry to you for help.

When I am anxious, remind me you are with me on my journey.

When I am faced with the reality that my deceased loved one will never come back in this life, let me experience their presence in a new way.

When I feel guilty for what I did or failed to do, let your grace of for- giveness fill my spirit.

When I am angry, grant me the grace to face the fear beneath my anger.

When I resist change, give me the willingness to make life-giving choices.

When I have lost my future, help me to trust that you will give me a future full of hope, if I come to you with all my heart.

When I have lost old friends, let me recognize the new friends you place in my life.

When I have allowed self-pity to fill me, help me to find reasons to be grateful for what I do have in my life.

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When my grief makes me feel very tired, help me to be gentle with myself.

When “grief triggers” cause unexpected “grief bursts,” let me be patient with myself and do what I need to do. When I am tempted to believe grief is the problem, help me let it become my teacher and part of the solution to learning how to move on in my life. When procrastination paralyzes me, help me to do the next right thing one minute, one hour, and one day at a time.

When I feel stuck in any way, do for me what I cannot do for myself.

When I am confused, let your Spirit give me clarity in your time.

When I am full of fear, remind me I am not alone on my grief journey.

When I am depressed, lead me to life-giving action.

When I am tempted to despair, give me some reason to have hope.

When I feel an emptiness in my soul, fill me with your abiding Pres- ence.

When I have lost my direction, let me know the path you wish me to take.

When I feel lost, find me.

When I have regrets, let me learn from my past and move on.

When sadness consumes me, help me to be grateful for my good memories.

When I have lost my identity, may I find a new identity with your help.

When I have lost meaning in my life, give me the grace to go on.

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When I don’t know how to pray, let your Spirit pray in me in words that you will hear.

When I am emotionally overwhelmed, teach me to breathe in your Love.

When I want to hold my loved one, God please hold us both in your heart.

When I forget that in death life is changed not ended, remind me that your Spirit will help me continue to develop an enduring bond with my loved one. When I want to talk to my loved one, let me say what I need to say and trust that I will be heard.

Amen.

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First Frost Amanda Studer

Glittering diamonds spread at my feet.

My breath

fogs the air, a smokescreen for my face.

Crunch. Crunch.

My steps echo in the stillness.

I breathe.

and be.

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Skaters Carve Memories Across Region Trail (The Journey) Ronald Brewer

My wheels snap a branch into pieces. I propel my longboard with a kick, kick, kick, kick, coast and the wind is heavy. My hair tingles against my skin as goosebumps form. Sweat drips and blood pumps and my heart beats throughout my body. “This is what feeling alive must be,” I said. It’s just the three of us wasting away the hot summer days, me, my brother Bryce, and my best friend Anthony. I have been longboarding for about seven years, but Bryce has been riding even longer. Anthony is just starting out, but he remains composed. That is until he falls off rolling into the pavement. Smart move to roll into your fall and remain with the momentum to prevent serious injury. “You alright?” I ask. “I’m already figuring it out,”he says. “Just give me some time and we’ll be cruising for real.” Bryce supports Anthony as he gets back on his board. I’m amazed at how he endures the pain, both physical and mental, over and over again. He’s always been good at doing this even before going to the Air Force. I guess this side of him has always been a mystery. I think I really started to question it after the funeral. I barely remember the church. Who did I even ride with? I do know it was around 7th or 8th grade when Anthony’s Dad died. Mr. Banks was always quiet. A man with limited words but when the words came out all ears perked up. He had a little scruffy beard, wore these wired glasses, and walked with a long gentle stride. The walk of a man who knew his purpose. A man who definitely cared for his family’s well-being and success. Then, in an instant, he was sick. I didn’t find out until it was almost too late. By this point, Mr. Banks was comatose, brain dead. And I remember the faces at the funeral: solemn. No breeze, no birds singing, and no sun shining. Only silent tears, held hands, and aching hearts remained as Mr. Banks was lowered into the ground. His daughter would soon graduate. His son would soon be a freshman in high school. And Anthony maintained a stoic face. Unfazed as he helped carry his father’s casket. Years later I would understand.

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Aurora Bikers, runners, and couples begin to pass us on the trail. I take a “Come on homie!”Bryce shouts as he zooms past me with a Happy Meal smile. Anthony trails right behind himwith a lot more proficiency than before. It seems the personal instruction had some benefits. Not that surprising considering Bryce helped him. I remember when he was a fresh 22-year-old skating at the university campus of Indiana Bloomington. He would tread across the smoothest, longest, and sometimes even the steepest hills he could find. That all stopped the time after he and his friend were going down an incline too fast. They had to bail and jump off their boards. While my brother’s friend had major scratches and cuts up his arm, Bryce was left with a messed-up wrist. In the moment they just laughed it off and helped each other back home. It wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. Once Bryce sat in a hospital roomwaiting for his nurse to take his dinner order. I was at school when an outbreak caused my brother’s eczema to flare up. His face was covered with it. His eyes became infected and crusted shut. “I feel like I always have someone putting my face against a stove,”he said. “The burners turn on and the fire is right underneath my flesh. This is my life.” The doctors had never seen such an advanced case. They took pictures of his face for further study. If the infection ever spread to his bloodstream, he would die. My brother said he never wanted kids just to avert the possibility of them suffering. He once wore shades at his job to not scare people like the young woman who said his face made her want to cry. As we continue skating my belly screams from hunger. Having low body fat just makes you a constant garbage disposal. Anthony and Bryce are used to my constant hunger. Food is always my next mission. We all hop off our boards and throw them into the back of the Subaru, dirty wheels and all. “That was fun,”Anthony said. “We definitely gotta keep doing this until summer’s over.” We all nod in agreement and smile, sweating, exhausted, in a bit of pain. This was our summer. Eventually we no longer felt the pain. We usually would end the day in Anthony’s car watching the purple and pink sunset. Countless days would be spent like this. Just long drink of water and wipe sweat frommy eyes.

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living, feeling our hearts beat, and pushing through our daily tasks as if we were cruising to one goal: skating to the sunset. Sometimes we would get into good discussion about the future and what’s to come. Dream of our vision, our hopes, and even potential failures. One day we sat quietly until he said something I wasn’t quite expecting. “You know, I think my Dad died at the right time,”he proclaimed. “Not like I am happy about it, but if he would’ve died any sooner, I don’t think I would’ve been ready. I was forced to grow up, but I think he prepared me well to be the man I needed to be. Luckily, you have a team. Your families got you and so do I.” He was right. As much as I’ve been there for him, he was equally there for me. Bryce also by my side, just like he helped Anthony with his skating technique. Bryce had suffered immensely; losing his home, job, stopping in his last year of school, and completely altering his lifestyle from one chance outbreak. I anxiously look over my shoulder avoiding anything that could hurt me. As I think of this, I can’t help but laugh. All we have is each other and our shared pain. We skate in celebration of the simple, sweet things.

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Roots Lyz

Success Rooted in ambition and failure Jealousy and Perseverance Ultimatum

Courage Rooted in Bourbon Whiskey and sheer determination Promise and Inspiration Luck

Fear Rooted in change and the Unknown Lack of control and power Internal Drive

Loss Rooted in pain and necessity Auto-pilot and grief Time

Life Rooted in unpredictability and character development

Anonymous authors Revisions and edits Trials and (countless) errors

Rebirth

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Sliding Doors Kayte Greenfelder

As I sit in the back of this glorious, dimly lit ballroom, all I can think of is what I am going to be leaving behind and what now lies ahead. For everyone here, senior prom night represented the beginning of the end. It was the last hoorah before finals, graduation, and ultimately turning into a grownup. For me, I have the added bonus of never having to see these scumbags ever again. I sip my punch slowly, hoping I don’t spill it on my obscenely expensive dress. Don’t get me wrong, I will remember this dress for the rest of my life. The sales girl sold me on this strapless, emerald green velvet dress that she said brought out the auburn of my hair and matched my eyes; I must admit I feel quite beautiful. It’s like a scene from any teen movie. Prom night and our heroine is seated alone waiting for her guy to ask her to dance. But this isn’t a movie and I’m not waiting for anyone to ask me to dance. I should be over it by now but it still hurts. Thinking of them together still makes me sick; what kind of name is Sophie LaRue anyway? She sounds like a cliche baddie from a children’s show. In my world, she’s so much worse. She’s a thief. She stole my best friend and has gone out of her way to make me miserable. I never once gave her the satisfaction; she couldn’t break me. What is she anyway? The a-typical, popular girl who is living her peak right now, while I haven’t even started the climb. I have always been so adamant that high school social status meant absolutely nothing. I still firmly hold that belief but part of me deep down feels the tiniest pang of regret for going out of my way to purposely not fit in these past four years. Maybe I should have cared just a little bit. The band stops and the principal takes the stage. “Now is the moment, you have all been waiting for: your 2018 Prom Court!” Everyone cheers and pushes their way to the front. I stand. I know where this is going and I want to be able to make a swift exit. Through the crowd I can see the back of his head. I am not paying much attention as the principal announces the princesses and princes. Who cares? I grip the back of my chair; I know what’s coming. “And now your prom king.” He opens the envelope. “No surprise here, Logan Turner.”

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The crowd erupts in cheers. Everyone loves him. He was that guy, the beautiful, nice, popular guy who dated the most popular girl. Hell, even I loved him. I have since kindergarten, when his family moved in across the street. We were inseparable until freshman year when Sophie set her sights on him and dug her talons in deep. Now, here we are, at the end of senior year and things haven’t changed. I don’t want to resign myself to the fact that our friendship is, indeed, over. “And finally, your prom queen for the class of 2018,” the prinipal says. “Can I get a drum roll?” The room goes silent except for the rumble of the drum. “Sophie LaRue!” The crowd goes wild. I roll my eyes as I watch her feigned shock and awe. She takes the stage with Logan and her court. “This is such a surprise,” she gushes. “Thank you for everyone that voted. This has been the greatest year of my life and I want to thank each and every one of you, especially my Logan.” She takes his hand in hers. The stage lights dim and a spotlight illuminates Logan and Sophie; their plastic crowns sparkle as the light bounces off the gaudy, fake jewels. The band plays a cheesy 80’s power ballad. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, squeezing the back of my chair until my knuckles turn white. In desperation, I make my way to the elevator at the far end of the ballroom. I furiously press the UP button until the door opens. I rush inside and hit the button labeled Rooftop Gardens. Just as the doors meet and I can finally breathe, a hand appears and stops them from closing. Frustrated, I look up and meet the gaze that hasn’t changed since we were kids. “Cassie,” is all he says. “Ugh...” is all I can manage as I bang the button again and again and again to no avail. He steps inside and presses the Door Close button. We stand in silence a moment until he leans over and presses the Rooftop Garden Button on the panel. The elevator jerks slightly but moves. The silence is almost deafening. I can hear the low, electrical buzzing of the elevator. Suddenly, the elevator jerks to a stop, the lights flicker, then go out. “Fuck me,” I whisper to myself. The emergency light comes on.

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I immediately press the button on the call box, nothing. “Seriously?” I close my eyes and take in a slow, deep breath.

“I’m sure we’ll only be in here a few minutes, tops,” Logan says,

trying to be reassuring.

“Do... not... speak... to... me.” I over enunciate every syllable. I feel my cheeks burn as the irrational anger starts to bubble up inside of me. Logan throws his hands up in defeat and leans against the wall of the far side of the elevator. I realize my hands are in tight fists at my sides. I try to relax by shaking out my hands, then slowly slide down the slick wall of the elevator to the cold floor. Not an easy task in this fitted gown. In silence, we both try not to make eye contact. “You look really nice,” he sputters. I pull my knees in close to my chest. “Thanks. Not as great as Sophie, though.”My spiteful tone is obvious. I instantly regret it. Logan shrugs and crosses his arms. “We broke up last month.” “Oh? But you’ve been on her arm all night.”My cheeks burn I shake my head and laugh. “That’s all you two care about? You do know there’s more to life than being popular in high school, right? And high school is all but over now. How did that work out for you?” His reaction is quick. I knew my words carried their intended bite. “What can I say? I just wanted to have the best time I could.” “And not care who got hurt in the process?” Four years of hurt and anger were ready to boil over and consume me. “You’re a selfish asshole, just like the rest of them.” “Come on, Cass...You’re the one who stopped talking to me.” “Is that what you think?! You are seriously delusional! Once Sophie sank her claws into you freshman year and was hell bent on making my life hell if I so much as looked in your direction. You made your choice way back then.” Logan rubs his forehead and slowly slides down the wall until he is seated across from me. “I’m sorry, Cassie.” “You’re sorry? That’s rich. Too little, too late Logan.” “I messed up. I thought that being popular would be, you know…”And even though our friendship has been non-existent for the with shame for being so petty. He shrugs again. “She said we should try to keep up appearances.”

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Aurora last four years, I still know him better than anyone. I recognized the sincerity in his voice, I knew he didn’t have a malicious cell in his body. He meant everything he said, it’s why everyone loved him. I let out a quiet sigh. “I’ve spent the last four years hating you. High school was going to be great, you and me against the world. But then...” “I fucked everything up.” “Ah crap, my foot’s asleep.” As quickly as I can, I jump to my feet. I kick off my shoes and wiggle my foot around. Logan laughs as he stands. Enough was enough, no more. “Logan, I’m tired of being angry.” “I never meant to hurt you and if I could take it all back...” I cut him short. “I know. But I don’t know if I can just sweep four years of hurt under the rug so easily.” “I’m not asking that. I know I screwed up and hurt the person who I wanted at my side the most. There were so many times, when I saw you at school and wanted to tell you something that only you would care about.” “Then why did you let her rule you like that?” “She didn’t rule me. Yeah, she was jealous. She’s just not the most secure person. Sophie needs to be adored, putting it mildly.” Laughing, I shake my head, “Obviously. Or else she wouldn’t need to act like a psychopath all the time.” “Look, Cass. I know I should have tried a lot harder. I shouldn’t have let Sophie get to me like she did. I can apologize and express my regret until the day I die, but like you said, high school is all but over and I don’t want us to not be friends anymore. Can we just start over now?” He looks to me, waiting for my response. I hesitate, only briefly, and I extend my hand out to him. “Hi, I’m Cassie.” Logan takes my hand. “Logan. Nice to meet you.” For the first time in a long time, my anger is gone and I smile. In one swift motion, Logan pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me in the tightest, warmest hug. “I’ve missed you so much, Cass.” He pulls me tighter. I wiggle my arms free and wrap them around his waist, resting my hands on his

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back.

“I’ve missed you too. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to

me for so long.”

Logan presses his lips to my temple as the elevator starts to rumble and the lights flicker. I blink as the lights come back on. I open my eyes and I’m standing back where I was, in the back of the ball room. Sophie and Logan’s dance is just ending. The others join them as the crowd descends on the dance floor. None of that just happened? It was all in my head? I feel my chest begin to tighten, my heart pound, and I can’t breathe. I rush out of the ballroom and into the main lobby. I nearly collapse at the bottom of the marble steps leading up to the other ballrooms. I try to catch my breath and calm myself, trying so hard not to cry. I can feel the tears coming. My eyes are starting to burn. “Cassie? Are you okay?” I lift my head. Logan is crouched in front me at eye level. “Cass?” I don’t answer immediately. I stare at him, perplexed. ”I.. Um… What are you..?” “I was on my way out to get some air and saw you sitting here. What’s wrong?” I shake my head, “I’m alright. I guess I just needed some air, too.” The look of concern melts from his face, revealing that familiar killer smile. For the first time in far too long, I feel calm. The tension that ravaged my shoulders has loosened. It’s a strange sensation, no longer wanting to punch him square in the jaw. I feel a smile forming on my lips. It was gone, the anger and spite that I had been holding onto. It was nowhere to be found. The moment when I went to the elevator purged me of all the negative emotions. Logan offers me his hand. “Come on.” I take in a deep breath and smile, taking his hand.

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Exist into the Midnight Sun Michelle Carter

You drive all night, to get to me I don’t see what you see But you can see me, in the dark You pick me up at midnight We go for an endless night ride You so fast, I want you to slow down Make this moment last, I wait so long You look at me, with such hunger Such need, we both want

I am scared, but you don’t dare My dark prince, take me away I go anywhere you go

No one needs to know, where we travel To the places in our minds, secret places You are already there, buried in my thoughts Where you can hide, hide away from the world, until the morning comes

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Humility Noreen Gorman Perrone

On This date, January 27th some 45 years ago, I experienced the Virtue of Humility. It was a cold and cloudy day, a typical winter day in Chicago and my husband and I were driving downtown to receive our new baby daughter. Since we already had a child, a five- year old boy – our biological gift – we were not fretting about all the baby tasks a new parent does. (We would soon learn how much one forgets when there’s a long time between infants and how tired one is as parents of a newbie, even when you didn’t physically go through pregnancy and delivery.) It suddenly occurred to me that this baby might be less than physically attractive and unlike her brother we might have to make a conscious decision to say that she was a beautiful baby! When we got to Catholic charities, we met with the Social Workers and filled out some last minute papers and while it seemed interminably long, it wasn’t. Then Jim and I were escorted to the cozy little baby’s room with a crib and, there was this pretty, pink, fuzzy honey-haired little baby. We leaned over the crib and gawked until the Director said we could pick her up. And when I did and held her in my arms, I was overpowered by the deepest, fullest sense of total Humility. Here was this angel, a perfect little baby girl in my arms. I was so aware that God and a life- loving birth mother had given us a most precious gift – one that we had not earned (we didn’t have a lot of money) and we had not “made” her. I learned that such Humility is only God given, never self- achieved. There aren’t many life situations that impart so much joy, a happiness one doesn’t purchase or earn or even win by effort. In that little baby-room my overwhelming awareness must have been like the awe that Elizabeth experienced and the gratitude that Mary voiced in the Magnificat.

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Earth Mariah Lorraine Brown

Earth is a vibrant green, that holds rustic maroon, scratching the surface of moist brown.

Lush the greenery, serene the sound, thriving with all around, softly it caresses. Life giving is its creation, life taking is its destruction

Its unchanging, its changing, its immobile, its mobile.

Earth is a vibrant green, that holds rustic maroon, scratching the surface of moist brown.

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Candle Tavia Hedrick

You had set me in a place all pretty And put my body on display Sharpened the knife and cut me clean But just enough so I could burn. You let my smoke suffocate like your hugs, And let the flame blind my eyes. For if candles burned a lifetime, Mine blew out a long time ago. But here I am still breathing before you, With my jar almost clean But you light your match anyway And all I can do is burn.

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My Song Lyz

I live in a world Where music is woven into my very soul. My being, Physically, mentally, spiritually, Intertwined in triplets and quarter rests. My song is composed from late night jam sessions, nightly outings,

honest conversations, and drunken thoughts.

My song is composed from hurt And happiness, Love and loneliness, And most importantly, Self-Reflection.

My song is an autobiography. How can I preach to others to sing Their songs, If I am not in tune with My Own? Who am I, you may ask? I am a product of grief and success, Sophomore year personal growth, Early graduation, and Musicality. I am a product of love, sadness, betrayal, And natural departure. Without these experiences and factors, My Song Would not ring true for generations yet to come.

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As You Like It; or Love at First Sight Elizabeth Boyer

I have always been handy with tech. My dad and I ran all the tech equipment at church every Sunday. Church wasn’t my thing, but tech was my dad’s and my thing. It was pure happenstance I was in the class at all, but somehow I ended up as master electrician for Shakespeare’s As You Like It . “All I have left is Master Electrician,”my professor shrugged. The way she looked at me told me to drop out of the class while I still could. Instead, I wrote my name in that last slot. The whole class had an issue with focus day. They were afraid of heights. Did they not realize that theatre lights are usually pretty high up? You’re not going to use a damn footstool to get to them. So, I was the only one to go in the cherry picker. I was the only one to go on the FOH catwalks which were nothing more than a series of two-by- fours on their sides held together through a special feat of physics. I got sunburnt that day. Well, it wasn’t sunburn. It was 500 watts bearing down on me as I focused them only millimeters from their searing heat. It felt like life. It wasn’t long before all the channels were connected, Lecko’s were focused, and all the gobos were in. Then I was locked away in my 8-by-10 room for the beginning of several weeks of darkness pressing buttons and programming numbers into a computer. I forgot what sunlight was. There was hardly an hour that I wasn’t in that little box lit by only a small red light. Sometimes the stage had actors. Sometimes it was just Val and I. Still, it was home. An interesting fact in light of what I just wrote is that I wasn’t even a lighting person until that moment. I wasn’t a theatre person. I was minoring in theatre up until that very moment that Val gave me the signup sheet for class. A place where something happened after which I was never the same was the building right next to the theatre. It was the art building, the same place I walked past everday to get to my little dark home in the theatre. The only difference was today there was a sale for student pottery going on and my parents had come down for it and

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Aurora to see the show. I may have hissed when I entered the sunlight. My head was pounding with a hangover, but it was really the fact that I hadn’t seen the sun in weeks that was melting my retinas. My parents picked me up and drove to the art building. It seemed a bit silly. I had been walking all over this campus in the cold, rain, snow, and general midwestern weather shit-show for months now, but today I had an escort to a building. We walked through the door and my heart made everything move in slow motion. Time stood still. It was a romantic comedy off to its low budget start. Fifty feet away I saw the green of his eyes. His hair with its half curls lay in perfect strands around his shoulders. A green military jacket was slightly too big for his extremely skinny frame. He had a smile that instantly met mine. My breath cut off and then I did the only sane thing I could think of; I walked back out of the building. “What are you doing?” My dad stopped me as I walked out. My grandmother was slowing them down which for once I was grateful for; they didn’t see whatever blissful chaos had just erupted into my heart.

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The Woods in Autumn Linda Keat Renzi

In furrowed trenches, battle-worn leaves hope for rest; then, a whirl of wind.

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Monday’s Class: A Teacher’s Poem Amanda Studer

Monday’s class would like to nap. Tuesday’s class began to rap. Wednesday’s class bounced off the wall. Thursday’s class ran down the hall. Friday’s class hoped it would end. Saturday’s class was full of friends. But the class that was held on the Sabbath day was full of joy and prone to pray.

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I of Broken Wing Mariah Lorraine Brown

Demands they yelled at I their truth I must obey. Refusal means death to one such as I. Unqualified I am to deny. I looked to the sky wishing to fly but, I am of broken wing.

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Untitled Anwyn Payonk

My mother and I had a complicated relationship, as so many mothers and daughters do. “I love you”was said through screaming matches and free time was used to sit in silent bitterness. She paid attention to me, and this was her way of showing love. Neither she nor I were ever good at articulating our thoughts or ideas. I convinced my friends to go see a new movie. It was called Lady Bird. It looked right up my alley seeing that it was a coming- of-age film about a quirky, independent teenager. I’ve been known among my friends for taking them to movies they’d usually not see, so it wasn’t hard to convince them to go. I made them feel “cultured.” It was raining so I put on my rainboots and jacket. I got to the door and ran to my friend’s car parked in the front. The movie centers around a teenage girl, but the heart of the film is the relationship between a mother and daughter. The unique bond they have. There are movies you watch that can really touch you. The characters you resonate with and the storyline that seems to paint a portrait of your life. As if the director looked inside your brain and scooped out every unspoken thought and feeling. Someone who can finally articulate it. When the movie ended my friend looked over and proclaimed, “That reminded me so much of you!”On the drive home they’re all talking about the movie. I try to be a part of the conversation but I’m buried in my thoughts already analyzing every scene of the movie. This is what I often do but this movie felt different. There’s a line in the movie where a character says, “Don’t you think maybe they are the same thing? Love and attention?” I get back to my dorm room and lay on my bed. I pick up my phone and dial my mother’s number. I want to tell her thank you. I want to articulate all of the thank you’s I couldn’t get out before. The thank you for paying attention. The thank you for being there. The thank you for making me who I am today. I wait for her to answer the phone by trying to think of a more poetic way to say that. She answers the phone and says, “Hello?” I can’t get the words out, so instead I tell her, “It rained today so I used my new rain boots.”

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December, Dark, Death Haeleigh Hayden

Take in the roses laid for us With love and for dear death Let not our sorrows taint our lusts Feel life with every breath With love and for our deaths Blood is let each dark December Feel life with every breath Our souls and likes you will remember Blood is shed each dark December We take the roses to the grave Our souls and likes you will remember And run the path we’ve yet to pave We take the roses to the grave Let not our sorrows taint our lust And live the path we’ve yet to pave Take in the roses laid for us

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Untitled Tobias Pfeifer

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Untitled Hayley Cooper

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Daniels’ Sunflowers Rhonda Daniels

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Untitled Bea Sider

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Seahorse Michelle Weisman

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Untitled Elizabeth Boyer

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Infinitely Kusama Alyssa Estelle Snively

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The Calming Aspects of Motherhood Christina Standridge

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Aurora Church Teresa Dudley

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Fruit More Perfect Than Gold Rhonda Daniels

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Just Alice Alyssa Estelle Snively

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Enlightened Kiran Nix

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Aurora D-MER Awareness Christina Standridge

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Hustle Anna Bunch

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Horse Painting Jaylin Paullus

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Adeline’s Tree Michelle Weisman

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Mystical Forest Alyssa Estelle Snively

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Date Gone Wrong Gwyneth Renfro

Hospital lights whizzed past like streaks of paint down a canvas. Voices were slurring together into a language I could not understand. Faces became alien and distorted. Why couldn’t I lift my legs? What had happened to me? My memory felt like it had been wiped clean, the last few hours of my life were just gone. I tried to use my lips to form any question at all, when a nurse noticed I was awake. Her fingertips felt so soft on my face... she was closing my eyes... and then it was black. Sun rays pushed past the darkness engulfing the room, warming the cold linoleum tiles covering the floor. I opened my eyes to gaze upon a cozy hospital room. In the left corner by the window was a single orange armchair that, apart from a few minor tears and stains, looked rather comfortable. Above it hung a crooked watercolor painting of a field of sunflowers trying desperately to make the patient feel “at home.” Although it failed to give me that feeling, I could appreciate that the artist had tried to make me feel his vision. A small bathroom was notched into the right corner of the room, and my bed was on the far wall with a perfect view of my room’s entrance. Since I could not remember how I landed myself in the hospital, I began to run through different scenarios of what could have happened to me. Harry and I had planned to meet for dinner at O’Charlies, a local pub I had frequented a lot. We had never met in person before, but I had been “with him” for at least six months through text, Facetime, and phone calls. He and I lived many states away from each other and had met through Facebook, but the spark was undeniable, and we fell fast. Every text he sent was more charming than the last, and he had shown an earnest interest in me from the very start. It seemed like he could not get enough of our conversations. Morning, noon, and night we would text for hours and hours about everything we could think of. We shared our favorite movies, food, songs, and music. Our sense of style complemented each other, and I could not deny that he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. Descriptive words could never do Harry justice. He had flowing locks of brown curls that wrapped around his shoulders,

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Aurora cradling a sharp jutting jawline. Blue eyes were surrounded by curly black eyelashes, freckles sprinkled across his cheekbones, and soft pink lips with pearly white teeth were some of my favorite features. He towered over most people at a height of 6’ 3”, and he carried his weight of 160lbs well. Although he wasn’t extremely muscular, he was toned and smooth with flawless skin. One could only imagine meeting such a physically beautiful man, but his mind was what made him beyond beauty I had ever seen. Harry was extremely intelligent, spending hours at a time filling his head with books of all genres. During phone calls, he would recite whimsical literature to me, describing sparkling lagoons, plush forest beds of moss and rose petals, and lush vineyards with miles of the sweetest grapes. At times I would fall asleep during these stories, and my dreams would take me straight to Harry’s dream world. I was so swooned by his stunning looks and calming voice that I became immediately hooked on him. Our date at O’ Charlies had been a planned evening for three weeks before the big night. Harry had surprised me for my birthday with his plane ticket to come see me! I could not believe someone would work so hard for so long just to come see someone like me, and that made me fall even farther in love. In the past, I have not had the best luck when it came to the opposite sex. It sounds cliché, but I have never felt like I have fit in with any crowd and grew up isolated within my own mind filled with daydreams, music, art, colors, stars, space, and light. Harry understood my mind, and he nurtured it with his own whims and whispers. Before I met him, I had no one to share my dreams with, and now I had someone who was my dream. While I was racking my brain for any inclination of memory, a nurse by the name of Stacy pushed open my door. She explained I was attacked by an unknown assailant downtown, right by the restaurant my date was planned for, and I had been found. Thankfully, I did not have any life-threatening injuries. Stacy had just begun to assess my wounds when two police officers swung open my door. Officers David and Benjamin had been assigned my case early this morning, and just my luck they were fresh out of police academy. They sat across from me with fresh-pressed uniforms and chipper smiles, eager to begin the interview. I was assessing them, scrutinizing every layer of the person I thought they were. David looked mildly young with shaggy auburn hair falling into his grey eyes, a sprinkle of light brown freckles splashed on his cheeks, and a small protruding

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beer gut that was only visible when he was turned to the side. My guess was he found his profession late in life and made a big leap to join the force. Benjamin, on the other hand, looked no older than 25. His skin was the same color as toasted marshmallows, combined with jet black hair and a curly smile. Energy exuded from him, and he almost was buzzing from it while sitting in his chair. David began my interview by asking me all the basic questions like, who am I, where was I, do I remember what happened, do I remember anything, do I have suspicions, etc. I could not provide many answers, but I still tried to supply them with as much information as possible. My phone was brought out to show them all the messages with Harry as I explained our date and all the planning leading up to it. They jotted down Harry’s name, address, phone number, and description before asking if I knew what drug I had been given. No one had mentioned being drugged until that point, and I felt completely stunned. A roofie in my drink? It causes blackouts? Everything was making sense…why I could not remember what happened to me. Betrayal and anger boiled inside me as I knew it had to have been Harry who did this to me. The officers tried to calm me down, tried explaining they didn’t know for sure, but I knew for sure it was him. Officers David and Benjamin soon left my hospital room along with Stacy to give me some time alone. David instructed me that I was not to try and contact Harry in any way during the investigation no matter how hard it may be. It was extremely hard. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and listen to his voice engulfing me with warmth and love. Even now that I know the love was fake, it still was all I craved. Shock had not yet worn off for me to truly grasp what had happened to me. The story went that I arrived at O’Charlies around 8:30 p.m. and was seated next to the bar in a booth. Camera footage had captured Harry walking into the restaurant at 8:43 p.m. wearing a black sweater and distressed jeans (fibers from his jeans were found at the scene). We were seen sitting at the booth enjoying cheese fries when I got up to use the restroom. It is not clear what Harry does when I am absent, but he fumbles in his pocket for something and reaches across the table for my drink. I return, and he carried on like nothing occurred. We are seen leaving the restaurant at 9:45 p.m., me

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Aurora fumbling to walk and Harry holding me up, loading into a cab, and driving off. After that, I was discovered at 4:39 a.m. in Mulberry Park covered in dirt, blood, and vomit. My crime was standard for the area, but I never once thought it would happen to me. A week passed before I was discharged from the hospital to be sent home. Stacy gave detailed instructions on how to care for my wounds, and I was to return in a few weeks to be checked on my progress. I was also told a caseworker would be in touch with me soon to set up counseling appointments at the local therapy office. Harry was still heavy on my mind and heart, but not in the same way. A lot of my time spent in the hospital bed was on planning. Planning my revenge on Harry no matter what the police told me. They had not yet found his location and evidence at the scene had all been collected, leaving me to sit like a duck and wait. Waiting was never a strong suit of mine. In my room upstairs I was confronted by the reality. Thousands of pictures of Harry stared back at me from my wall. Pictures that once held so much sentimental value to me, now looked like obituaries. My stomach began to heave at the thought of his hands on my flesh, caressing my shoulders, as I had dreamed of so many times. He betrayed my trust, took advantage of my love, and groomed me so he could hurt me. The anger shot out like lightning bolts from my hands, compelling me to destroy everything he attached himself to. Picture shreds fell to the floor all around me like confetti. Shredding, pulling, tearing, screaming, crying, bleeding. Every gift he sent me was now pitched out the window, crashing on the sidewalk below. My eyes were seeing red, and I lost complete control. Harry took control from me, and now, I had to gain it back.

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