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For Glory! by Raiti Namiranian As I Go to the Sea By Hanzhen Teng Cast of Characters VICE ADMIRAL YAMA a 49-Year-old male who has served in the Navy for 30 years. He has a plain naval watch. REAR ADMIRAL KA a 48-Year-old male who has served in the Navy for 27 years. They both graduated from the Naval Academy. Their passion for patriotism makes them take duties extremely seriously, and they consider honor more important than their own lives. Setting Midway, 1942. SCENE FOUR About thirty minutes later, YAMA, KA and other staff officers are still waiting for the information from the attack group. Yama stands on the platform near the ship bridge while looking up to the national flag waving in the wind. Ka comes out and stands by Yama. KA: It strikes with the screaming wind. ( referring to the flag ) YAMA: And now those sea eagles are fighting with the horrendous waves. ( referring to the pilots ) The transmission of a successful attack reaches the staff officers, and all start to cheer. One staff officer informs Yama and Ka about this success. KA: Good job boys! ( cheering ) Just within half an hour! They didn’t let us down! Kami is on our side! Yama, we shall win the battle! YAMA: What a great attack! These brave sea eagles broke the waves and returned back to the sky! Another staff officer comes to inform Yama and Ka of the enemy casualty and the loss of the attack group. Yama suddenly becomes serious since he realizes the battle isn’t over yet. YAMA: Gents, ( calling staff officers ) our attacking force destroyed one of their aircraft carriers, that is all due to every pilot's effort at the frontline, for those who lost their lives but made accomplishments in this mission … now, let’s give them a moment of silence. ( taking off his hat ) Yama’s voice is broadcasted to the whole crew, and all crew members remain in silence for a moment. Then all go back to their positions. KA: They became blooming cherry blossoms, scattered in front of Kami’s shrine… SCENE FIVE Dozens of aircraft can be seen far away from the ship bridge, they slowly approach the fleet under the flaming sunset and thin clouds. Those are the enemy attack groups coming for revenge. The battle command is conveyed to the crew members again. YAMA: ( somber expression ) It seems they have more aircraft than we do. That will definitely be a tough battle. KA: Their attack groups will arrive here in five minutes. Shall we launch our last four fighters? YAMA: Launch them as quickly as possible! We must catch any potential opportunities! The fighters are ready to take off, but an unexpected enemy attack group appears right above the fleet and dive down through the clouds. YAMA: ( roaring ) All prepare for impact! The bombs shook the entire aircraft carrier and destroyed the front deck. Yama and Ka are almost thrown up to the ceiling in the sound of explosion, and they drop from the midair. YAMA: Kami … why did you fool me…? ( getting up from the floor with difficulty ) Is everyone alright? ( looking around the room ) KA: I am ( a beat ) fine. My leg got hurt a little. That was a big impact … Yama helps Ka up carefully and pulls other staff officers up. KA: Yama! Forget me, go check the damage! ( leaning against the wall ) YAMA: I’ll be right back! ( walking to the platform ) The first thing that comes to Yama ’s sight is the deformed front deck with burning debris. YAMA: Put out the fire as soon as possible! ( yelling to the crew members working on the deck ) Call the medicals to come here and rescue the wounded! There are still several remaining planes above the fleet from the enemy attack group. YAMA: Check the damages of our fighters on the de— ( suddenly stopping while Yama realizes the deck is unable to launch fighters ) The thunder of launching and explosion of ammos appear again in the side of the deck. Ka walks out from the room and stands on the platform. KA: ( speaking weakly ) What damages were we suffered? What’s the situation? YAMA: ( yelling to the deck ) Ka, are you alright? Medical! KA: (interrupting Yama) Nah … I don’t really need medical; let them help others first … Yama looks at Ka for a while and agrees to Ka’s request. Then all devote to busy work. SCENE SIX Hours later, the hand of the clock on the wall points to 1:30 AM. In the past few hours, Yama, Ka, staff officers, and all crew members were trying to put out the fire and repair the damaged aircraft carrier. Fortunately, there were no enemy planes harassing the fleet. KA: Commander, our crew did their best to save this aircraft carrier, but ( a beat ) Our ship lost her source of power ( a beat ) we have to evacuate … YAMA: Such a meritorious ship. ( a beat ) Alright. ( a beat ) From now on, I have decided to abandon this aircraft carrier, and all crew members prepare to evacuate … KA: Oh ( a beat ) my ship ( a beat ) she has accompanied me for years ( a beat ) ( walking around the room and tries to see the front deck from the window ) The smoky clouds gradually disperse and the moonlight shines on the bridge. YAMA: The light from Tenkoku ... KA: Pure and bright … YAMA: It will bring us to the shore of Tenkoku … and we shall bloom together in front of the shrine in Tenkoku. Staff officers are asking Ka and Yama to evacuate together while they all walk down the bridge and stand under the banner waving in the night. YAMA: No, gents ( a beat ) under my command, I failed to avert the tragedy and save those young men ( a pause ) I didn’t fulfill my duty as a commander ( a beat ) I will not live with the expense of honor. Staying on the ship will be my atonement. ( Smiling at the staff officers ) KA: And I shall stand with him to the end. ( With a determined look, all staff officers bow heads in silence ). YAMA: Don’t feel sorry for us … you all know an allusion, as the Kusunoki brothers failed to protect the Mikado. They sacrificed their lives to atone ( a beat ) “would that I had seven lives to give for my country!” That was what they said, ( a beat ) what they thought, ( a beat ) now, we just step on the trace of past ancestry. KA: The Mikado has bestowed the honor upon us. We shall never fail in our duty ( a beat ) If we do, there is no way to confess, but death. YAMA: It’s time to say farewell. What should I leave for you as a souvenir? Yama takes off his cap and watch, and hands it to the closest staff officer, followed by Ka taking off his cap. YAMA: Let us see you off. There is one more thing. ( going to the flagpole and lowering the national flag ) Please, take this. ( folding the flag in his hand ) You all! Please keep it and take it back to that distant homeland. ( handing it to the closest staff officers again ) KA: Now! Everyone! Please take care! ( saluting ) Yama and Ka watch staff officers getting on the rescue boats. Then, Yama and Ka stand under the empty flagpole and the bright moonlight refreshes their faces. YAMA: At sea, be my body water-soaked … ( murmuring in a low voice ) Ka joins this short verse, an old poem, “UmiYukaba” by Ō tomo no Yakamochi. YAMA AND KA: On land be it with grass overgrown. Let me die by the side of my Sovereign! Never will I look back. END OF PLAY About the Writer... Hanzhen Teng is a senior at The Kiski School in Pennsylvania. With plans to major in history or cultural studies, Hanzhen has a passion for writing and enjoys transforming abstract ideas into clear expressions. His writing has earned him a bronze medal in the Harvard International Review and a high commendation in the John Locke Essay Competition. About the Artist... Raiti Namiranian has been drawing since she was young. Her favorite materials are watercolor, ink, and digital art. She is inspired most by eye-catching colors and natural beauty.

< Table of Contents Welcome to the Family by Amrita Ketireddy to my mother, who never cried in room 207 After Ocean Vuong By Aarushi Gupta “i dread the red of your eyes like a / twenty-nine-year-old dreads his birthday.” under a painting of indra (1) scorned, you make your mandir (2) in the familiar dip of the mattress. soon, the view will be replaced by the smiling portrait of your mother, who lays in bed behind. the mattress will turn white, for the only south indian snowstorm is the whirl of dupattas (3) at funerals, icicles melting under the weight of unshed tears. i dread the red of your eyes like a a twenty-nine-year-old dreads his birthday. not black remembering, but the pink of your unpolished nail forgetting itself, pressing crescents into my arm. red, commutative as death itself. if time is a mother, why does it freeze in hospital rooms, where the umbilical cord is forged again and again? locked in this furnace, withstanding the heat of being ganesha (4) for once, you think of the last time you prayed to god in this room. go on, mother, pick up the phone and call. morph into parvati, remember the time they churned my stomach, a samudra manthana (5) . painkiller amrut, splattered on the floor outside our house. floating in that puddle, i saw an eyelash, its shortness a gift you gave freely. yours or mine? perhaps, neither. it belonged to nani (6) first, but so did you. i wish i was there with you, wish i could feel the cosmic pulling of draupadi’s saree (7) pause. i wish i could tear a hole in it, sew an extra yard of cotton into the dupatta of time. but if there’s one thing i learnt the day you first walked into room 207, it’s that no one can hide from a mother’s wrath. (1) indra is the hindu god of rain, storms, thunder and lightning. (2) mandir is hindi for temple. (3) dupatta is an indian garment, similar to a shawl. (4) ganesha is the son of goddess parvati in hindu mythology. (5) samudra manthana refers to a myth wherein the gods churned the ocean to obtain the holy nectar called amrut. (6) nani is hindi for grandmother. (7) draupadi’s saree refers to a tale from the mahabharata wherein there was an attempt to humiliate draupadi by pulling off her saree. however, lord krishna intervened, making the saree infinitely long and preserving draupadi’s dignity. About the Writer... Aarushi Gupta (she/her) is a high school senior from Bangalore, India. You can find more of her work at www.aarushiwrites.com . About the Artist... Amrita Ketireddy is a junior at Creekside High School. She has done fine arts for nearly ten years alongside tennis. She is a member of numerous honor societies and clubs, though is an officer of her school's Creative Writing Club, Film Production Club, and FBLA. In the future, she hopes to study Software Engineering along with Fine Arts and follow her passion for creating things from the ground up.

1ec3a25b-d895-4232-92bb-d934108311d3 my childhood friends by Raymond Chen Return to Table of Contents

Just a Little Laundry by Ruby Wirth About the Artist... Ruby Wirth is a student at Douglas Anderson. She is pursuing a dual major in sculpture and painting. In her work, she aims to connect with viewers by expressing herself and creating immersive worlds to explore. Her ideal mediums are found objects, paint, and clay.

11 < Back Where I'm From Giovanni Jacques Bantu by Nyriel Saures Where I'm From by Giovani Jacques I am from Saturday morning bible studies, men in suits preaching about Bondye, and all that he sacrificed for me. I am from hours spent,// watching Palmettos swing in the breeze,// songbirds singing their divine songs,// of love, and// freedom. I am from hours spent, watching Palmettos swing in the breeze, songbirds singing their divine songs, of love, and freedom. I am from oak trees towering over Bolete mushrooms, its mycelium in a bond with all the roots of all the oak trees one could see. All connected. I am from makak, and wop kon jorge, echoing from the lips of the ones you love, the moment you happen to be less than perfect. I’m from brothers badgering, and pesky sisters, and mothers love. I am from facetime calls with loved ones live from an island, envy held on both sides of the screen, both wishing to be in the shoes of the other, both wanting to escape. About the Writer... Giovani Jacques is a first-generation Haitian-American writer hailing from Jacksonville, Florida. He describes writing as a unique outlet for him, using it to express complex concepts and ideas that otherwise wouldn't see the light of day. About the Artist... Nyriel Saures is a senior art major. She's been creating art ever since she was a little girl. Besides art, she really likes fashion too. She plans on continuing her artistic journey going into college and even after that.

Fall/Winter 2021 Cover Art: Ephemeral by Jayci Bryant Table of Contents Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button As I Go to the Sea For Glory! Hanzhen Teng Small Title Raiti Namiranian Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" View

92b11cd1-696d-484f-9ebc-fc5a1451ca18 Off by Jadalyn Gubat I Left my Heart in the Knot of a Weeping Willow Tree by Peyton Pitts Spanish Moss sways back and forth from the tired branches, the daffodils tickling her feet. Her white gown frolics in the hazed sunlight, a smile wetting her face. She wanders the trail near her little cabin, enjoying the air to herself. She lives alone with not much interaction; her job has her constantly exhausted. To have the weekends to herself was absolute freedom, and every Sunday she walks this hidden path. Ever since her father died of a heart attack, she’s trying to come to terms with her heartache; it didn’t know how to take its first steps again. She sits in the nook of a large weeping willow tree reading the latest of Hawthorne and a bit of Robert Frost. Her round glasses hugging the bump on her nose. She strokes the old wood, rusty valleys and canals carved by aging years of tolerance; she scans the poem, Birches . “You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground.” Placing the book in a nook of the tree, she slides to meet the grass. She enjoyed the peace, but she must be making her way back home now, she has a job to tend to the next day and isn't interested in insomnia. She always had issues with sleeping, vivid dreams stretching her rest thin. Nightmares had gotten worse since the passing of her father; she hadn’t slept in over thirty hours. After the long walk, she steps into her home to greet the ash cat Sage and begins to cook dinner. A tomato soup is brewed, which she hastily consumes, and with that retires to a waiting full and woven quilt. Eyelids pressed over those bright blue pupils, she tries to sleep, but much to her avail, she sits awake in silence. Hours passed and unfortunately the young woman received not a drop of rest, images of a darling man squeezing her concentration. He had auburn hair with olive skin, brown eyes, and a charming birthmark stretched across the nape of his neck. Not much occurred between them, he only stood in front the large weeping willow, gazing with love. There was a tear striking his face, he seemed so dreadful. He reached to her and kissed her forehead, before slowly disappearing. She had to have known him, he was already registered in her mind as someone she knew, but she had never seen him before. She sketches his picture in charcoal before leaving for work, it sitting on her nightstand. Arriving at the little bookstore, she sits and sorts some elder books with her hair in a messy bun; anxious curls pry from the hair tie, but she always slicks them back. A book had fallen off the top shelf and she reached to grab it, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost. A tear sheds from her tired eyes as she collapses to her knees, trying to be as silent as she could. Her father loved that book dearly, even read it to her when she was little, she could hear his sweet voice reading the third stanza to her one more time. “The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.” "There was a moment of silence between the two, a stare that was undecided in what it meant." He was everywhere she went, always reminding her he loved her. Wallowing in agony, chest compressed and the rope against her heart tightened, her lungs tense in fruitless effort. Small, shallow breaths were soon replaced with gaping exasperation, and she fought for air. The room spins, and she feels as though she is about to faint. Just as her vision fades to faint patches, the bell to the door chimes, and she is reunited with this merciless world. Collecting herself from the carpet, she steadies her legs and attempts to stand, almost forgetting how to walk. Her desk waits for her while she smoothes the stray tears from her cheek and hairs from her bun, turning to see a new yet familiar customer. The man had auburn hair with olive skin, brown eyes, and a black turtleneck sweater on. There was a moment of silence between the two, a stare that was undecided in what it meant. After somewhat of an awkward moment, he spoke. “Hello, may I please check this book out?” Startled, she began frantically snatching the book from his hands, shaking as she tried to ring him up. “Oh my, of course! I’m sorry, you seem familiar is all. Have we ever met before?” “Not from what I’m aware, I’m new here.” “Is that so? Where are you coming from? You know, not many people travel through here.” “I’m coming from outside the county, actually. Here to find something I lost.” “And what is it that you lost?” “Just a friend of mine, we always find our ways back to each other. It’s been some time since I’ve seen her, and I just know I needed to pass by here.” “Well, is there any way I can help you find her?” “No, my intuition is the only way I plan. We have a very strong connection after all. Thank you though.” His voice is raspy and deep, honey to her ears. He turns his black sweater to leave for the exit, the fading silhouette encasing her growing confidence. In a last-minute spur, she blunts, “My name’s Amber.” His neck turns as he pulls at his collar, a charming birthmark revealing itself. “Elliot.” He walks from the store and continues down the street, not looking back. She’s so flushed that she dashes home to see the charcoal picture she had drawn. After slipping on her rug and nearly tripping over Sage, she finds the sketch and assures herself it was him. Ironic, the man of her dreams came to visit her, but he only paid her no mind. After little consideration, she decides she has to go find him. After over an hour of scouring the streets of this little town, she notices him at a nearby café enjoying some tea. It’s not long before she stumbles across him, panting from the sprint. “I apologize, this is so random, but I need to speak with you.” He seems as though he was prepared for this sort of interaction, reorganizing himself and his thoughts. “Was the book not up for rent? I’m sorry, I can return it at once-” “No, nothing like that; I just wanted to get to know you. You’re horribly familiar, and to be frank, I need to know how I know you. I know this is abrupt, but please consider having tea together.” “I unfortunately have to leave in a few, but perhaps we meet for dinner later tonight? Then you may ask whatever questions you’ve been needing to ask.” “That works, perfectly! Thank you so much for considering. Where should I meet you?” “Right here; same table in just a few hours. Does seven work?” “Excellent, I will see you there Elliot.” “I look forward to seeing you again, Amber.” Surprise washes over her face; he had genuinely agreed to a random dinner with a random girl. Maybe he saw her in his dreams too? This hadn’t been the first time she had seen him in her dreams; ever since her father died, he had been appearing every now and then, greeting her as usual. This was, however, the first incident they had met in person. Either way, fact or fiction, she had to go home to get ready. After the journey to her little cabin, she applies a light blush and some rose lipstick, just to add some subtle glow. A lovely floral dress and her father’s brown jacket he wore to the library every day, she was ready to leave. Anxiety tugs at her mind a little bit, she hoped he wouldn’t notice the dark rings around her eyes. Addressing herself in the mirror, convincing herself to go, she made her way to the café. Meeting him at that exact table, he sat there patiently, white wine already ordered for the two- pure luck he ordered white, red always gave her a headache. She sits down and fumbles with her napkin; he could see her nerves slowly fraying. He made a subtle joke about the night, trying to ease the tension. “Have you always greeted strangers like this? I’m sure you make a sum of friends.” She giggles, slowly floating down to reality. “No, I actually don’t socialize very well, anxiety doesn’t deal well with friendship.” “Well, you should try greeting people more, you sure do make an impression.” “I suppose I made quite the impression; I don’t typically act that way you know.” They both chuckle a bit, relieved with the casualty of the conversation. “What about you?” “In a similar boat, I don’t necessarily socialize often, though I know I need to. Any hobbies you enjoy?” “I used to write, but ever since I had to take over my father’s library, I haven’t the time nor the motivation. It was something I loved to do, but there are so many renovations I have to make for the bookstore that I simply don’t have time.” “And what renovations have you made?” “Nothing at the moment, I know it looks bad. Dad’s gone, and I hate changing his store. I don’t have motivation or incentive, so I’m just stuck.” “Time management is a difficult thing, but I think writing some more may help you out of this loop, sometimes you have to force it.” “I’ve thought about it, it’s just taking some time. I never have enough of it anyways. Well Mr., what about you? Have any idea where your mysterious girl is?” He looks at her for a moment, a grin lingering across his face as he looks down to stare down at his food, “I believe I’m on the right path.” The two chatted for the whole night, connecting beautifully. It was an ecstasy; she couldn’t remember a thing but the joyous laughter they shared. After the meal was shared and experiences exchanged, her heart fluttered. He takes her home and saw her to the door, where he plants a soft but simple kiss on her blushing lips. Her mind races as her lips chased his, his hand tucking that stray curl behind her ear, the other holding her cheek in adoration. She stood on the tip of her toes to try and reach him, falling into his warm embrace. After a few moments, he leaves her on the brink of excitement, her heart stumbling about. The two spend nearly every day together, even Sage likes him. They take part in little dates, and he helps in the library. Renovations are done, she painted the walls, and he replaced some shelves. There are more customers than ever, and she’s genuinely laughed for the first time. The two hearts have grown as one throughout, and her heart is learning to walk again. He’s teaching her how to talk to people, she practices on him. And when she stutters and wants to abandon any hope, he holds her still and encourages her, praising her attempts. She’s making some new friends and not isolating herself; she made a new best friend named Autumn. They eat together during lunch break when Amber is pried away from Elliot. She would ramble all she could about Elliot, describing him to her; Autumn was always confused on who she was talking about. Amber started writing more and even became published. All her books detail her trials with grief, some fantasy, and she wrote a book dedicated to her father- those were a tough few months. She sleeps comfortably now; her mind lets her finally sleep. Her father’s jacket will always be fastened on her shoulders, but Elliot’s arm is draped over, holding her tall. They spent the day in the nook of the weeping willow tree, reading Robert Frost’s Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening , and it was the first read she had where she didn’t erupt into tears. “I'd like to get away from earth awhile, And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me, And half grant what I wish and snatch me away, Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love: I don’t know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk, Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back.” She feels content with the book that she could appreciate it once more. Somewhere on the third stanza, her eyes doze off and she falls asleep in his arms. Elliot holds her as a tear leaps from his eye, his heart shaking with each passing moment. His arms close her even tighter as he tries to keep his crying silent so as not to disturb her. His breathing staggers, and his vision is shaking with pain as he kisses her forehead one last time refusing to let go. He is on the right path, he finally found her, and she found herself. His purpose is fulfilled, and his heart forgets how to walk. When she wakes up, Elliot is nowhere to be found. She searches the little town everywhere she could, and he was gone. All their little date spots, he was gone; his belongings that were collected on the floor of her room, gone; his love that he vowed to her she swore was gone. It’s a difficult night, lying in her bed trying to sleep with tears stinging her eyes. But when she closes her eyes, he comes back to her. They are in the nook of the weeping willow tree; he strokes her hair. He told her she needs him, and that her heart learns how to walk again; he would always catch her if she fell, but she needed to take the first few steps. She grabbed his face, looking into those brown eyes crying. He did nothing but stare at her, and all the memories came rushing to her in a blur; the awkward first stare, her bliss from their first kiss, when Sage would finally let him pet her, when he told her he loved her, all of it. Her imagination was tight again, and the vision of him became strained, just like that, he was gone again. She went to ask Autumn if she remembered her with Elliot, but her along with the rest of the town, said they had never seen Amber with a man apart from her father, that she was always alone. Town records showed no evidence of an Elliot anywhere, and no traces of his belongings, or him for that matter, could be found. When she get home that day, she takes the sketch she made and gone to the tree, tucking the sketch in the knot of the weeping willow. The breeze trying to hold her back, leaves whispering for her to turn around. Standing there, she has the rope in her hand, ready to tie it to the tired branch, trying to force herself to jump. Her foot dangles off the end, and she toys with the idea of falling, but she never could. She could feel him telling her no, the man in her dreams caressing her cheek and wiping her tears. The old canals of the wood holding her feet steady, begging her not to jump. The memories of her father rush back, he was behind her too. His brown jacket is wrapped around her, her holding it dearly. Time seems to continue for hours, her pushing herself around the branch. She finally fastens the noose around her neck and stares to the sky, hoping she’ll accidentally slip. The coursing thread of rope scratching her throat and she tries to swallow her fear. Eyes still swollen from all the tears she cried and fresh ones rolling, she rips the noose from her throat and throws it to the ground, falling back into defeat. Ontology was questionable in that moment, but Elliot said he’d always catch her if she fell. She looks around to see if he was near, but she knew he was watching. Her legs refuse to work as she collapses back into the grass, screams scrapes from the bottom of her stomach and rung into a cry. Daffodils cradling her like a lost child, and she waters them with fresh sobs. A few hours and the moon arrives, tickling her bruised skin. The grass indents with her cracking body and the flowers crane, understanding her torment. A hand begins caressing her hair, but she couldn’t bear to look. He takes her hand and tries to help her up, she refusing to move. He puts his hand on her lower back and urges her to a sitting position, leading the hair away from the tears. Just then, her legs shiver and they push her back into reality; she returns to an upright position. The sketch of him stares down from the elbow of the branch, and she fantasizes for just a moment, that maybe he’s still there. Turning back in shame, she heads for her cabin, leaving her heart in the knot of a weeping willow tree. Return to Table of Contents

3 < Back Her name Chloe Park A past memory by Maria Bezverkh Her Name by Chloe Park It began ages before I was born, before my father was born, before my grandmother was born. It began in the middle of another ongoing story about the world – the world being the young, small, helpless country of Korea because it was all the people knew. I don’t know how she lived. What her childhood was like and what her motherhood was like is all a mystery to me still. I have never spoken to her, even in her presence. I know nothing about her except the fact that a piece of her is sifting through my veins at this moment. I know nothing except the fact that all I did was sit and cry when I saw her for the first and last time. I watched the crooked trees drift away into the distance as my father carried me like a potted plant into the paper house. The pinewood floors were lifted above the silt ground as if to shelter the meager ferns growing beneath them, and the roofs were ashy curled stones, ominously stacked as if to resemble the scales of fish. I clutched his collar and felt the anticipation in his words as he called out to her. And there she sat: a small mass of white cloth, cross-legged at the center of the floor. "A year or two after that, she faded into the waters of her hometown." Aigo! Is this your daughter? Her hoarse, aged voice cut into my ears as she craned her neck to better see me. I was a flea under the looking glass of her sagging eyes. I found myself paying attention to the lisp seething from her sunken teeth, how her lips had molded around them in a permanently distasteful expression. The skin of her cheeks hung from the sides of her face, reminding me of the jowls of the hoary nextdoor dog. She was unknown to me; her features did not fit my childish definition of “woman”. This strange uncertainty frightened me so that tears naïvely spilled from my eyes. Upon my father’s apologies, she simply laughed – shouted – that It’s all right, she’s little, I know she’s crying because I’m scary and ripe with age. A year or two after that, she faded into the waters of her hometown. I only vaguely remember all of this. For a while, I assured myself that it had all been a surreal figment of my imagination. I was convinced that it had all been dreamed somehow, maybe because I wanted to forget. My fantasy was shattered when we found old cameras in the depths of our expired drawers, one of which contained a photo of my small, crying face with her white bundled form in the distance. I knew I hadn’t said a single word in the last chance I had, and instead wailed and wailed like a shallow fool. Whenever I was reminded of this moment, I always felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Why had I been so afraid? Why had she been so accepting of my obvious fear of her? Why did I want to forget? These were the questions that occupied my mind during long car rides and sleepless nights. Though to be honest, I did know why. *** For a summer, I traveled back to Korea: a chance to let myself go from my own grasp, to bleach my hair in the sun. After weeks of swimming in the neon hustle and bustle of the city, our return to America began to loom foggily over our heads. On one of our final days, we piled into the muggy car and drove through what seemed like an endless number of tunnels and bridges, and again, the questions seeped into my mind. As I watched each cloud drowsily merging into the other, I thought of how my own self was so closely fused with her’s, even though our separate lives were not. Though I did not know her, I would not have been watching those skies overlap had she not breathed. Something about her was essential to my being. Music had been weeping through the radio, but when the trees slowly molded into vast fields, I turned it off. Listening to nothing but the whirring of the engine, we took a winding path into an overgrown hill. At the very top, between the crooked trees, a simply dressed woman was peeking out behind a temple. She waved and disappeared into the flowered mist. As soon as we stepped into the structure, it was as if a midnight veil had fallen over our eyes. The inside was cut off from the real world; time had stopped. It was not a big room, yet at the same time, what was hidden by the shadows was infinitely spacious. Though no one else was there, the secretive atmosphere enchanted us into the occasional whisper, and every step of our socked feet and every swish of our clothes seemed to rustle in a way that was full of repressed life. A new kind of thrill stirred in my body as I watched the enigmatically omniscient expression of a golden Buddha, twinkling against the wall. Thousands of low-lit candles flickered by its sides, each with names carefully engraved at their bases. I instinctively knew that the little pinpricks of fire never went out once they had been kindled. Even if it wasn’t naturally possible anywhere else, it was possible here. One of the candles was pointed to without a word. I watched as they crouched down and lowered their heads and hands to the floor. Without understanding why, I did the same. I copied each of their movements as they stood up, raised their hands, lowered them. As I lay with my forehead and palms to the pinewood floors, I wondered what I should be thinking. Should I pray? Should I let my thoughts go and tell her all I have felt? I was ashamed of needing to wonder at all. Instead, I listened to the hushed exhales of those crouched next to me. Even though we had never spoken, she always seemed to be a recurring face in my life. For someone I did not know, she was always somewhere in the corners of my thoughts. The way she understood my fear as natural and fully reasonable, the way she seemed to expect it…. she was so foreign, she was so much older and so much wiser that I felt awed we had once breathed the same air. It was through her that I had understood my first unforgettable notion of true guilt and regret. Someone whispered, Thank you for blessing us with life. Thank you for blessing us with life. *** Stepping out of the temple, I realized I had lost all notion of time. It felt like many nights had passed, but it also felt like our leaving was an interruption, a disruption to my thoughts of her. Without stopping to look at the scatter of dainty herbs and shallow ponds, we drove off. I don’t even know her name. About the Writer... Chloe Park is a junior at Canterbury High School in Fort Wayne, Indiana. She leads the school’s writing club. Her writing has previously been published in the Journal Gazette. In her free time, she studies classical piano. About the Artist... Maria Bezverkh is a visual art student at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. She is specifically a photography major. Maria has spent this school year experimenting with different types of photography, such as film.

Fall/Winter 2021 Cover Art: Ephemeral by Jayci Bryant Table of Contents Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button tracing Canis Major on a cloudy night A Girl's Universe James Helmick Small Title Autumn King Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" View

Animals and Social Trash Kevin Kraft Clawing at My Dread Joshua Luke Rogers Cars are racing down a highway. On the median, an exhausted man, not quite old but certainly not young either, holds a ripped cardboard sign with nearly unintelligible writing scrawled across its surface. Earlier in the day he had been waving and smiling at passing cars, foolishly believing yet again that someone would stop and help him. But it’s been hours since then, and now he sits defeated with his chin resting upon a loose, shaking fist. In the early hours of the morning, when the sun had just started to peek over the horizon, he had trudged out to the highway from the nearby park where he had taken up residence. There were a few other people like him who slept there, some with bedrolls and other with cheap tents, all avoiding eye contact and jealously hoarding their few possessions, and dodging the cops whenever they decided to go and clear out the park. That was when the man saw a Range Rover come flying down the road before quickly coming to a stop. The man was ecstatic, thinking someone had finally stopped to help him! The man walked over to the car and a teenager climbed out. The teenager opened his trunk and removed a shovel, and he shooed the old man away, shouting and waving the shovel in the air like a spear. The man ran back to the median, and the teenager threw his shovel to the ground and removed a big, bulky black trash bag from the trunk. — “...get out of here! I don’t want you scaring away my customers.” — The man, panting and suddenly lightheaded, immediately ran to a nearby convenience store that was just opening. The owner was searching for his keys in his pocket when he saw the man running up. “Hey,” the owner shouted, “get out of here! I don’t want you scaring away my customers.” “No, wait, there’s a guy over there,” the man said, pointing. “He just chased me around with a shovel, and I think I saw him take a body out of his car! I think we need to call the police or something.” The owner looked over at where the man was pointing. He eyed the teenager and squinted, but then he saw the Range Rover. “Come on, there’s just a kid over there. He’s not hurting anybody. Now get out of here.” The owner unlocked the store and went inside. The man sighed and trudged back out to the highway median. The teenager slammed the trunk shut and dragged the large trash bag over to a nearby shrub, where a black cat suddenly emerged with a bird clenched in its jaws, freshly killed. The cat stared at the teenager, folding its ears, arching its back, spitting and hissing. The teenager swung the shovel at the cat, who dropped its kill and sprinted away. "Goddamn animal,” the teenager muttered. The teenager gripped his shovel and thrust it into the earth. He started to dig, whispering expletives and references to divinities as he did. Quickly he became hunched over as the dig seemed to sap his energy, but he continued to stab at the earth with every ounce of resolve he had. Before the hole was any more than a foot or two deep, long shadows began to form on the ground. The teenager quickened his pace, shoveling dirt into the steadily growing pile next to the hole as quickly as he could. Sweat began rolling down his face and onto his shirt in thick, steady beads as he growled and panted at the ground. The man watched all of this and couldn’t help but wonder where all the police were. They had always been hidden just out of sight years ago when he was speeding. When he was running low on cash and decided to help his dealer friend to make some extra cash, the first guy he tried to sell to turned out to be a cop. They were never seemed to be far away when he was sleeping in the park. Now this horror was unfolding in front of his eyes and it seemed there wasn’t a cop for miles. A car raced down the highway, and the teenager threw his shovel aside and began to dig with his bare hands, throwing the dirt aside, burrowing into the earth. He was like a mole, blind and afraid of what the light might bring, knowing only that the meaning of existence is to dig, dig as fast as you can, eat the dirt if you have to, you goddamn animal. The man suddenly, involuntarily, reached for his right pocket, where he used to keep his phone, but only ended up patting his leg. A second car raced down the highway and the teenager suddenly decided that the hole was deep enough. It grabbed the black bag and threw it into the hole, using its hands to pile dirt on top of it. It patted down the earth with its blackened, filthy paws and then scrambled back to the car and fled, leaving the shovel behind as it went. Cars are still racing down the highway. It’s been many hours since the teenager and the man were the highway’s sole occupants. The man thinks back and realizes it’s been a sad day. Nobody has stopped to give him food or money, or even talked to him, and he’s afraid he’ll have to go another day without eating. A police cruiser drives down the highway with its lights flashing and stops in front of the man. The police officer climbs out of her cruiser and says, “We’ve gotten some reports of panhandling here. I need you to leave.” “Leave?” the man asks. “Leave where? Where am I gonna go? I’m not hurting anyone.” “We’ve actually been told by some of the stores around here that you’re scaring away customers,” the officer replies. “I don’t really care where you go, but you can’t stay here.” The old man sighs and struggles to his feet, making sure to take his cardboard sign with him so the officer can’t yell at him for littering too. As he walks away, the officer stops him and asks: “By the way, there’s a silver alert out right now. A woman disappeared from her retirement home last night, less than a mile from here. Have you seen anything?” The old man stops and stares over her shoulder, looking at the grass on the side of the highway, with the dirt disturbed and the shovel still lying where the teenager had left it hours earlier. He feels his heartbeat starts to race as he forms a connection only he can make. He looks back at the officer. “Nope. Just two cats fighting or something.” Return to Table of Contents

c00fc103-7cf4-419e-8b66-9e7f87a040e6 A Challenge Approaches by Alyssa Giraud icarus & her lover by Eva Chen we collected quarters in our inner pockets, the silver staining our jeans. it is mid-summer & we are still young, blood sweet as nectarines & skin-tanned from sleeping in the sun. you place a feather into the folds of my palms and smile, your face rising with the wind. you tell me about the story of icarus and the sun, about how something too small flew too close to something too bright, only to end up shriveled & dead, bones melted into rust. for now, your breathing and the cicadas become the only thing i hear. for now, you become a memory tarnished in the backrooms of my mind. for now, i do not know how to escape you with only these wax feathered wings & my gold-painted body. the indigo night sky, the humming of the birds, and the stroke of your smile are all things that haunt me in my sleep. next to you, i wonder when it’ll be before you scorch the pages of my poetry and i feel hot wax dribble down my skin. turning over, you hand me the most gentle laugh, and your voice floats like a prayer in the air. i feel the harness giving up on me now, the weight of my wings disintegrating into ash as i watch myself fall, becoming mortal again. i am only so small when compared to the overwhelmingness of you. Return to Table of Contents

< Back Editors' Note As Élan blossoms into its 2025 Spring/Summer digital edition we invite you to explore and tend to the soil of your mind. This issue is a curation of art and writing pieces created by some of the most intricate young voices from around the world. We hope that you will take the time to peel back the layers of every word and stroke that captures the light, life, and breath of these talented artists. Take a deep breath and join us within the worlds hidden in the pages. Signed, Jupiter Hayes, Jaslyn Dickerson, and Avery Grossman Previous Next