CYCLES
ECHO Literary and Arts Magazine
Volume 42, 2024-2025
Cover Images: A New Night, Anonymous.; A View From Ground Level, Eli De Oliveira; & Oceans Embrace, Gwynda Stone
Untitled by Cara Ruffing, digital art
"I would hurl words into the darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all." Richard Wright
ECHO is the literary and art magazine published annually by Randolph's Upper School in Huntsville, AL. ECHO runs as an extra-curricular club in consultation with a faculty sponsor. It features original student work from the categories of poetry, prose, and performing and visual arts. All published pieces are chosen by the student-run staff based on the criterion of artistic merit. Submissions are received throughout the year and are open to any student in the Upper School. Students must submit their work with their real names, but may choose to be published anonymously or under a pseudonym. The staff of ECHO then evaluates the submissions, selects pieces to be published, and integrates them into the magazine's layout. Upon reviewing the collection of selected submissions, a theme is chosen to reflect the overall trend of the works represented in the edition of ECHO. Copyright © 2025, Randolph School, Huntsville, AL Email: randolphecho@gmail.com
Lily Kate Swoboda '25 Cara Ruffing '26 Gwynda Stone '27 Isabella Scariya '27 Kalia Woods '27 Maya Persaud '27 Sophia Dooley '27 Axel Lowry '28 Charlie Bedell '28 Rex Gordon '28
Anna Dooley '25 Brooke McFarland '25 Eli De Oliveira '25 Grayson Brewer '25 Maressa Bender '25 Mary Catherine Waldrop '25 Nathan Beck '25 Paul Lee '25 Scarlett Smith James '25 Tulloss Hancock '25
ECHO STAFF
v
Note from the Sponsor, 8-9 Single Use, Tulloss Hancock, 10 Elon Muskrat, Tulloss Hancock, 11 Whiskers, Maressa Bender, 12 The Winged Victory, Maressa Bender, 13 One of the Thousand, Axel Lowry, 14 Pirate, Celia Bedell, 15 Cocoa For ECHO, Various Sources, 16-21 Company, Grayson Brewer, 22 Moss, Anna Dooley, 23 Spring Rendezvous, Anna Dooley, 24 Victory, Anna Dooley, 24 Who Lives Here? Anna Dooley, 25 Baroque Painting, Daniel Sanders, 26 Walmart Gas Station, Daniel Sanders, 27 A View From Ground Level, Eli De Oliveira, 28 Sunset Over Seneca Rocks, Eli De Oliveira, 29 4:28, Grayson Brewer, 30
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Oceans Embrace, Gwynda Stone, 31 Life In Motion, Anonymous, 32 Sandwall Society, Kalia Wood, 33 A New Night, Anonymous, 34 Contrast of Time, W.P Keane, 35 The Light Shines Through, Scarlett Smith James, 36 "Tonight's Story", Nathan Beck, 37 - 39 "Cycling Self", Jewel McGee, 40 "A Slight Inconvenience", Rachel Stewart, 41 - 47 "Meditations upon Siddhartha", Anonymous, 48 "Loved and Lost", Rachel Stewart, 49 "Mean Girls", Anonymous, 49 "Dreaming of Love", Venus May, 50 "Compact", Grayson Brewer, 51 "An Open Love Letter", Grayson Brewer, 52 - 53 Composition Book, Nathan Beck, 54 Paratrooper, Katie Bamford, 55 Winterbane, Rachel Stewart, 56 Sweet Treat, Sophie Bynum, 57 A Bad Case Of Stripes, Tulloss Hancock, 58 Ponyo Poster, Tulloss Hancock, 59 Living Hat, Anna Dooley, 60 Puppet Rig For Pirates of Penzance, Rex Gordon, 61 Cocoa Outtakes , 62 - 65
A NOTE FROM OUR SPONSOR
Cycles are everywhere. We see them in nature—the rhythm of seasons, the turning of the year—and in our daily routines: the clocks that mark our progress through the day, the repetition of class discussions that evolve each time they’re revisited. But cycles also show up in ways we don’t always notice: in how we grow through failure, in the return of old questions with new understanding, in the way people come into our lives and shape us. At a school like Randolph, these patterns are especially vivid. Each fall, new faces arrive while seniors begin the long, layered process of saying goodbye. Year after year, students find their voice, take creative risks, and leave behind something meaningful. This edition of our literary magazine is a celebration of that. It reflects the themes that loop through our lives—transformation, return, resilience—and it also reflects the cycle of student creativity and collaboration that brings this publication to life each year.
I'm especially proud of our seniors, whose talent, leadership, and dedication have been the beating heart of this issue. They’ve shaped the vision, curated the work, and crafted something that speaks to both where they’ve been and what they’re leaving behind. To all our contributors, thank you for capturing the beauty and complexity of what it means to live in cycles—whether emotional, academic, or artistic. And to our readers: May you find yourself somewhere in these pages, and may these stories and images remind you that every ending contains the seed of something new. Patrick Green ECHO Faculty Sponsor
(Above) Single Use Acrylic on Canvas Tulloss Hancock Elon Muskrat Acrylic on Canvas Tulloss Hancock (Right)
PAINTINGS
Whiskers Linocut print Maressa Bender
The Winged Victory Linocut print Maressa Bender
PRINTMAKING
Pirate Linoleum print on score Charlie Bedell
One of the Thousand Linocut ink on stationary Axel Lowry
Cocoa for Echo is a yearly student-led event to drum up interest in the arts through poetry, drawing, and writing while also providing a fun sweet treat for students who submit to Echo! This year was one of our most successful yet, bringing together students from all different grades and preferred mediums to submit their art and create new pieces. Featured are some of the staff's favorite works!
Cocoa for ECHO
PHOTOGRAPHY
möss Anna Dooley
Company Grayson Brewer
Who Lives Here? Anna Dooley
(Left) Springside Rendezvous Anna Dooley (Below) Victory Anna Dooley
Walmart Gas Station Daniel Sanders
Baroque Painting Daniel Sanders
Sunset Over Seneca Rocks Eli de Oliveira
A View From Ground Level Eli de Oliveira
Ocean's Embrace Gwynda Stone
4:28 Grayson Brewer
Life in Motion Anonymous
Sandwall Society Kalia Woods
Contrast of Time W. P. Keane
A New Night Anonymous
"Tonight’s Story" By Nathan Beck I ask Dada, “Will you tell me a story?” He smiles, reaching for the shelf with the books. I frown. “No, Dada, I want one of your stories!” “You want one of my stories?” he asks, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ok then. Once upon a time, there lived a princess who was trapped in her castle.” “No, Dada!” I laugh, rolling backwards onto my soft bed. “I want a real story!” Dada smiles at his joke. “Fine -- though I doubt any of my stories will be as exciting as the princess. There are notably fewer dragons.” “Tell one from when you were big and grown up!” “Ok, son. When I was fourteen, I moved from middle school to high school.” And so his story began. “High school is the four last years of school before you go off to college. It’s your last four years living in your parents’ house. It’s your last four years of not paying taxes, of not worrying about your own meals, of coming home to loving parents. It’s your last four years of childhood - or, at least, that’s what it felt like. “And none of the classes were very difficult. Coming out of middle school, where we had been taught for years to look up at high school like Olympus itself, it was a surprise when the courses weren’t that much more intense than the courses offered in middle school. I felt like I was missing something. “Eventually, I allowed myself to shake this feeling. Maybe high school was like riding a than them, my group of friends stayed about the same -- and so did my sense of belonging. I still felt like I was missing something. Maybe high school wasn’t like riding a bike. Maybe it was a son wearing his father’s shoes. Every day, they get closer to fitting, becoming easier and easier to walk. My shoes, however, were still five sizes too big. I stumbled whenever I tried to interact with people the way I wanted to,” Dada says, chuckling at some image in his head that I can’t see. “Then I got invited to a Christmas party. Son, it was grand. I wasn’t invited to a lot of things, and this felt like my chance. I got lost on my way, but eventually, I showed up to the house. Stepping through the doorway felt like stepping into another world. My friends were everywhere, smiling, joking, having fun. The next few hours went by in a blur. Eventually, though, it was time to leave. I said my goodbyes, my smile now false. I didn’t want to leave the most fun I’d had in a year. But I had to. I stepped into the car, my parents driving me home. “The next day, to my shock, it was back to normal. It wasn’t like the party the night before; it was just school again. But something had changed. Slowly, I was adjusting to my place in high school. Maybe instead of a bike or shoes, high school was like a bright light. It was painful at first, but as your eyes adjust, you can see more of what you need to. “I, for sure, did begin to see more. I put more effort into my classes and friends and got more out of both. I was finally enjoying myself as I moved into my third year. The rush of college and stress of decisions came, but surprisingly, it didn’t shake me as it did for some others. I was stressed, yes, but I weathered the storm and came out the other side full-sail. “This year, I was invited to even more get-togethers with my friends, and I began to grow closer to them, forming very strong friendships. I was adjusting to the bright light and shining because of it. “After that joyful time, I came to my fourth and final year. It was hard not to depressedly count down the ‘lasts’ during that year. My last first day. My last new classes. Next, it was my last Thanksgiving home. Then came my last Christmas when I still lived with my siblings and parents. All too suddenly, I had come to my last dance, my last spring vacation, my last couple weeks. This whole time, I had been missing it. High school wasn’t a bike, shoes, or a light. It was a falling angel, streaking out of the sky with moments left to enjoy beauty, scolding himself for watching the ground approaching and not appreciating the beauty that always had existed around him. And I cried.” Dada pauses for long enough that I think his story is finished. Meekly, I say from under my blanket, “That wasn’t a very happy ending, Dada.” The corners of Dada’s lips tug upwards. “Don’t worry, son. That was not the ending. In the midst of falling from the sky, I realized that I still had moments left to enjoy time with my friends. If I focused on the approaching ground, I couldn’t enjoy the beauty of the sky. And so I looked up away from the craggy rocks approaching and spent my last few weeks with my friends. “And I was so happy. I got to spend those weeks appreciating how much I had grown and how lucky I was. I had a giant group of friends who knew me well, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life, my future was planned but I focused on the present. It was a time of joy, son. And in that moment, it felt like maybe high school wasn’t the falling angel. It wasn’t riding a bike, or a pair of well-fitting shoes, or a heavenly light that illuminated everything in sight. High school was a story a father tells his son. It might be difficult, it might have problems and conflict. But it has a happy ending.” With that, he smiled, but more tightly this time. His eyes were wet. “But Dada! What about the rest of the story? What comes next?” I ask, wanting to hear his story of strong friendships and loving community continue. I was eager to hear how he and all of his friends went to college together, and how he still goes out with them twice a week and talks about how life is going, joyfully reflecting on their lack of responsibilities after leaving high school. How could he stop his story now? With pensive eyes and a wrinkled, smiling face, Dada answers. “That’s a story for another night.”
The Light Shines Through Scarlett Smith James
WRITING
Dada pauses for long enough that I think his story is finished. Meekly, I say from under my blanket, “That wasn’t a very happy ending, Dada.” The corners of Dada’s lips tug upwards. “Don’t worry, son. That was not the ending. In the midst of falling from the sky, I realized that I still had moments left to enjoy time with my friends. If I focused on the approaching ground, I couldn’t enjoy the beauty of the sky. And so I looked up away from the craggy rocks approaching and spent my last few weeks with my friends.“ And I was so happy. I got to spend those weeks appreciating how much I had grown and how lucky I was. I had a giant group of friends who knew me well, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life, my future was planned but I focused on the present. It was a time of joy, son. And in that moment, it felt like maybe high school wasn’t the falling angel. It wasn’t riding a bike, or a pair of well-fitting shoes, or a heavenly light that illuminated everything in sight. High school was a story a father tells his son. It might be difficult, it might have problems and conflict. But it has a happy ending.” With that, he smiled, but more tightly this time. His eyes were wet. “But Dada! What about the rest of the story? What comes next?” I ask, wanting to hear his story of strong friendships and loving community continue. I was eager to hear how he and all of his friends went to college together, and how he still goes out with them twice a week and talks about how life is going, joyfully reflecting on their lack of responsibilities after leaving high school. How could he stop his story now? With pensive eyes and a wrinkled, smiling face, Dada answers. “That’s a story for another night.”
bike. Maybe the more I did it, even though it didn’t feel right at first, the more comfortable it would get. So I coasted along. “The next year came, finally accompanied by some harder classes. A few new students joined, but other than them, my group of friends stayed about the same -- and so did my sense of belonging. I still felt like I was missing something. Maybe high school wasn’t like riding a bike. Maybe it was a son wearing his father’s shoes. Every day, they get closer to fitting, becoming easier and easier to walk. My shoes, however, were still five sizes too big. I stumbled whenever I tried to interact with people the way I wanted to,” Dada says, chuckling at some image in his head that I can’t see. “Then I got invited to a Christmas party. Son, it was grand. I wasn’t invited to a lot of things, and this felt like my chance. I got lost on my way, but eventually, I showed up to the house. Stepping through the doorway felt like stepping into another world. My friends were everywhere, smiling, joking, having fun. The next few hours went by in a blur. Eventually, though, it was time to leave. I said my goodbyes, my smile now false. I didn’t want to leave the most fun I’d had in a year. But I had to. I stepped into the car, my parents driving me home. “The next day, to my shock, it was back to normal. It wasn’t like the party the night before; it was just school again. But something had changed. Slowly, I was adjusting to my place in high school. Maybe instead of a bike or shoes, high school was like a bright light. It was painful at first, but as your eyes adjust, you can see more of what you need to. “I, for sure, did begin to see more. I put more effort into my classes and friends and got more out of both. I was finally enjoying myself as I moved into my third year. The rush of college and stress of decisions came, but surprisingly, it didn’t shake me as it did for some others. I was stressed, yes, but I weathered the storm and came out the other side full-sail. “This year, I was invited to even more get-togethers with my friends, and I began to grow closer to them, forming very strong friendships. I was adjusting to the bright light and shining because of it. ' “After that joyful time, I came to my fourth and final year. It was hard not to depressedly count down the ‘lasts’ during that year. My last first day. My last new classes. Next, it was my last Thanksgiving home. Then came my last Christmas when I still lived with my siblings and parents. All too suddenly, I had come to my last dance, my last spring vacation, my last couple weeks. This whole time, I had been missing it. High school wasn’t a bike, shoes, or a light. It was a falling angel, streaking out of the sky with moments left to enjoy beauty, scolding himself for watching the ground approaching and not appreciating the beauty that always had existed around him. And I cried.”
"Cycling Self" By Jewel McGee I believe the term “growing up” has become somewhat synonymous with, whether it be purposeful or not, losing aspects of oneself over time. Rather than shedding features, we layer them, merge them, into our persons. Detrimental aspects can be softened by good ones. What once lay dormant will emerge when exposed to the environment needed for growth. A person never loses their love for particular things, but rather cycles through phases over their life with continuous, undulating waves of new and old layers emerging out of the self. Of course, society can mold us toward the unsavory habit of suffocating layers, choking on the broken shards that try to work themselves out of our bodies. Society can enforce both the good and bad, which means, as with many other parts of life, we must delineate for ourselves what we need. I find that a daunting task, finding what parts of our culture are good for myself and others. There is no true, straight answer, but I believe questioning is better than idly watching. I consider how honest I was at the unassuming age of 6 or 7. Though not everyone would agree, I find that younger children are generally more honest, with less of a filter in place. With time, one becomes aware of how candidness can be inappropriate in certain situations, but that is of course just one of the many layers which make up living: finding a kind of balance in life between your thoughts, words, actions, and perceptions. I realize as I get older that I need to be more open with my thoughts on life. The questions I get asked by my younger cousin make me smile, and I remember that to ask questions is the best we can do in a world we cannot know entirely. So why do we stop asking questions outside formal education? Why is questioning the world scary? Why does expressing your opinions and feelings on a subject feel alienating in certain situations? What deep fears keep people locked in their minds, rotting with their thoughts over time? To step away from the present rush of trailing thoughts I often find myself stewing in, I look back at my younger self. The loud, silly, curious kid who looks back at me under all the layered blankets of experiences that separate us. Though we are different, we are also the same. I think of the qualities most prevalent in her, ones that brought her joy, that I can slip my hand down to receive, pulling them to the surface once more to merge with the new. To grow up is to remember your whole self, rather than the one or two layers which seem to fit best with the current environment. To grow up is to remember how to love.
"A Slight Inconvenience" By Rachel Stewart In hindsight, telling the treasure hunter about her mountain of gold was not the greatest idea that Erin had come up with in her thousand years of life. On the other hand, it was extremely funny to watch Nasir’s eyes widen comically at her offhand statement. To be fair, it was a reasonable reaction to being told that she had enough gold to make an entire colony of dragons jealous. Less fair, though, were his attempts at breaking into her mountain base to steal some of said gold. Call her greedy, call her a hoarder – but Erin didn’t take kindly to someone stealing from her. Not that he would actually be able to do so, considering the mountain’s 300-ton stone door and broken lever; but still, it was rude to try to steal from someone that he’d just met. Currently, Erin was lounging in her office, trying to ignore the banging sounds coming from the entrance; she needed to focus to prepare for the upcoming Jorðollr Council meeting. A quill was behind her ear, and a map of Jorðollr was spread out in front of her. The usually calm ocean of the world’s political state was beginning to show signs of a storm, and Erin, being one of the newest council members, had no intention of being caught off-guard by it. Valiria sat, imposing and battle-scarred as ever, on the eastern edge of the map – a soon-to-be headache. A current headache: the Council had decided that Kýrheim’s dragon infestation was now Erin’s problem, which would be irritating. It’s always something with the Kýrans. Last time was that fey coup, before that the civil war, and now this. But they were allies, so if they wanted her to kill some dragons, then she would. She hated fighting their native spiny dragons, though, and vowed to make them do something about the influx of Fey con artists to Ridín in exchange. At least their hordes would be a nice compensation for the irritation. Though, they were the reason that she was in the current irritating situation in the first place, so maybe they weren’t that worth it. She had just finished killing an elder dragon, the last vestiges of electricity crackling out of its mouth. She wiped her blades and prepared to lug the dragon back to her base when a voice spoke up behind her. “Well, that was terrifying! I didn’t know that there was a dragon hunter in the area – you must be new!” Erin turned to look at the outwardly unconcerned man walking towards her. He looked relatively harmless, but then again, so did Njalm and Lyra. She shifted her weight slightly, getting ready to spring into action in case he was a threat. “Who are you?” Her voice was light but guarded. “Not many people willingly walk into an adult dragon’s territory without a weapon.” The man laughed. “Well, it’s a dead dragon’s territory now, isn’t it? Besides, I do have a weapon: myself.” His voice was sly. “I’m a mage, you see. One of the best around, in fact, so there really was no threat at all!
The man laughed. “Well, it’s a dead dragon’s territory now, isn’t it? Besides, I do have a weapon: myself.” His voice was sly. “I’m a mage, you see. One of the best around, in fact, so there really was no threat at all! Mm-hm. The over-inflated ego definitely marked him as a mage. Rare for a Valiri; they usually preferred swords over words. Strange, though, that a Valiri mage would be this far from home without good reason. The frozen lands of Ridín were home to many exiles and outcasts for good reason. So, either this man was an idiot or far more dangerous than he appeared. Based on his bluster, it was likely the former. She relaxed fractionally, sheathing her swords and pretending that there was no reason she had kept them out. Realistically, she thought, she didn’t need to worry. “Well then,” she said sardonically, “if you’re so unconcerned walking into a former dragon lair, what are you here for?” He smiled. “I’m a treasure hunter, flicka, this is the opportunity of a lifetime!” Ugh. No one liked treasure hunters, but dragon hunters especially hated them after a long history of sticky fingers. Erin made a mental note to keep an eye on him – just in case he tried to liberate some of the hoard behind her back. A second, more important note: if he called her flicka again, he was getting disemboweled. “I see.” Her voice was flat. “Find another opportunity elsewhere.” “Come now, let’s not be greedy!” He had something that could only be described as a politician’s smile on his face as he tried in vain to weasel a few pieces of gold out of her. “I do need living wages, after all! The last time I got paid was when I found a little girl’s pet hound for her! Me! An honorable finder!” Yes, how awful that this poor man must relegate himself to dirty work to get his living, rather than stealing from others. The poor family; after he found the dog, he probably hounded them for money. He was still talking. At least he’d sensed that she wasn’t falling for his sob story. “Please-” he had turned on the puppy eyes. “- you must have something to spare! Can’t you spare a few pieces? You can’t be so short on money that you can't give some away!” Oh, for the love of the Norns – He had to be joking. Short on money? She was dressed in dragon bone armor and had Damascus blades! He was either blind or stupid. But. There was an opportunity that he had just walked into. Erin smiled to herself. “Interesting point,” She interrupted his exaggerated pleading with a smile that would be more at home on a wolf’s face. “ Now,” she began, waiting for a name. The pompous bakraut hadn’t even introduced himself. He at least had realized that he hadn’t deigned to give her his name and had the decency to look embarrassed about it.“Ah, it’s Nasir. Nasir Comerca. Well-” He winced. “-formerly Nasir Comerca. Now just humbly Nasir.” Ah! An exile. No wonder he was broke.
“Now, Nasir,” she continued, “ You said that I must need this gold.” He nodded. Idiot. She leaned in conspiratorially, a grin forming on her face. “Do you want to know a secret?” He leaned in as well, falling hook, line, and sinker. “Of course.” “Well, you see, back home, I live in a mountain…” And that had been that. He immediately jumped to attention, trying to get her to give him the entire horde. She responded with a few variations of “You can have the horde when you kill the dragon”, but shockingly, he hadn’t listened. Either way, he was now a nuisance. Erin didn’t have the time or energy to deal with an entitled treasure hunter - or noble finder, as he liked to call himself - while dealing with Kýrheim’s dragon crisis. In fact, she had an entire laundry list of things to do and people to talk to. The Jorðollr Council meeting was coming up to discuss reports of the growing Valiri army, which might lead to all-out war. It wasn’t helpful that half of the council members were old fools who thought that they wanted war, which was almost more annoying than the actual threat of war. Speaking of annoying… Erin was half-tempted to call in her favor from the local dwarves, but it would be a waste of the favor. Plus, in order to call it in, she’d have to leave the mountain and get past the fifl at the door. Realistically, she needed to bite the bullet and deal with him, but the situation would likely entail some form of long, drawn-out threat, which she had no time for. She sat back again, looking away from the map in front of her. There was no point in planning when she’d been staring into nothing for the last 30 minutes. If she could just come up with a way to make him leave… Giving him gold would definitely shut him up. But she wasn’t in the mood to justify his behavior and the odds were, he’d come crawling back for more. And while killing him had its definite merits, it would likely cause some sort of international incident, which would lead to more paperwork, which would put off the dragon-killing, which would, in the grand scheme of things, end up causing her more grief than it would save. No, she would have to get him to leave peacefully, and she wouldn’t be able to do that without some form of manipulation or threat. Preferably the manipulation, since threats were too easy to ignore. He was an idiot, so appealing to common sense would be an exercise in futility, and he was an idiot, so any attempts at subtlety or misdirection would fly over his greasy little head. Maybe—
She cast a spell to keep it from rotting further, and kept walking, following the source of muffled bangs coming from the front door. When she got there, she did a cursory check for damage on the door, which was completely unharmed despite its former barrage. Speaking of barrages… The noises from Nasir trying to break in had stopped. While Erin was inclined to sit down and celebrate, she also knew that, like parenthood, silence usually meant an incoming disaster. Eh, better to find out now than wait in dread for something to happen. Erin grabbed the edge of the door and heaved, moving the massive doors with ease. Thank you, godly strength. When the screeching of stone scraping against stone had finished, she was met with the slack-jawed face of Nasir, who had apparently been setting up some sort of cannonball/catapult machine. She couldn’t help herself. “Oh, I’m sorry,” She smirked. “Did you have some trouble moving those?” Continuing on in the face of his speechlessness: “I’m sorry, I thought that a great and powerful mage like you wouldn’t have such… difficulties. ” She punctuated the statement with a judgemental once-over, taking in his sweating, tired form. Gods, how does one man produce that much oil in a day? Nasir sputtered at the implication and seemed to be debating between correcting her or wisely staying silent in the face of someone who just pushed 300 tons of stone without breaking a sweat. She didn’t feel the need to wait and see which he chose, so she continued. “Since you so nicely asked, I’ll be willing to negotiate with you, if only in the hopes of getting you to leave me alone.” Ideally, her forced smile would convince him that he had finally annoyed her into negotiations, misdirecting him from her real plan. Nasir straightened, shifting from intimidation to smugness, evidently pleased with himself. “Well, who am I to refuse civil negotiations?” He threw away the wooden plank he had in his hands and dusted himself off, giving his poor shirt some serious oil stains. Erin turned around and walked into the mountain, not waiting for him to finish his attempts at cleaning himself off, and started towards her study at a brutal pace that Nasir had to half-jog to keep up with. Gods, the greedy bastard wasn’t even paying attention to her. Instead, he was switching between looking at the various dragon-related decorations gracing her base (probably calculating how much they would sell for at an auction) and looking at her menagerie of weapons and armor with thinly-veiled apprehension. When they finally reached her secondary office, which was covered in various papers that should’ve been done months ago and various gutted survival kits, Erin moved behind her desk and motioned for Nasir to sit across from her, subtly sliding the ring and coins into an easily reachable place for him to steal. Gods, she hated negotiations like this. Nasir twitched, presumably seeing the ring, and his eyes quickly darted to hers. “So, negotiations!” From the nervous tone of his voice, his trip through the mountain had shaken some of his bravado. “Negotiations. If we are to actually have a successful round of them, we should establish what we each want, and go from there.” Now she was beginning to sound like Lyra, the paperwork devil. At least the facade only had to stay until Nasir’s greed got the better of him. He leaned forward. “It’s fairly obvious what I want, of course, but I shall elaborate.” “I want a portion of the horde you gained from that dragon, and you, of course, cannot complain, considering your veritable menagerie of treasure in your own home! In fact, maybe you should share some of your tips, give the rest of us a fighting chance!” Tips? What is he playing at? It’s not like he’s planning on fighting dragons, so he either means to sell the information or… Once again, Erin fought the urge to throttle him. The bakraut planned on pretending to be a dragon hunter. Not a terrible plan, since it usually meant fame and fortune, but an underhanded one that Erin fundamentally hated. Just keep smiling, and this will all be over soon. She smiled. “But of course. If you will excuse me—” she said, turning away rifling through papers on her desk, giving him the perfect excuse to steal the ring. s
A loud crash interrupted Erin’s train of thought, as Nasir threw something heavy at the door. It did nothing, but was apparently big or magical enough that it shook the entrance room and sent the massive dragon skeleton (Ancalagon, the former owner of the mountain) shaking and rattling like the world’s most macabre wind chime. A few pebbles fell from the ceiling, which was irritating, since she had paid a dowry to get the damn crevices cleaned, and apparently, 10 pounds of pure gold was not enough to merit a thorough job. Some of them landed on the map, and Erin moved to sweep them off, grumbling choice curses about Nasir and his bloodline. She paused, though, at some of the pebbles. A few had landed on Kýrheim, which besides its rampant dragon infestation, was also getting increasingly shady due to the re-influx of Fey deals. Hmm… Fey deals. She swept the rocks off the map and began to think. Now, Erin didn’t have the power to actually steal a name or cast a glamour like the Fey, but she could lie and do so very well. Thanks, Dad, for teaching me the subtle art of lying to someone’s face! How about that? If Erin told him that she was a goddess, which was technically true, then she could also fool him into thinking that she had some sort of Fae-like power. Since he had ‘indebted’ himself to her by… taking the treasure, or something inane like that, then he had to follow her every command or face vague and dire consequences. That could work. All she needed to do now was find some vaguely cursed-looking trinkets that she could subtly “allow” him to steal. Then, make up a ridiculous and just-plausible-enough lie to get him off of her property. Gods, she hoped that he wasn’t some sort of scholar with a focus on fey magic. She stood, stretched, and then meandered over to the treasure room. A despised name due to its pompousness, but considering that it was a room filled to the seams with gold, gems, and other random knick-knacks that would make any historian worth their salt immediately have a stroke, it really only could be called a treasure room. The best treasures were at the back, so she stayed within 10 feet of the door. Ideally, she could find something that looked fancy, reasonably cursed, and decidedly not clichéd, which eliminated a good third of the gold. A glint in the corner of her eye caught her attention. A smooth obsidian ring with an emerald set into it winked back at her. Perfect. She grabbed it, as well as a few coins, and then made her way towards the door. The dragon she had killed earlier that day laid in the corner, reeking until she had a clear enough schedule to clean it and sell or use the remains. Another thing to add to her long to-do list, but at least it would be somewhat enjoyable. She cast a spell to keep it from rotting further, and kept walking, following the source of muffled bangs coming from the front door. When she got there, she did a cursory check for damage on the door, which was completely unharmed despite its former barrage. Speaking of barrages… The noises from Nasir trying to break in had stopped. While Erin was inclined to sit down and celebrate, she also knew that, like parenthood, silence usually meant an incoming disaster. Eh, better to find out now than wait in dread for something to happen. Erin grabbed the edge of the door and heaved, moving the massive doors with ease. Thank you, godly strength. When the screeching of stone scraping against stone had finished, she was met with the slack-jawed face of Nasir, who had apparently been setting up some sort of cannonball/catapult machine. She couldn’t help herself. “Oh, I’m sorry,” She smirked. “Did you have some trouble moving those?” Continuing on in the face of his speechlessness: “I’m sorry, I thought that a great and powerful mage like you wouldn’t have such… difficulties. ” She punctuated the statement with a judgemental once-over, taking in his sweating, tired form. Gods, how does one man produce that much oil in a day? Nasir sputtered at the implication and seemed to be debating between correcting her or wisely staying silent in the face of someone who just pushed 300 tons of stone without breaking a sweat. She didn’t feel the need to wait and see which he chose, so she continued. “Since you so nicely asked, I’ll be willing to negotiate with you, if only in the hopes of getting you to leave me alone.” Ideally, her forced smile would convince him that he had finally annoyed her into negotiations, misdirecting him from her real plan. Nasir straightened, shifting from intimidation to smugness, evidently pleased with himself. “Well, who am I to refuse civil negotiations?” He threw away the wooden plank he had in his hands and dusted himself off, giving his poor shirt some serious oil stains. Erin turned around and walked into the mountain, not waiting for him to finish his attempts at cleaning himself off, and started towards her study at a brutal pace that Nasir had to half-jog to keep up with. Gods, the greedy bastard wasn’t even paying attention to her. Instead, he was switching between looking at the various dragon-related decorations gracing her base (probably calculating how much they would sell for at an auction) and looking at her menagerie of weapons and armor with thinly-veiled apprehension. When they finally reached her secondary office, which was covered in various papers that should’ve been done months ago and various gutted survival kits, Erin moved behind her desk and motioned for Nasir to sit across from her, subtly sliding the ring and coins into an easily reachable place for him to steal. Gods, she hated negotiations like this. Nasir twitched, presumably seeing the ring, and his eyes quickly darted to hers. “So, negotiations!” From the nervous tone of his voice, his trip through the mountain had shaken some of his bravado. “Negotiations. If we are to actually have a successful round of them, we should establish what we each want, and go from there.” Now she was beginning to sound like Lyra, the paperwork devil. At least the facade only had to stay until Nasir’s greed got the better of him. He leaned forward. “It’s fairly obvious what I want, of course, but I shall elaborate.” “I want a portion of the horde you gained from that dragon, and you, of course, cannot complain, considering your veritable menagerie of treasure in your own home! In fact, maybe you should share some of your tips, give the rest of us a fighting chance!” Tips? What is he playing at? It’s not like he’s planning on fighting dragons, so he either means to sell the information or… Once again, Erin fought the urge to throttle him. The bakraut planned on pretending to be a dragon hunter. Not a terrible plan, since it usually meant fame and fortune, but an underhanded one that Erin fundamentally hated. Just keep smiling, and this will all be over soon. She smiled. “But of course. If you will excuse me—” she said, turning away rifling through papers on her desk, giving him the perfect excuse to steal the ring. Unfortunately, he was smarter than she might’ve given him credit for, and he only glanced furtively at the treasures on the table longingly. Great, now she looked stupid, rifling through her desk for a paper that didn’t exist. Oh well, she could improvise. “It looks like I’ve lost the paper I need,” she said sheepishly. Ideally, she could play up some sort of bureaucratic incompetence to convince him that stealing anything would go unnoticed. “I need to go and find another copy!” Before he could protest, she left the room to figure out the next step of this apocalypse of an encounter. There was a report room in the mountain, but considering that her “document” was a sham, there was no real reason to make the trip there. Plus, all she really needed to do was give Nasir some time for his grabby fingers to pocket a piece of the gold, which probably wasn’t going to be very long. Hopefully. In the end, she decided to do a leisurely lap around the main rooms and headed back to her office, where Nasir looked suspiciously guilty and the gold pile looked suspiciously lacking. She pretended to not notice when she first walked in, enjoying his squirming and silently cheering for the upcoming end of the encounter. Only when she sat back down did she do a fake double-take, then look accusingly at him. “Really?” She ignored his weak protests in favor of throwing her head back and starting to laugh, which was only partially fake. Thanks again, Dad, I never thought that those maniacal laughter lessons would come in handy! “You have no idea what you’ve done, have you?” She spoke through her laughter, ignoring Nasir and adopting an air of haughtiness.“You’ve indebted yourself to me!” Finally, his confusion turned to fear. “What do you mean, indebted?” Erin’s laughter ceased, and she turned her eyes (like a wolf, Lyra had once told her) to his. “Well, you must know that when you steal from a goddess, it’s only polite to pay it back, yes?” Nasir’s eyes widened. “A goddess? No, that’s not possible! You’re…” He waved helplessly to her, which she tried to not be too offended by, and continued on desperately. “I never would’ve thought that you were a goddess, I never would've stolen them if I knew-” “But you stole them anyway. Intentions don’t matter, Nasir, or the road to the Hells would have nothing to be paved with. You owe me now, and that’s on you.” Nasir’s backpedaling continued for a few minutes, punctuated only by Erin’s rebuttals. Eventually, though, his well of excuses ran dry, and he fell back on his seat lamely, finally realizing that he had well and truly screwed up this time. “What do you want from me, then?” He was tired, and she was victorious. “Firstly, I want you to leave and never return; you are surprisingly irritating for a finder, and I would prefer to not have to listen to your whining all day while I’m trying to work. Secondly, find a new profession. People like you make the world… not worse, per se, but a hell of a lot more irritating. Go be a farmer or bard or something,” She waved her hand carelessly, ignoring his affronted stare. “Finally,” She said, fighting a grin and preparing a lovely little spell that would teleport him to the nearest swamp. “Next time you steal from someone, make sure that they aren’t the daughter of the Thieves Guildmaster, okay? That was a pretty stupid move.” Nasir’s eyes widened, the spell took, and Erin vowed to thank her dad for being such a horrible influence on her.
Only when she sat back down did she do a fake double-take, then look accusingly at him. “Really?” She ignored his weak protests in favor of throwing her head back and starting to laugh, which was only partially fake. Thanks again, Dad, I never thought that those maniacal laughter lessons would come in handy! “You have no idea what you’ve done, have you?” She spoke through her laughter, ignoring Nasir and adopting an air of haughtiness.“You’ve indebted yourself to me!” Finally, his confusion turned to fear. “What do you mean, indebted?” Erin’s laughter ceased, and she turned her eyes (like a wolf, Lyra had once told her) to his. “Well, you must know that when you steal from a goddess, it’s only polite to pay it back, yes?” Nasir’s eyes widened. “A goddess? No, that’s not possible! You’re…” He waved helplessly to her, which she tried to not be too offended by, and continued on desperately. “I never would’ve thought that you were a goddess, I never would've stolen them if I knew-” “But you stole them anyway. Intentions don’t matter, Nasir, or the road to the Hells would have nothing to be paved with. You owe me now, and that’s on you.” Nasir’s backpedaling continued for a few minutes, punctuated only by Erin’s rebuttals. Eventually, though, his well of excuses ran dry, and he fell back on his seat lamely, finally realizing that he had well and truly screwed up this time. “What do you want from me, then?” He was tired, and she was victorious. “Firstly, I want you to leave and never return; you are surprisingly irritating for a finder, and I would prefer to not have to listen to your whining all day while I’m trying to work. Secondly, find a new profession. People like you make the world… not worse, per se, but a hell of a lot more irritating. Go be a farmer or bard or something,” She waved her hand carelessly, ignoring his affronted stare. “Finally,” She said, fighting a grin and preparing a lovely little spell that would teleport him to the nearest swamp. “Next time you steal from someone, make sure that they aren’t the daughter of the Thieves Guildmaster, okay? That was a pretty stupid move.” Nasir’s eyes widened, the spell took, and Erin vowed to thank her dad for being such a horrible influence on her.
Gods, she hated negotiations like this. Nasir twitched, presumably seeing the ring, and his eyes quickly darted to hers. “So, negotiations!” From the nervous tone of his voice, his trip through the mountain had shaken some of his bravado. “Negotiations. If we are to actually have a successful round of them, we should establish what we each want, and go from there.” Now she was beginning to sound like Lyra, the paperwork devil. At least the facade only had to stay until Nasir’s greed got the better of him. He leaned forward. “It’s fairly obvious what I want, of course, but I shall elaborate.” “I want a portion of the horde you gained from that dragon, and you, of course, cannot complain, considering your veritable menagerie of treasure in your own home! In fact, maybe you should share some of your tips, give the rest of us a fighting chance!” Tips? What is he playing at? It’s not like he’s planning on fighting dragons, so he either means to sell the information or… Once again, Erin fought the urge to throttle him. The bakraut planned on pretending to be a dragon hunter. Not a terrible plan, since it usually meant fame and fortune, but an underhanded one that Erin fundamentally hated. Just keep smiling, and this will all be over soon. She smiled. “But of course. If you will excuse me—” she said, turning away rifling through papers on her desk, giving him the perfect excuse to steal the ring. Unfortunately, he was smarter than she might’ve given him credit for, and he only glanced furtively at the treasures on the table longingly. Great, now she looked stupid, rifling through her desk for a paper that didn’t exist. Oh well, she could improvise. “It looks like I’ve lost the paper I need,” she said sheepishly. Ideally, she could play up some sort of bureaucratic incompetence to convince him that stealing anything would go unnoticed. “I need to go and find another copy!” Before he could protest, she left the room to figure out the next step of this apocalypse of an encounter. There was a report room in the mountain, but considering that her “document” was a sham, there was no real reason to make the trip there. Plus, all she really needed to do was give Nasir some time for his grabby fingers to pocket a piece of the gold, which probably wasn’t going to be very long. Hopefully. In the end, she decided to do a leisurely lap around the main rooms and headed back to her office, where Nasir looked suspiciously guilty and the gold pile looked suspiciously lacking. She pretended to not notice when she first walked in, enjoying his squirming and silently cheering for the upcoming end of the encounter. Only when she sat back down did she do a fake double-take, then look accusingly at him. “Really?” She ignored his weak protests in favor of throwing her head back and starting to laugh, which was only partially fake. Thanks again, Dad, I never thought that those maniacal laughter lessons would come in handy! “You have no idea what you’ve done, have you?” She spoke through her laughter, ignoring Nasir and adopting an air of haughtiness.“You’ve indebted yourself to me!” Finally, his confusion turned to fear. “What do you mean, indebted?” Erin’s laughter ceased, and she turned her eyes (like a wolf, Lyra had once told her) to his. “Well, you must know that when you steal from a goddess, it’s only polite to pay it back, yes?” Nasir’s eyes widened. “A goddess? No, that’s not possible! You’re…” He waved helplessly to her, which she tried to not be too offended by, and continued on desperately. “I never would’ve thought that you were a goddess, I never would've stolen them if I knew-” “But you stole them anyway. Intentions don’t matter, Nasir, or the road to the Hells would have nothing to be paved with. You owe me now, and that’s on you.” Nasir’s backpedaling continued for a few minutes, punctuated only by Erin’s rebuttals. Eventually, though, his well of excuses ran dry, and he fell back on his seat lamely, finally realizing that he had well and truly screwed up this time. “What do you want from me, then?” He was tired, and she was victorious. “Firstly, I want you to leave and never return; you are surprisingly irritating for a finder, and I would prefer to not have to listen to your whining all day while I’m trying to work. Secondly, find a new profession. People like you make the world… not worse, per se, but a hell of a lot more irritating. Go be a farmer or bard or something,” She waved her hand carelessly, ignoring his affronted stare. “
Loved and Lost by Rachel Stewart My decade there turns into centuries. Where I grew; where I learned that me was me. And as dust draws on these bright memories, I’m bitter that my mountains turned to sea. When they first told, the whole world seemed to cry. I lost my home, and stayed lost, in a sense. To stave off pain, I say the same old lie: My brave new world is worth any expense. Fake sunshine and sandbanks; all free from strife: Panem et circenses! Now helplessly Trapped and troubled, away from my old life. So I ask to return and they agree! But then I go back, to my only home And find it broken, beaten, and alone. Mean Girls by Anonymous Why do you lie? Why can you say those things? Why do you make me cry? Why can you not see all the harm it brings? Why do you cause me pain? Why can you remain the queen? What do you even gain? What do you do to keep this unseen? Why are you so rude? Why are you always ruining my mood? Why are you always so livid? What do you think I did? Why did you spread rumors? Why did you call people losers? Why did you spread false information? What do you have as motivation?
Meditations upon Siddhartha By Anonymous “So you think you can—” no, We’re reading Siddhartha. Where is beauty in imperfection? Not the words. Not the right words. Ghostly echoes of electric guitar and Freddie Mercury Refract around my mirrored brain; With dual joy and pain, Obsession strikes again when I Need to focus most.
Dreaming of Love by Venus May I shouldn’t be thinking this. I’ve known you all my life. I’ve heard you’re seeing someone, But I can’t help but hope. What if you two are friends? What if the rumor’s false? What if I’m imagining A fate that fits all wrong? I can see you in my mind, Your curls, your eyes, your face. I can’t help but smile, Though that too may be a dream. I know how love should feel. I’ve read what I’m supposed to think. But all I feel is some dull ache Whenever I hear of the two of you. Am I imagining all this? Am I so desperate for love That I’ll dream up a longing For someone I know? Perhaps I just can’t face the truth. Perhaps I may admit it. I think I love you for the ghost Of who I want to be. But I still see clear the shadow Of what I may truly be.
Compact By Grayson Brewer Look, see me Reflection as I am Guide for brushing Beauty, Dreams, Wants, Plans I bristle powder I blow away excess lies I fake smile louder I take tries *click* I wear a poem on my face Concealing, Revealing, Pocket-sized
An Open Love Letter By Grayson Brewer To all you glowing strangers, The friends I’ll never make: Your shine this world endangers, Your joy makes my heart ache. I’ll never hear your story. I’ll never watch your life, Nor bask with you in glory, Nor hurt to share your strife. We’ll never share an in-joke. We’ll never start a band. We’ll never bear a common yoke, Nor share a hug or hand. I miss our non-existent talks That stopped before begun About your plight, your love, your might, Your plans to share the sun. It pains me not to know you, For I know my life will end; I’ll never feel the world whole Without you as my friend. Please know that when I pass you. I feel your prism grin — You scatter light in just a flash; My soul, drawn, bends within. I buzz of extroversion, Yet my busy brain-bees loud Cause me no strong aversion To add you to my crowd. My greed for human closeness Fights my laziness to care Enough to shine and to reflect, To stay steadfast and aware That all are mad at life at times, And not be jealous then Of sparks who seem to surpass rhymes Everywhere and everywhen. Instead I feast on conversation, Gulp my words to savor theirs. They arm Kindness’ conservation: Darkness fears what their sleeve wears. From this battalion enthused Wells a patriotic pride Unaloof, not unamused, For I am on, not at, your side. This world rejects your passion — All passion, save for lust. It thinks hearts burn best in bed, But real friend-desires combust. They blaze against the darkness, Many pinpricks in the night. Though you seem just as far away, Your glow makes me shine bright.
The short fuse mocks the distance; It webs through time and space. Your instant act of kindness Lets me, a vertex, interlace. I don’t cast pure reflections; My flaws complete a set. However, I am human; I give the best that I can get. To all my glowing comrades, To all the friends I love: Your glows, against these strangers’, To me, stand high above. I have heard your stories. I have watched your lives, Been awestruck at your glories, And hummed around your hives. Our in-jokes leave us rolling. We support each other’s bents. We find ourselves consoling With our hugs and compliments. I miss each deeper moment Discussing your cocoon And all your fright, your love, your light. You glow against my moon. It heals me to know you, For I feel the world more whole. The gifts your lives bestow you Brand your likeness on my soul. Please know that I will miss you. I’ll be heavy with regret; I’ll sink since we weren’t closer, However close we get. I’m joyous at your number. I’m scattered, thinly spread, Yet you reduce the overwhelm And free the space inside my head. I want more than I need, Yet I can’t bring myself to seek it. I turn red sans cause or creed, And green for those who sneak it. I mind word much less than deed (If it comes to mind, I’ll speak it), And my ego doesn’t heed The advice that you all leak it. I’ll try to take your lead; If I cross a line, critique it. I want to be a good friend, But am I good at all? At times I feel I’m useful Just because I’m very tall. I don’t know why you love me. I’m grateful that you do. No push needs to shove me To know I love you too.
Composition Book by Nathan Beck I just got a book and I think it mistook what it's trying to sell. Flipping open its spotted shell, It's covered in lines. This should be fine but they're all light blue. Why? I have no clue. And the lines flow together, their distance apart, constant measure. Not grouped in sets of five - the meaning of this, I can't derive! On these spread lines I cannot write notes or rhythms, their stems upright. Instead, it looks like it's made for words, not music, but adjectives, nouns, and verbs! These conflicting interests, I didn't envision: I was buying this book for composition!
Paratrooper Charcoal on paper Katie Bamford
DRAWINGS
Winterbane Graphite and colored pencil on paper Rachel M Stewart
Sweet Treat Colored pencil Sofie Bynum
Ponyo Poster Digital Illustration Tulloss Hancock
A Bad Case of Stripes Digital Illustration Tulloss Hancock
DIGITAL ART
Puppet Rig for the Pirates of Penzance Puppet: muslin fabrics, PVC pipe, stuffing, EVA foam, and duct tape Rex Gordon
Living Hat Crochet Anna Dooley
OTHER
Cocoa Outtakes