Élan is a literary magazine publishing the best writing and art from high school students around the world. This page has all the information you need to submit your writing and art to Élan. Fall/Winter submissions are open! Poetry Poems can be any length and style, but must be single-spaced and in 12-point Times New Roman. Creative Non-Fiction Essays up to 3,000 words may be submitted with excerpt, 1,200 words or under, clearly noted. As with fiction, if a piece is selected and over 1,200 words, the excerpted section is the only portion that will receive publication. Must be 12 point double-spaced Times New Roman. Plays & Screenplays Submit full manuscripts with potential excerpts clearly noted. Pieces over 1,200 words must have a marked excerpt. All excerpted submissions should include the full manuscript with the selected portion clearly marked. If a piece is selected and over 1,200 words, only the excerpted portion will receive publication. We ask that all plays and screenplays be submitted as Word documents. You may use sites such as WriterDuet, Final Draft, Word, or Celtx. However, we ask that you convert your PDF scripts to Word documents. Some sites that are available for you to use are Smallpdf or Simplepdf Convertor. GET NOTIFIED WHEN THEY OPEN We welcome student produced visual art including photography, drawing, painting, ceramics, sculpture, mixed media, and printmaking. All art pieces must be submitted as a jpeg or a png. Please provide a high quality image (at least 300 dpi and 2MB.) We are looking for diverse artwork which seeks to tell a story. Take a look at our recent issues to see the kind of work we are publishing. Art GET NOTIFIED WHEN THEY OPEN Hybrid Hybrid pieces written on a Word document should be submitted under Writing Submissions while pieces containing artwork should be submitted under Art Submissions. "Bloom" by Hannah Botella View More General Guidelines Élan accepts original fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, screenwriting, plays, and art of all mediums from students ages fourteen to eighteen anywhere in the world. We produce two online editions a year, one in the Fall/Winter and another in the Spring/Summer. The two editions are combined into a single p rint edition each s ummer. All writers and artists who have their work chosen for the Fall/Winter or Spring/Summer Edition will be mailed a free copy of the print edition in which their piece appears. Élan holds first serial rights for material that we publish. The copyright automatically reverts to the author upon publication. We will not accept any art or writing pieces that are graphically sexual or gratuitously violent. Minor profanity is acceptable so long as it’s not excessive. We only accept original work. If you submit work that is not your own, we will not publish it. After we have reviewed all submissions, accepted submissions will be sent a confirmation email. This email will confirm the title, spelling of first & last name, along with serial rights (full right to publish and use work for marketing/ social media purposes) from the submitter. Upon being sent this email we give seven calendar days to receive confirmation. All submissions should be sent to elanlitmagazine@gmail.com . All submitters may only send three pieces. Fiction Poetry Creative Nonfiction Plays & Screenplays Art Hybrid Email Submission Guidelines : Writing (Required) The subject of the email should be the writer’s full name and then “Writing Submission.” (For example: Sara Rodgers Writing Submission) In the body of the email, please include the writer's name, age, primary email, school, city, and home address, followed by the titles and the genre (ie, poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, etc.) of each piece being submitted. If applicable, include a sponsoring teacher’s name and email address. Include a professional biography (150 words maximum, in 3rd person). Example: Sara Rodgers is a sophomore at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. They love writing poetry, and riding horses in their free time. Each piece must be attached as a separate WORD DOCUMENT and the file MUST be named the title of the piece. Élan only accepts editable WORD DOCUMENTS at this time. Élan only accepts original work, and fanfictions will not be considered for publication. Do not include your name in the body of the document, as all submissions go through a blind reading process by our staff. Make sure your piece title is included at the top of the document. If you want to submit work to Élan that has been rejected from a previous edition, the piece must have first gone through major revisions or else it will not be considered for publication. Any piece submitted that uses any form of Artificial Intelligence (AI) will not be considered for publication and the submitted will be blacklisted from submitting in the future Douglas Anderson students will submit through the forms posted around campus—not through email. You may not submit more than three pieces in a single submission period. Email Submission Guidelines: Art (Required) The subject of the email should be the artist’s full name and then “Art Submission.” (For example: Sara Rodgers Art Submission) In the body of the email, please include the artist’s name, age, primary email, school, city, and home address, followed by the titles and the medium (ie, oil on canvas, charcoal, photograph, print, etc.) of each piece being submitted. If applicable, include a sponsoring teacher’s name and email address. Include a professional biography (150 words maximum, in 3rd person). Example: Sara Rodgers is a sophomore at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. Their favorite medium to use is acrylic paint, though their watercolor paintings have also won awards. Name each art file “Piece Title (Full Name)”—example, “Water (Sara Rodgers).” The art pieces must be a jpeg or png file. Submit the highest resolution quality format that can be sent as an attachment – 300 dpi or higher, and at least 2 MB. If your art does not meet the dpi requirement, there is no guarantee your art can be published. Ensure that the photo of your art is clear and taken from a straight angle so that all aspects of the piece are visible with minimal glare. Élan only accepts original work, and fan art will not be considered for publication. If you want to submit work to Élan that has been rejected from a previous edition, the piece must have first gone through major revisions or else it will not be considered for publication. Any piece submitted that uses any form of Artificial Intelligence (AI) will not be considered for publication and the submitted will be blacklisted from submitting in the future Douglas Anderson students will submit through the forms posted around campus—not through email. You may not submit more than three pieces in a single submission period. Fiction Poetry Creative Nonfiction Plays & Screenplays Art Fiction Micro-fiction, short-stories and excerpts of larger stories up to 5,000 words are acceptable. Pieces over 1,200 words must have a marked excerpt. All excerpted submissions should include the full manuscript with selected portion clearly marked. If a piece is selected and over 1,200 words, only the excerpted portion will receive publication. Must be 12 point double-spaced Times New Roman.

Élan is a literary magazine publishing the best writing and art from high school students around the world. Banner SUBMISSIONS ARE OPEN! Fall/Winter Submissions Close October 1st Submit Recent Issues SEE MORE Anchor 1 Spring/Summer 2026 Fall/Winter 2025 Volume 39

Read Past Winners 2024 Resilience Arianna Shaprow Read More 2021 2019 2020 I’m Safe Now. I Think. Mercedes Schwartz Read More 2021 2019 2020 Another Day in the Sanctuary Declan Koe Read More 2021 2019 2020 Synesthetia Anoushka Dugar Read More 2021 2019 2020 Patient Flowers Khloe Klopfer Read More 2021 2019 2020 Syrup Ty'ana Pope Read More 2021 2019 2020 The Burning Light of the Clock Jamari Weaver Read More 2021 2019 2020 Barbarous Verdure Kalliope Gonos Read More 2021 2019 2020 No Fresh Air Ana Rosenthal Read More 2021 2019 2020 Our Cafeteria Dimitria Banov Russo Read More 2021 2019 2020 The Blue and Yellow Lila Hartley Read More 2021 2019 2020 Oblivion Greta Reis Read More 2021 2019 2020 We Still Have a Heart in Ourselves Indie Pascal Read More 2021 2019 2020 We Just Want to be Loved Riayn Smith Read More 2021 2019 2020 Blank Page Cecelia Richardson Read More 2021 2019 2020 How Lucky we Are Meredith Anglin Read More 2021 2019 2020 Dear Linh Kate Kim Read More 2021 2019 2020 on your name Cloris Shi Read More 2021 2019 2020 Untitled John Walker Read More 2021 2019 2020 The Roaring Himalayas Rehan Sheikh Read More 2021 2019 2020 Questions of Youth Erion P. Sanders Read More 2021 2019 2020 Grief Janna Tannous Read More 2021 2019 2020 Becoming One Amelia Elder Read More 2021 2019 2020 Toby Georgia Witt Read More 2021 2019 2020 The Castle Isabella Bolger Read More 2021 2019 2020 The Curious Murder of Lilliane Baldwin Hannah G. Klenck Read More 2021 2019 2020 Fading Marlo Herndon Read More 2021 2019 2020 2023 2022 2021 2020 2019

MIDDLE SCHOOL ART AND WRITING CONTEST 2025 WINNERS Élan celebrates the work of students between 6th and 8th grades in our annual Middle School Art and Writing Contest. FIRST PLACE SECOND PLACE THIRD PLACE First Place Biblical Angel by Isaac Anderson Resilience's Dark Embrace by Annie Lin I cried out loud to the soundless void, Yet no one heard my trembling plight. Alone I wait, in inevitable despair In the chill of solitude, she cherished my soul. Through life's obscured passages, whispers of dream linger, Where resilience hides occult, a quiet force— Hand in hand with sorrow, yet unseen, An esoteric support in daily exertion, its course She comforted me; I searched blindly for her. Blindly— Blindly— Blindy, taking my step to my cessation. In the heart's hidden depths adumbrate, Each hardship enriches intricacy, crafting beauty, Serene harmony within life's chaos unfurls, The grand fresco of life, sculpted by resilience's inner essence The world spins on, unheeding my tears, A heart aching with unspoken fears. I seek the light, the one she provides. Now, I watch the fading of my dreams Harmony of life’s chaos, struggle and endurance, Silent guardian, shielding the heart's resilience, Dual nature, the ability to empower while exhausting the spirit, A story of survival and pain, a burden to the weary soul She left me; I wanted to die. Die— Die— Die, lifeless in this perishable land. A hidden strength, a quiet force in the night, Hurt the heart, darken the soul's light, No light left in the eye, where shadow dawdles, Only darkness, forever, amidst life's tumultuous storm. Alone, I feel so hysterical I feel so delusional, I always thought I was insusceptible to the world But she is trying to annihilate me, so damn slowly She does not sincerely love me, All upright lies, my eternal craving. About the Writer... Annie Lin is a 7th grader at Julia Landon College Preparatory and Leadership Development School. They enjoy every moment that involves music, from concerts to bus rides. They love dramatic performance and expressing their ideal aspects in each act. They mix different forms of art into poems, adding a personal touch into each piece of art, poetry or just a simple doodle. About the Artist... Isaac Anderson is a 6th grade scholar at Matthew W. Gilbert Middle School, who became interested in art at nine years old when he received his first sketchbook. From there, his talent sharpened and his interest in art increased. Second Place Yearning by Alana Rihaly Yesterday I Could Fly by Coleson Roth High in the sweet savory clouds The birds at my batting wings Soaring through the silver sky Yesterday I could fly The rumbling of the salty ocean So far beneath my claws The breeze, blowing me dry Yesterday I could fly My roar like lightning command Sending ripples through the air Seagulls rattle in fear of my mighty eye Yesterday I could fly About the Writer... Coleson Roth is a Creative Writing major at LaVilla School of the Arts, currently making his way through seventh grade. Coleson focuses mostly on poetry and sometimes fiction works. Although Coleson does not like to write fiction as much as poetry, the opposite is the truth for reading, he loves reading fiction books that capture his mind so much he cannot pull away. About the Artist Alana Rihaly is a talented mixed-media artist. She's created original pieces since she was seven years old with the unconditional love and support of her mother and aunt. Art has often been a vehicle of her emotional expression. Third Place Hope to Making it Far 1 by Lashunda Patterson Poppies by Heidi Le Kindergarten. Practically a warzone, except the only thing we were fighting over was who got what colored carpet square. Every day was as monotonous as a broken record and filled with grubby little fingers taking all of my sparkly crayons. I desperately wanted something new and fun to happen, and, as a kindergartener, I just wanted to be taken to a magical world where I could do nothing and not have to learn math. Unfortunately, the daydreams never came true, until one day, something sparked. In the playground. In the big, old, mystical, magical-looking oak tree, a door suddenly appeared. It was dark brown, almost to the point of blending into the tree, a wooden door that you could only fit in if you crawled. It was a portal to another realm that only my brain could have conjured. I opened the door and was met with wet grass and a tunnel composed of broken, gnarled branches. They cut my legs as I crawled deeper and deeper into the seemingly never-ending tunnel. At last, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, a beacon of hope that beckoned me closer and closer. I touched the tingly light and immediately fell. I fell for what felt like ages, and I spiraled down and down as tiny voices whispered in my ears all the things I wished someone would tell me. I fell until the light started to fade and was replaced with bright blue skies. Underneath me was a carpet of bright red poppies as far as I could see, and in the near distance, a brook. I walked over to it and leaned my head over the sparkling water. I looked at my reflection, but instead of just me, I saw one more face staring back. She looked like me. A stronger, older, prettier version of me, and she smiled. It was a soft smile. Not the kind someone uses to comfort you, but the kind like they understand you. She smiled again and spoke this time. “Not yet. There’s still more time.” The reflection started to fade, and I desperately tried to save it. “When will I be able to come back?” I whispered to the water and was met with nothing. I stood, gathered myself, and turned. “Adira? Are you okay?” Someone called out. I sat up and blinked rapidly at the faces above me. “What?” “You tripped.” Someone said, but I wasn’t listening to them anymore. I was looking at the tree. Where the magical door once sat, there was just rough bark in place. I looked down at the sandy dirt and saw something sparkling. Buried in the sand, I picked it up, dusted it off and saw bright red, the same shade as the poppies: a bright red, sparkly crayon. Hope to Making it Far 2 by Lashunda Patterson About the Writer... Heidi Le is an 8th grade student at James Weldon Johnson College Preparatory. She loves to write stories and poetry. She can usually be found reading or writing notes for a book. In her free time, she enjoys archery and playing guitar, as well as dreaming. About the Artist... Lashunda Patterson is a 7th grade student at Matthew Gilbert Middle School. She creates cartoon characters with the hopes of bringing joy and inspiration to others. View Previous Winners

Spring/Summer 2022 Cover Art by: Vera Baffour Table of Contents Writing Art Editor's Note 0 Blair Bowers and Brendan Nurczyk The creased polaroid my grandmother keeps in her wallet 7:30AM 1 Kota Locklear England Townsend I Left my Heart in the Knot of a Weeping Willow Tree Off 2 Peyton Pitts Jadalyn Gubat The Willful Pisgah 3 Nayra McMahan Audrey Lendvay my childhood friends 4 Raymond Chen For Medusa El Tiburón 5 Mia Parola Natalie Holden motherland My Inner Brewing Conflicts 6 Evangelina Ariana Thornton Alana Guifarro Mountaintop Soho 7 Itay Frenkel Ivory Funari My mother's letters to my father. Dreamscape Randos 8 Chloe Pancho Vera Baffour Innocent Until Educated 9 England Townsend Deep in Georgia Blackout 10 Autumn Hill Micayla Latson Doll Dancer 11 Zarria Belizaire Reagan Hoogesteger Recursions Wasting Time 12 Nolan Lee Elizaveta Kalacheva The Last Rite LORD BABA (GOLDEN PRIDE) 13 Giovani Jacques Taylor Ekern Anthem Silhouette 14 Brendan Nurczyk Lan Turner Iridescence for the Soul Lucky Numbers 15 Hallie Xu Christopher Thomas My Body, the Sea/Mi Cuerpo, el Mar The Gain and Loss in Transformation 16 Raquel Silberman Alyssa Giraud icarus & her lover A Challenge Approaches 17 Eva Chen Alyssa Giraud Midnight Skin Ave Maria 18 Alexander Sayette Vera Baffour Oliver A Mother's Love 19 Esmé DeVries Chloe Robertson An Evening to Remember 20 Audrey Lendvay Aschnakä 21 Niveah Glover A Tribute to Mitski’s “Class of 2013” Tangled in Transformation 22 Hollis Ackiss Camille Faustino the girl in the pool has all her clothes on I Sea Trash 23 Ali Ximines Christian Silva The Orange Tree Across the Street Groceries 24 Sarah Ermold Camille Faustino The Bird dovetail 25 Blair Bowers Sachiko Rivamoute Between the Eyes Commensalism 26 Maeve Coughlin Arabella Riefler Firstborn Late 27 Satori McCormick Jadalyn Gubat Who's Point of View 28 Solara Cotton to she who fights the snow Afternoon Painting 29 Sarah Sun Zoe Turner Rose-Colored Glasses Blooming Petals 30 Mackenzie Rud Bria Mcclary the summer you learned to bike Marine Karma 31 Eva Chen Grace Kim Spring/Summer 2022 Staff Blair Bowers Brendan Nurczyk Zarria Belizaire Nia Moneyhun Parker Sheppard Lanina Herndon Anna Smith Nayra McMahan Bonny Bruzos Sage Whitecotton Kaysyn Jones Leila Warner Editor-in-Chief Junior Editor-in-Chief Poetry Editor Prose Editor Art Director Junior Art Director Associate Art Director Managing Editor Junior Managing Editor Social Marketing Editor Associate Marketing Editor Associate Marketing Editor

Fall/Winter 2024 Cover art: "Just a Little Laundry" by Ruby Wirth Table of Contents Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button Editors' Note 󠀠 View Avery Grossman, Jaslyn Dickerson, Jamie Lohse & Jupiter Hayes Small Title 󠀠 Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button Dedication 󠀠 View Élan Staff Small Title 󠀠 Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button Two Beautiful Things, Entangled at the Joints Angelic Reflection View Cherry Cheesman Small Title Krislyn Fraser Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button I'm Refolding Foreboding View Gustave Rish Small Title Kierra Reese Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button The Effects of Seasonal Changes on Floridian Coastal Wildlife Florida Girl View Scooter Wirth Small Title Hailey Edwards Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button 󠀠 Just a Little Laundry View 󠀠 Small Title Ruby Wirth Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button Translated and Transferred Bino View Natalie Cappelletti Small Title Tatiana Arroyave Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button An Open Door The Minkin Kitchen View Lila Hartley Small Title Hana Minkin Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button New Orleans Nights Bright Adventures Ahead View Zoë Forstall Small Title Abigail Cashwell Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" 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 View James Helmick Small Title Autumn King Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button Papa On The Way Home View Olivia Sheftall Small Title Zoe Wagner Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button As I Go to the Sea For Glory! View Hanzhen Teng Small Title Raiti Namiranian Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button Worship/War Inocencia View Su Thar Nyein Small Title Ian Castro Soto Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button His Mother's Cries Incandescent View Anai Harris Small Title Daysha Perez Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button Saltwater Escape View Nico De Guzman Small Title Elizaveta Kalacheva Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button We Desire Anything but Peace Don't Let This Darkness Fool You View Chao Small Title Jenna Williams Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button crepuscular, a portrait of matrilineal scoliosis 󠀠 View Ariel Wu Small Title 󠀠 Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button 󠀠 Unprepared View 󠀠 Small Title Shanwill Wang Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button A Lesson on Teenage Girlhood Hurt Mother View Oona Keleher Small Title Colson Gomez Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC Art Title" Button November's Cardinal Granny Girl View Emerson Flanagan Small Title Ji'niyah Alexander Small Title Small Title Connect to "TOC Title" Connect to "TOC AUTHOR" Connect to "TOC ARTIST"

Élan's Spring/Summer 2021 Issue is up and ready to read. Featuring talented teenage artists and writers from all over the world. Spring/Summer 2021 Cover Art: Entrapment by Jillian Atwood TABLE OF CONTENTS Table of Contents Table of Contents Writing Visual Art Editor's Note Button Editor's Note Zoe Lathey & Blair Bowers Connect to "TOC Title" Zoe Lathey & Blair Bowers Read Language, Button Language, Summer Carrier Connect to "TOC Title" Summer Carrier Read Salmon Contortionist Button Salmon Contortionist Sophia Rose Smith Rowan Blankemeyer Connect to "TOC Title" Sophia Rose Smith Rowan Blankemeyer Read My Mother's Spirits Mother and Child Button My Mother's Spirits Mother and Child Tuesday Locklear Emily Nguyen Connect to "TOC Title" Tuesday Locklear Emily Nguyen Read Braids Abyss of Gold Button Braids Abyss of Gold Mackenzie Shaner Joshua Hein Connect to "TOC Title" Mackenzie Shaner Joshua Hein Read Poemgranate Brazen Button Poemgranate Brazen Autumn Hill Hasina Lilley Connect to "TOC Title" Autumn Hill Hasina Lilley Read Truth in Bitterness... Twirler/Biter/Picker Triptych Button Truth in Bitterness... Twirler/Biter/Picker Triptych Josselyn Ortiz Rachel Brown Connect to "TOC Title" Josselyn Ortiz Rachel Brown Read Nomos (The Law) Button Nomos (The Law) Ninah Gibson Connect to "TOC Title" Ninah Gibson Read Animals and Social Trash Clawing at My Dread Button Animals and Social Trash Clawing at My Dread Kevin Kraft Joshua Luke Rogers Connect to "TOC Title" Kevin Kraft Joshua Luke Rogers Read Toxic Lover Boy Button Toxic Lover Boy Emily Khym Isaac Riley Connect to "TOC Title" Emily Khym Isaac Riley Read Microaggressions Inner Truth Button Microaggressions Inner Truth Trinity Jones Trinity Cohen Connect to "TOC Title" Trinity Jones Trinity Cohen Read Depth to my Body Sorrowful Reflection Button Depth to my Body Sorrowful Reflection Mia Parola Hasina Lilley Connect to "TOC Title" Mia Parola Hasina Lilley Read Jesus in a Tie Dye Shirt Word Vomit Button Jesus in a Tie Dye Shirt Word Vomit Skye O'Toole Isabela Mendez Connect to "TOC Title" Skye O'Toole Isabela Mendez Read We Stopped for Daily's Mirage and Menagerie Button We Stopped for Daily's Mirage and Menagerie Blair Bowers Rowan Blankemeyer Connect to "TOC Title" Blair Bowers Rowan Blankemeyer Read Handcrafting a Predictable... The Peace of Pre-Quarantine Button Handcrafting a Predictable... The Peace of Pre-Quarantine Anthony Bernando Kyra Lai Connect to "TOC Title" Anthony Bernando Kyra Lai Read Hilltop Timekeeper Trip to Nowhere Button Hilltop Timekeeper Trip to Nowhere Toko Hata Zhanna Marzan Connect to "TOC Title" Toko Hata Zhanna Marzan Read The Shepherd Button The Shepherd Rachel Brown Connect to "TOC Title" Rachel Brown Read Guardians In Theory Button Guardians In Theory Sarah Ermold Julienne Masopust Connect to "TOC Title" Sarah Ermold Julienne Masopust Read Black Walnut Dead to the World Button Black Walnut Dead to the World Eli Mears Jillian Atwood Connect to "TOC Title" Eli Mears Jillian Atwood Read Pray Imitation Smile Button Pray Imitation Smile Christine Xu Hasina Lilley Connect to "TOC Title" Christine Xu Hasina Lilley Read The Fish False Prophet Button The Fish False Prophet Kaysyn Jones Vera Caldwell Connect to "TOC Title" Kaysyn Jones Vera Caldwell Read Spring/Summer 2021 Staff Zoe Lathey Blair Bowers Hannah Bardhi Sheldon White Blake Molenaar Parker Sheppard La'Mirakle Price Nayra McMahan Sage Whitecotton Arry Pender Editor-in-Chief Junior Editor-in-Chief Poetry Editor Prose Editor Art Director Junior Art Director Managing Editor Junior Managing Editor Social Media Editor Associate Editor

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

945dccfc-1beb-4e0f-9b71-bb84e3582363 LORD BABA (GOLDEN PRIDE) by Taylor Ekern The Last Rite by Giovani Jacques “The sinner will always plead in time of strife.” It was a saying that he was anything but unfamiliar with; his mother making no failure to let it flow from the tips of her lips in any situation she deemed fit. She was an Italian woman that possessed a quite remarkable short, pudgy stature, though her qualities of remarkability, at least to the people that surrounded her, stopped there. That latter portion of her life was spent as a widow, becoming a God-fearing recluse, devoting any time previously invested into her husband and her son, Paul, in the church. The saying was one that Paul hadn’t heard as of late, as communication between the two dwindled as the years went by. The estranged relationship was much to Paul’s own doing, but whenever she did find the chance to, (as scarcely as those chances came,) he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at it, believing he would never alter his beliefs, not even on his death bed. “You’re just like your father, Paul.” His mother would scoff, “When the time comes, my last prayer will be in celebratory nature, not a pleading one. God willing it will be the same for you.” As her days waned, and it was clear that her time had in fact came, her last prayer was exactly that. The day of the last rite failed to see many tears shed. At least not by Paul, nor his mother. For her, there wasn’t too much to be in a grievance over: as death was more of a release to the pains and aches that life was guaranteed to distribute. Besides, it seemed as if she knew where she was headed. Her designated nurse, Alaila, Paul only remembering her name because he recognized it as the Basque word for joy, spoke of the fabulous dreams her patient recounted to her. Dreams of triumphant Angels watching in glee as she gracefully walked upon Heavens steps. Dreams of her husband patiently awaiting at the top of those steps. During Paul’s minimal visits to her bleak, dimly lit hospice room, he was hard pressed to avoid the lady, instead opting to give her a smile and slight words of encouragement to his ailing mother. “She has a wonderful spirit. You should come by more often; it’d give her more comfort.” When he did come by and conversation became scarce, he remembered Alaila’s recounting of her dreams, and wondered aloud about them. “It was God speaking to me Paul,” she’d say in a state of wonder, “and your father was right beside him. God willing, it was your father beside him.” Paul never asked for her to expand on what she meant by God-willing in this instance, deciding that it was for the best to let her dreams run unobstructed in her last days. For Paul, the lack of tears stemmed from the endless booze that dripped through his pores: A rundown liquor store placed conveniently near the hospice building allowed for him to not have to face the reality of his perishing mother, at least not while sober. He’d walk in as he usually did, eyes focused on dirty tiles, avoiding the gaze of the young store attendant who never failed to offer his smile and a polite “Welcome” to the mellow man who made him himself a usual at the establishment. At times he thought about responding: “Today, I’ll say hello. Maybe even ask about her day,” he’d think to himself, attempting to give some form of an unconvincing pep talk. He’d never go through with the plans though, in the end realizing that he saw him as nothing but another drunk: one that rushed to the same gas station cooler every time he entered and evacuated without a word as he began to guzzle them as soon as he exited. Realizing that he was just one of the many. "He didn’t know how he’d be able to make it home that night, but he also didn’t know if he planned to." For a drunk, he had a quite impressive inability to hold his liquor, not that he wanted to anyway, and the effects of corrupted vision and drowsiness, as usual, began its quick onset. He didn’t know how he’d be able to make it home that night, but he also didn’t know if he planned to. It was all worth it for him though, reasoning to himself that he’d do, “anything to avoid the tears.” ] However, the tears that were shed, and the main source of sorrow, ironically came by way of the nurse tasked with easing the pain death would bring. On the day in which death knocked its scythe on the grey hospice door, it was the nurse, her tag reading Alaila (A name that Paul recognized as the Basque word for Joy), who appeared to be the most distraught by the situation. Distraught to the point that Paul found that he had to be the one to comfort the young woman. Paul’s whispering pleads to quiet it down complemented by the pungent alcohol smell his breath carried, was to no avail. “Aren’t you sad too?” she whimpered, confused at the lack of emotion that came from the drunk son. The sound of snot being siphoned up the tunnels of Alaila’s nostrils made the sentence inaudible enough for him to ignore it, perhaps because he realized that the true answer to that question, would be unsatisfactory. The sniffles and yelps became too much for the old woman who lay on her death bed, accompanied by the hospitals catholic chaplain prepared to oversee her death, eventually motioning for the young woman to depart from the room, and to not renter until she was “gone at last.” With that, Alaila shuffled her feet past Paul, giving him a slight rub on her way out. The clergy member began to commence the last rite, a series of prayer and rituals done on catholic practitioners near death. Paul’s now mute mother began to motion for his exit as well, seeking for peace and quiet in her last moments. He drunkenly made way for the exit without a word opening the door to join Alaila in the depressing Hospice hallways. Taking a last look around at the room, the lack of people increasingly became of note; The only people finding themselves present in her last moments being Paul, a now absent nurse, and a chaplain who knew nothing about her thirty minutes ago. It was only in the time of death that Paul truly learned of his mother’s excessive reluctivity: never did he get a call from a loved one inquiring on her health, nor did he hear of anyone coming to check on her in person. It became apparent that, especially after his father’s death, all she had was Paul. It was revelation that plagued his mind in the weeks leading up to the moment. As an adult, he seldomly made any attempts to maintain a relationship with his mother, instead choosing a life of overindulgence in whatever vice he chose. Whenever the going got tough though, he’d never fail to make a phone call asking for money, a request in which she always obliged. However, the time in which they had a real conversation? One in which wasn’t congested with awkward-over-the-phone small talk; couldn’t have been any less than two decades from their last. By now, a couple of new nurses awaited by Alaila’s side, listening in on their queue to enter the room for the inevitable last breaths. The commotion generated by the two nurses attempting to calm the now hyperventilating Alaila down was just enough for Paul to slip away without notice. But truthfully, Paul only desired to avoid the stares loaded with accusation that would arrive when leaving at time like this, Paul knew that they’d notice eventually, regardless of the secrecy in which he had done so, but this way he wouldn’t be here to see it. He made the trek back to the conveniently placed corner store, seemingly tracing his exact steps back to the gas station’s cooler, purchasing the same three cans of beer he purchased just hours before. In a drunken state, Paul was able to gurgle a babylike, “Hello” to the usual cashier that was on shift. This time the store attendant didn’t bother saying hello though, nor did he bother providing a smile. Paul was too intoxicated to notice. But as usual, on Paul’s way out, he stared. Watching the man as he began to drink the case of beer as soon as he stepped off the premise and hop back behind the wheel. He didn’t know how the strange drunk would be able to make it home that night, but it also seemed as if the drunk didn’t plan to. He diverted his attention away from the man, smiling and offering a “Welcome” at the next customer who walked through the sliding doors. Return to Table of Contents

6b5b6bc7-3542-4110-9115-40f80c1497a1 Groceries by Camille Faustino The Orange Tree Across the Street by Sarah Ermold It wasn’t trespassing, Because the house was for sale And the orange tree in the back yard was public property. Grandma promised it was safe and held my hand when we crossed the street, Because I was still in elementary school and didn’t know better. I gripped a Longaberger basket soaked in stress and Florida humidity, And picked the rotting fruit hanging from the shortest branches. Watched the fruit flies at my feet scream in excitement, As they invade the soft veil of the peel encrusted in a silky brown slime. Their weak bodies drowning in the bitterness Of the perished organs decomposing in ant piles and feral grass. I reached to pick it up, and Grandma slapped my hand. She wiped my hands on my shorts and told me The best oranges hang from the tree. Grandma squeezed my hand before we stepped onto the pavement, And walked the thirty feet back to the house. I sat in the chairs that lined Grandma’s kitchen table, As she lathered the forbidden fruit in the water that leaked from her faucet. She sat a napkin in front of me, heavy with the slobber of a freshly polished orange. I held the meat of the orange like rotting flesh on my tongue. She watched me as we ate the oranges together, With each bite, the pith slide between my front teeth like dental floss And the pulp bled from the corners of her mouth, I used the lung shape of the orange’s body to put on a smile. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, because they were the best oranges she ever had. When she offered me another, I told her I was full. And when we were finished, I told her they were the best oranges I ever had. When my mom came to get me, Grandma begged me to take them home. Shoved them in the used Publix bags from under the sink. Her hands coated in orange saliva and my bitter lie, She made sure to put them in the car so I wouldn’t forget them. Grandma buckled me and the oranges into the car seat, As she told mom of our day, elbowing me to tell mom, These were the best oranges I ever had. Return to Table of Contents

6 < Table of Contents Vibrant Death by Andie Crawford Who Were You, and Who May I Become? by Alyse Gammons " Will I someday leave behind / a fossil of fondness that is so enchantingly echoed / across the offerings to my resting soul?" Like a ghost, lurks the day that I may finally think of you fondly. Standing comfortably side by side to your ofrenda, I think to myself how, besides these reasons why, do I begin to comprehend someone who I have never met? Aimlessly I listen to ancestors alliterate the altruism you so graciously left behind… and yet what is this to me? Will I someday leave behind a fossil of fondness that is so enchantingly echoed across the offerings to my resting soul? Spilling whispers of contentment and memories of life and legacy to the garden of marigolds that have but a chokehold on the square as they bloom around the tombs. Diligently dancing to the sound of celebration, their petals lifting up and down to the beat of the death they represent. A resting, yet radiating, heartbeat. Although I do not know you, I bake this bread to give you pieces of the earth you left behind. Although I do not know you, I burn this incense to represent your passing. Although I do not know you, I stare attentively at this framed photo: eyes that offer a gentleness, hands that once cared tenderly for the familia I gather with today. And although, I did not get as lucky as my cousins to truly know you, I will light this candle to guide you back towards us in hopes that someday you will take my hand as tenderly as you took my mama’s and her mama’s before that, and guide me to the place you now rest. Maybe then, year after year of celebration in your life’s honor, may I one day know you as well as I know your face in this one still framed picture resting against your ofrenda. About the Writer... Alyse Gammons is a student at Lehigh Valley Charter High School for the Arts in their junior year who enjoys writing poetry, drawing in their free time, and learning about the sciences. They plan to pursue a career in the sciences and/or in English. Once they can find a steady job in their field, they plan to continue writing in hopes of being a self-published author in poetry and someday fiction. In school, they are a part of the National Honor Society, are awaiting their acceptance letter from the Spanish National Honors Society, and represent at Literary Arts Cafe the Lodge Events as 2025’s co-chair. When not writing or in school, they participate in the Kutztown Area High School’s Marching Band as a majorette, and during the fall are a member of the Kutztown Area Indoor Associations Twirling Team. About the Artist... Andie Crawford is a Senior at Douglas Anderson School of the Arts. She specializes in drawing and painting.

What Happened to Us by Dion Hines How to: make it to room 404 by Chloe Pancho Step #1 . Say hello to the man at the counter. He says hello back and tells you to say hello to your mother for him as well. You promise that you will. Get your temperature taken beside the front door. You didn’t know how to use the machine the first time you came in contact with it. You stood as close to it as you possibly could, thinking that was the only way for it to check your temperature properly. He was the one to correct you and say that there was no need to get so close. A full twelve inches in front was ideal. You laughed and thanked him and now you look forward to your quick greetings. “Don’t forget to say hello to any of the staff or any other breathing person that exits out of the elevators, assume they crave just as much comfort as you do.” Step #2 . Make your way towards the hallway on his right and onto your left. Walk past a water fountain and a gender-neutral bathroom until you ultimately reach the elevators. Press the button to ascend towards the higher floors and wait until one of them opens for you. Don’t forget to say hello to any of the staff or any other breathing person that exits out of the elevators, assume they crave just as much comfort as you do. Once inside the elevator, press the button etched with the number 4 and make your way towards the ER where Mama is most likely to be sleeping. Step #3 . Introduce yourself once again. (Note: The ER is separated from the rest of the hospital by two heavy-set metal doors. On the wall is a white intercom in which each individual must push to announce their presence and reason why they would like to enter the ER.) Reiterate your first and last name, as unlike the man at the front, you are never fully able to recognize the voice that is on the other side. Tell the face-less figure that you are here to visit your mother. They request for your mother’s name and ask you to wait as they confirm that the patient knows of your existence. Step #3 .5. You imagine a life in which her accident never happened. Step #4 . Listen to the unfamiliar voice as it announces that you are permitted to see your own mother. They instruct you to stand back as they open the doors, but before the sentence is finished, take three steps back as you are used to these procedures. The first sight you encounter once you enter the ER is an empty gurney stationed in front of the first room. You remember it as the room for the unconscious woman. The woman looked the same age as your mother, dark hair just like your mother as well, you don’t know how to describe her eyes as you have never actually seen them open. You expect to see her today, but yet she is not there. Her room is completely empty. The bed wiped of its sheets, the curtains drawn dark. You want to ask one of the nurses what happened to her, ifshe is okay. But you do not. Step #5 . Smile. You finally make it to your mother’s room. Your father is inside along with your mother's registered nurse. They both say hello to you as they adjust the tube that is going to be feeding your mother lunch today. Keep smiling. Your father leaves your mother in the nurses’ care as he comes over to hug you. He asks you if you are okay and how school was today. Smile at him and tell him that everything is okay. Your mother finishes her lunch a little after you and your father are done conversing. The nurse reassures the two other conscious people in the small room that your mothers vitals are finally starting to look better. She soon leaves the three of you alone. Look at your mother. There are wires and multi-colored lines wrapping around her body, all with their specific use and purpose to keep your mother here. It is then when you notice truly how much weight your mother has lost. She has always been a small woman. Standing at a mere 5’2 most of her life, she looks even smaller now, frail, fragile almost. Her eyes are sunken in, hands slender to the point of concern. She looks almost dead. “The man at the front told me to say hello to you,” you tell her. Massage her forearms as you remember Papa telling you they were bothering her during your last visit. She doesn’t respond. You didn’t expect her too. Step #6 . Close your eyes. Papa’s lap will act like a pillow for you tonight. The denim of his jeans scratch the side of your cheek, and his thighs are bony like chopsticks, but you will cling onto any form of familiarity life is willing give to you. Listen to the local news playing on the hospital TV along with the constant buzz of the heart monitor sitting beside your mother’s bed, telling you that it is okay to go to sleep, that your mother will still be right there, in her bed, when you wake up.