Light & Shadow 2024: Time Moves Fast

Please enjoy the 2024 edition of Light and Shadow, produced by the Advanced Creative Writing students of Episcopal High School.

Time Moves Fast A collection of Cover | Annika Haug Indecisions | 2024 Opposite | Sadie Lawrence A window to the past | 2024 Shadow & poetry and prose by students and faculty of Episcopal High School copyright 2024 Episcopal High School

Light

Editorial Staff 006 2007 2008 2009 2010 201

Ava Black Age 4 Class of ‘25

Emma Vanderbloemen Age 5 Class of ‘24

Emma Michael Age 15 Class of ‘24

Danny Langlais Age 12 Class of ‘24

Clare Bogart Age 5 Class of ‘24

Annie Lyons Age 4 Class of ‘24

2 Maddie Gonzalez Age 2 Class of ‘25 2017 2018 2019 2020 2021 2 Ms. Jordan Harris Age 5 Faculty Advisor Justin Begg Age 2 Class of ‘24 Berklee Lyons Baby Class of ‘25 Samantha Durand Age 3 Class of ‘25

Art/Photography Composition 11 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016

44 51 56 24

Justin Begg | 2024 Avalon Bell | 2026

4 5 5

Sophia Berumen | 2025

Ava Black | 2025 Clare Bogart | 2024

7, 34, 37

Fold out

21 23

Fold out

Liz Burke | 2026

25 14 39 50

Bella Chramosta | 2025

10, 17

FC, 15, 49, BC

Michael Codrington | Faculty

Kit Ding | 2026

18, 35

43 46

28 26 44

4, 20

28, 29, 33

Zoe Loving | 2024

3 2022 2023 2024 2025 2026

Fast Moments

Annie Lyons | 2024

Maddie Gonzalez | 2025

Highschool moments are fleeting turning into memories, they slip away.

So, grasp the moments, and do not let them go. Because life’s journey moves on, Days will blend into nights. In moments when time flies by, smiles and laughter vanishing in seconds that become memories, You become lost in joy, merging without cause. Do not let them go, Those memories that may slip away, fast moments eventually fade. Time really does fly. In the blink of an eye, it will be gone.

Sloane Wallace Cafeteria | 2025

Moments Slip Away Emma Michael | 2025 Berklee Lyons | 2024

It’s hard to remember significant

Moments

From when I was a child… like grains of sand on the ocean shore, I cling desperately to the memories

pulling out my first tooth and my first day of middle school when I made new friends.

Time flies by in an instant. The moments slip away as I keep growing, although I try to hold on, they all fade away. once gone, they are gone forever.

Baby Steps Turn into Leaps of Faith Clare Bogart | 2024 Sammy Durand | 2025

I take my first steps Giggling and bouncing Step by step I start to grow up Fast and strong Step by step I learn to make decisions Slowly and cautiously Step by step I make small decisions Thoughtlessly and inconsequential Step by step My small decisions become big decisions Big decisions into leaps of faith Step by step I’m scared of every path I take Each life-altering step By step

Tick-tock Emma Vanderbloemen | 2024 Ava Black | 2025

Tick-tock as I checked how much time I had left Looking back on the memories I made and trying to squeeze in one more fun one before it was done. time keeps ticking, though. Everything has an end at some point in our lives. Every stage, every era, it’s inevitable. Even high school

Time

Justin Begg | 2024

Danny Langlais | 2024

“Danny?” A voice calls out to me It’s my mom, way back in my grandma’s house I was only four back then. The time we have The memories we have made and the connection we have built

As time moves faster We reflect on the past

and look forward to what is ahead “Danny.” A voice calls out to me It’s my mom again, in our new home moving in. I was only ten back then. Time moves fast but what we make of our time- is what’s important “Danny!” A voice calls out to me It’s my mom again, to clean up my old, old, ten-year-old room. I’m 18 now.

A Morning in the Rough

Aidan Murphy | 2025

Sun streaks paint the morning gold, Birdsong fades, the day unfolds. Laughter ripples, moments fly, Like sand, they sift beneath the sky, Whispers rustle through the leaves, Golden hues the daylight weaves. Stars ignite, the moon takes hold, Another story yet untold, Hold the breath, savor the view, Time’s a river ever new, Let it flow and let it be, Embrace the now, eternally

McKenna Foteh Homeschool | 2024

(Inspired by The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath) Fig Trees

Sophia Berumen | 2025

I stand in front of my fig tree A million futures hang above me Waiting for me to decide Which one it will be I stand in front of my fig tree A million rotten figs rest at my feet Futures that passed me by Dreams made obsolete Time goes by I still can’t decide I don’t want to waste my life

Time goes by Worried I’m wasting my life

Because I can’t decide Who do I want to be? Who have I been? Constantly contemplating every version of me Except the one I am now Time moves fast It’ll pass you by Unless you leave your fig tree behind and just Live

By picking the wrong one More figs fall to the ground Each one better than the last I’m beginning to think the one I was meant to pick Lies in my past

Only Time Will Tell Bella Chramosta | 2025

Most of us enter the world screaming and crying. While there is a biological reason for this, I believe that subconsciously, we feel like we aren’t ready for what the future will hold. We spend two to three months listening to the outside world from the safety of our mothers’ wombs. The conversations they have, the choices they make, and how they react to their environment are all that we can audibly witness. We hear our prospective lives, and before we know it, we are living them. Now, our mothers’ conversations are no longer about cribs and baby clothes, but rather where we may go to college and what we want to do with our lives. So, when we entered the world, unprepared for what was coming, our wildest dreams still couldn’t encompass what we have faced and will face. Consequently, worrying seems futile when there is no way to know what the future will hold. Only time will tell.

Annika Haug Da(vi)d | 2024

Nature’s Clock

Aidan Murphy | 2025

Sunlight paints the leaves, Golden dance in gentle breeze, Time whispers through trees,

Starlit sky unfolds, Diamonds scattered on velvet deep, Night’s secrets untold, Morning mist ascends, Sun peeks through, a blushing face, Life’s cycle transcends

Abigail MacRory Precious Moments | 2025

Frozen In Time

Emma Vanderbloemen | 2024

Jackson Soler Winter | 2024

Frozen

But that seems so scary and foreign to me

Time

encapsulates me

because

as I try to pick up my two little feet.

my dreams are my comfort,

Frozen in time

my utopia that sets

replaying the same old tired thoughts and memories.

Free

On repeat And repeat,

So, I continue to live in my hopes and my dreams of the would-haves and should-haves that encapsulate me.

As I ponder a time that is physically benign, and foreign to

Hoping

me.

One day,

I daydream and past time in my hopes of the would-haves and should-haves that

they see the beauty in me and pick me and choose me to live in their dream. So that I don’t have to keep replaying the time when I felt seen

encapsulate me.

They say, Just pick up your two little feet. Be in the present. Just breathe and just be.

by those whom I love who encapsulates me.

Taft Mohair III | 2026 Shifting

Sitting in class, we often think of how slowly the clock moves, Until its hands strike four, and we’re let loose. We’re ensnared in the web of tests, papers, and projects. Even our extracurriculars become objects Of a nightmare we don’t know how to escape, called The shifting entanglements of time. Sometimes, time just feels like a loop, doesn’t it? A loop that brings us back to our past mistakes, Leaving us stranded in the darkness that we create. However, amidst its relentless pace, there is a way to slip From time’s cold, iron grip. Weaving through the labyrinth of time’s relentless grasp, I’ve realized that, often in our past, So much work goes into our commitments, That we forget to commit to ourselves.

So disregard the sluggish tick of the clock on the wall, Put pace and purpose in your steps, and keep yourself in your shoes. For the strongest people don’t peek over the fence, They initiate an offense, they stay on the defense, and they retain their sense Of time. For the strongest souls don’t bow to time’s decree, They carve their path, relentless and free. Embrace the challenge, seize the day, For time, relentless as it may, Has its power sapped from those who say…

“In each moment lies the power to try.” So, forge ahead, steadfast and true.

Time waits for no one, so why should you?

Sloane Wallace Dance | 2025

Lost Track of Time

Taylor Morris | 2026

Minutes speed up if I don’t check the clock While scrolling through social media, I miss my one shot I should have been better, but it was all talk The world expects perfection, but I can’t change my plot I lose track of time and all common sense I can’t do things right, no matter the circumstance I miss what I learned and learn what I miss Everything I’ve worked for is gone

My feeble attempts to protect my status, my reputation Don’t fit in the margins or even the page And I have to be just right in order for validation Why do I have nothing to show for my ideas other than rage? The clock screams, “you’re wasting your time!” I can’t keep track of all that has passed My passion and motivation can’t keep up with the climb The timer in my head reminds me I’m in last.

Everyone else understands their direction Meanwhile, I am running with nowhere to go I want to obtain their upward trajection But, I’m on a boat, not knowing how to row

Ava Grove Purple Clouds | 2024

Time Moves Fast Liz Burke | 2026

My cousin Liza is the brightest girl I know. She has a brother, Jack, and an older sister, Edie. Edie was almost 10 when she died of a rare genetic disorder in May 2008. At the time, Liza was six. Last year, while on Spring Break in Mexico, Liza lied down with a headache. She never woke up. Liza was later diagnosed with an aggressive, malignant brain tumor, having died there,

holding Jack’s hand on the beach. Liza and Edie are together now. I missed Thanksgiving almost three years ago. I didn’t know that would’ve been my last time seeing her, my cousin, Liza. I can’t even remember the last time I said, “I love you”. Time moves fast, so speak up before it’s too late.

Caroline Buja Handcut paper collage | 2027

If You Ever Find Yourself in the Country

(After Aja Monet)

Chloe Hollis | 2025

Get off at Alamo Street. you will discover a whole lot of nothing,

and the silence will make your eyes do the hearing. the grass is an almost brown color from the Texas heat. more importantly, head to the house right across from the longest standing church in Brenham, Chappell Hill, Allwise Missionary Baptist Church. this is 855 Allwise Road where an old woman, called my great grandmother, spent most days on the front porch. if you visited when I was a little girl, you’d see me and my brothers swinging on the big green swing under the giant magnolia tree, agitated by the heat and the bugs. she’d sit there with a Pepsi in hand, just watching us play. her arms skinny and wrinkled like the shirt that had been stuffed at the bottom of a drawer for months

and her hands—ancient I have watched them cook a five-star meal have all five burners going on the stove, all while being 95-years-old. She was a sophisticated, loving woman and country

was soft-spoken towards everyone and accepted everyone into her home she’d been there, in that house of magic and galaxies I wonder if she ever longed to leave Brenham if that Christian woman, brought up across from the church ever missed her God.

It Comes Around

Lila Habiby | 2027

In the silence of a winter’s night, cold and dark turns to bright. Skiing and sledding fun, turns into swimming and tanning in the shining sun. Frosty whispers bid goodbye, all the snowmen let out their last sighs. All gloomy and melancholy from the cold, under the sun activities unfold. Studying and working hard, everyone’s minds are no longer scarred. All our sorrows begin to lift, the sun’s rays give us an excellent gift. Being under the hopeful sun, gives us a feeling that we have at last, won. I hope everyone agrees too summer is what gets us through.

Addie Zuniga Merry-Go-Round | 2025

Kennedy Greene Erica | 2025

Hiding (or Untitled for haiku purists) Robin Owens | Mathematics Faculty

finish school bell inter creativity—

5 this hai—ding! rupts want to

Kennedy Greene Theron | 2025

Living in the Moment Porter Miller | 2025

When I was five, I wanted to be ten; I wanted to be double digits and the queen of the playground. When I was ten, I wanted to be eleven; I wanted to be in middle school and get a phone to text my friends. When I was eleven, I wanted to be thirteen; I wanted to walk around Rice Village as a cool teenager with Instagram. When I was thirteen, I wanted to be fifteen; I wanted to be in high school with more freedom and opportunities. When I was fifteen, I couldn’t wait to be sixteen; I wanted to drive my friends around and go run errands on my own. When I was sixteen, I wanted to be seventeen; I wanted to throw a Mamma Mia “Dancing Queen” themed birthday party and be known as an upperclassman of EHS. I am now seventeen, but when I look at eighteen, all I see are the memories behind me that have gone by in a flash. It’s scary to look back and analyze my life, past memories flowing through my mind: a friend reminds me of a funny moment. Old memories live on my bulletin board. I’ve realized there are many moments that I have not given the time to cherish, and now all I want to do is go back and remind my younger self to appreciate the little things in life.

If I had to tell a five-year-old one piece of advice, I’d say listen to your grandmother when she tells you how fast you’re growing up, and carry that with you forever. Be grateful for each and every moment.

Addie Zuniga Whirl | 2025

Harmonies of Reason Timor Sever | Mathematics Faculty

With curves of beauty, grand ideas mesh Lines and angles, and truths confessed. No fleeting glance, nor lasting doubt, But in logic’s dance, truth does sprout. An enduring rhythm, passion’s beat Of spirals, fractals, and secrets discreet. Music of spheres, to dance and sing In math’s harmony, realities spring. Not hollow whispers, nor fevered haste, But proofs unfolding, ever elate. Each theorem depicts a love confessed, A universe in equations, supernally dressed. No simple dalliance nor fading thrill, But reason’s delight, a mind’s tranquil fill. In logic and sets, beauty unfurls Universal order in its intricate swirls.

Subtle connections form a cosmo’s entire, Through knowledge’s flame, burning higher.

The rhythm lies in logic’s flow, A constant beat, forever so.

Delving deeply amid these thoughts, In logic and lemmas, deeply caught.

For in this realm, truth takes its final stand, A celestial symphony played by reason’s hand.

Untitled Abigail Field | 2027

the world is always spinning with time passing by if only once, it could stop. let one breath come in and yesterday’s memories say goodbye some days feel like hours, but others feel like forever why is it time that’s moving but not us? some wish for it to speed up while others long for it to slow down the more distant the day, the more the memories fade everything created new with only remnants of the past we are overcome by memories. time comes like a wave

Addie Zuniga Carnival | 2025

If You Ever Find Yourself on the Road to Austin

(After Aja Monet)

Ava Black | 2025

Get off of I-10. you will pass by a local BUC-EE’S, the Beaver Nuggets drawing you in the smell is golden with a hint of stomachache more importantly, head towards Westlake to the house with 4 dogs outside, barking at every passing car as they snuggle under their loving owner’s arms. This is his house.

A perfect boy named Mitch lives here and spends as much time as possible outside with the dogs or working on a new engineering project.

if you happen upon this scene at night, you will find her on facetime with him, miles away, smiling a fool’s smile, wishing she was with him.

He flexes his muscles or flashes a corny smile, positioning the camera perfectly in view for her to see and blush accordingly. his laugh is sweet like honey, but his compliments ever the sweeter, and his voice captivating She has watched him build a fully functioning catapult– how he calculated everything with precision, placing every tiny part to work in unison like gears.

He is an intelligent boy– India and Mexico

crave to be part of his tongue. when his parents came here, to this hilly wonderland of cowboys and longhorns, She wonders, did they ever wish to teach him their languages– If two cultures ever meshed into one boy?

Jackson Soler Texas | 2024

Lorenzo Juarez Growing Up | 2025

Growing Up Ava Black | 2025

Little kids are the definition of joy, Constantly running around and having fun Without a care in the world. As kids, we ran to the ice cream truck at the beach As kids, we sprinted through the sprinklers on a hot summer day As kids, we dressed up and played with our Barbies As kids, we went on daddy-daughter dates We are not kids anymore. I know because We are annoyed at the ice cream truck’s music, now. We avoid the sprinklers so as not to ruin our clothes, now. We wear clothes and get shamed or cat-called, now. We go on dates with people who don’t care about us, now.

We are growing up, The joy slowly draining. Grey is the new yellow, Constantly worrying. Growing out of our old skins, We are not kids anymore.

August 2005 Michael Codrington | English Faculty

None of us had ever been to California. And College has a W in it somewhere– we think. Michael O moved to Texas, close Enough to Cal Berkley dreaming, The carpet is our country, our city State kingdom Ms. Milasi Can’t keep us from whatever was outside, But she tried, like she wasn’t outmatched. That’s how we learned Jordan’s crown was solid gold And Mali’s halo And Bryce’s voice And Markiese’s jumper

And Che’s Violin And Ian’s cleats. Little warriors— Who won the spirit stick this week?

College Acceptances

Zoe Loving | 2024

As I wait for the date For their decision to come To tell me my fate I don’t feel nervous, but numb

It is 5:50, I’ll know by 6 That I’ve been accepted, deferred, or rejected Eating a bag of chips, I sit here waiting, wondering if my college decision will be redirected 5:59, the decision is almost… Here

Jules Weinstein Running | 2024

Deadline Day

Patrick Wailes | 2025

1 Month remains… I open my eyes and listen in the morning light. The ominous tick-tick-ticking of the clock My phone pings with the happy text chatter of my friends Asking me if I want to go out after school. But my project calls to me

2 Weeks remain… End of weeknight at the movies, great friends all around Lobby noises fill the air: popcorn popping, sodas fizzing But in one dark corner I notice A shadow that chills me to the core. I hurry into the theater, forcing the image from my mind. Soon, I forget as the movie fills the theater with laughter. But the movie’s image soon fades and across the screen Bleed the words: “DEADLINE.” 1 Week remains… As I’m lying in my bed I stare at the ceiling my eyelids become heavier the longer I try to stay awake. Somewhere far away I can hear the Tick-Tick-Ticking of a clock. I close my eyes and try to ignore it, but it eats away at me. I snap open my eyes and see a shadow on my ceiling At first I thought it was the figure at the theater, But I feel a cold hand place itself on my shoulder And feel the words “Did you forget?” force itself into my brain.

Its voice dripping with malice Echos in the back of my head: “Don’t forget about the deadline.

3 Weeks remain… Tossing the ball high into the chilly Autumn sky I cock my arm back, prepare to serve and… I feel a familiar wind blow across the court Raising goosebumps along my arms And I remember the same gust of wind, The same day the project had been assigned. And on this wind, a small voice whispers: “Don’t forget about the deadline.”

Deadline Day. I take a deep breath as I take my final glance at my Essay. I look up with a jolt and see the figure, Standing directly behind my teacher. I walk up and hand my teacher the essay. He looks at me with a smile, While the figure, once imposing and terrifying, Fades away into the nothingness. I had passed the deadline.

Blaine Stewart KNIGHTS | 2024

Tomorrow Is My High School Graduation

Nina Lang | 2024

Tomorrow is my high school graduation. I will walk across a stage and away From the people I’ve always known. But tonight, my friends and I will sit On the tops of our cars, watching The ever-present moonlight Shine across the sky. Despite whispered promises of forever Part of me knows that within a day, Something will change. Tomorrow I will graduate. In two months I will leave for a university That none of my friends will be attending.

But tonight, I’ll sear the sound Of their laughter into my mind And hold onto them a little longer.

Time

Avalon Bell | 2026

Time flies away So who’s to say If it was ever mine?

And time slips through my hands Small grains of sand Because no one can turn back time And I’m on my knees Feeling the sting Of the turning of the leaves Because just yesterday was spring

Speed through each phase Minutes and days blend together in a haze And they’ll say it’s all by design

As I get older Time seems to move faster There’s more on my shoulders Less pages in each chapter Caught in the wind Of who I am and who I’ve been Running out of time

Manage your time Better said than done Spiraling mind Running to nowhere and no one

And you push me away You’re not here to stay I’m walking a fine line

So as I get older It all moves faster I lose all my soldiers And all of them scatter

Take it day by day Live in the moment

The hourglass breaks My heart skips a beat Frozen in place As the glass cuts my feet

But do everything they say And seek your atonement

And time flies away So then, who’s to say What was and wasn’t mine?

Mary Kate Adkins Mirrorball | 2025

Shadow and Light

Timor Sevor | Mathematics Faculty

Fueled by curiosity, I race ahead Embrace the challenge, knowledge unfed.

Ascending wisdom gleaming bright, Pushing boundaries, fueled by inner light

No distractions blur my sight Focused passion, day and night.

Unveil the hidden, dissect the unknown, Each truth unraveled, a victory sown. Through logic’s dance, insights unfold, Stories whispered, mysteries told.

Drawn to the whispers of the unknown, Intrigued by mysteries to be shown.

Unraveled layers, no veil of lies Truth awaits beneath the guise.

Climbing higher, wisdom in sight Pushing limits, burning bright

Climbing higher, bathed in light Pushing limits, I’ll take flight

Seeking answers, with all my might, With tireless steps, into the light. For in the depths of wisdom’s embrace Lies the fulfillment, the human race.

Unfurl the map, every corner explore Delve into depths, secrets to implore. Concepts mirrored, knowledge takes form Understanding dawns, weathered the storm.

Ascending wisdom gleaming bright, Pushing limits, we all take flight

Vivian Turbidy Winding Roads | 2025

Waiting

Evelynne Murphy | 2026

How easily the clock continues, Ticking on into the infinite abyss. Someday, I hope my sins will be fixed, But until then, I’ll wait In Autumn’s lingering kiss. Shadows of orange only remind me of you

How easily flowers grow After blizzards in minutes– Vibrant red bloomings Of tentative forgiveness. Sunshine floats through the air, Daffodils bloom, And a new spring lays bare Beneath my withered hands, My calluses and scars; Somehow, in time, They begin to look like art.

My fragmented glass heart; Its beauty in shambles, Somehow I start To see a new angle– Time heals and time hurts Yet I’ve learned That the heartbreak is worth

So, while the time ticks by… I’ll wait for something new.

All the love I’ve earned.

Soon, freezing cold breezes Accompany a grave white winter; What an icy apology from a shivering sinner. Taken hostage by snow, I live in despair. And the time ticks by, Yet, I sit and stare At the blue tint on my hands And the frost on your lips,

At the loss of our plans, A frozen solid eclipse.

Annika Haug Late Nights | 2024

Seraphina Kit Ding | 2026

I watched you depart in that torment. Seraphina, my wound, My heart is trapped in the breeze of your abrupt departing. Perhaps I am foolish for basking in a moon with such a tainted glow, or perhaps I am foolish to set ablaze my garden. I long for you, eternally, and my heart will forever stay true, to its vow of never parting. Oh, how I long for your warmth. Seraphina, my machiavellian muse, This artifice is a fiendish amusement– How I find myself desiring you once more, not for you, but for your memory. I still reminisce of your light and the breathtaking stars scattered in your gray eyes. The same illusory gray eyes that lit the moon. The same moon which has begun shattering in my own vision. Seraphina, my tainted mirage, Surely, you have placed me in a trance. I lust for your light, yet I detest you, You shift my musings like the true phony cosmic you embody. Puppeting my rumination like how the luna pulls and pushes the glistening, crying tide.

Seraphina, my beloved, I reached out to brush my fingers against the endless vast of stars in your eyes. You’re like the night, alluring and beautiful, boundless, beckoning me to lose myself. The superficial moon was refulgent against your pale skin– a strange, abnormal radiance, but yet I swore to forever remain alongside you. Seraphina my cynic, How deceptive must you be? My wistful eyes watched as you departed– Not just from me, but from yourself. The moon eroded from its synthetic glow; You’ve annihilated my reveries, yet the roses you nurtured still remained, stuck in my eyes. They grew thorns, thorns that heightened the obscurity.

Seraphina, my enigma The dark air never seems to depart, but I’ve grown quite accustomed to it. Though my heart has molded, tainted, stiffened all throughout– It seems to thaw under the sun, the warm sun of your essence. I’ve yet to gaze upon your soul, but your aura is an endearing veil, one that I yearn for more of.

Seraphina, my dear, I long to bask within your light,

to pacify the aftermath of my tempests. With each rising my ardor flourishes, and perhaps this once, I will allow myself to become enamored. Though the flowers are yet to bloom, You, only you, are the shower of light

to shine upon my thorns and make bloom of roses.

She’ll send a tempest to embrace your body. I pray that it embraces you well. Seraphina, my persistent dread, A single rose lays in the garden, one you had previously taken from when your light shone upon me. From when I still relished in your aura. The reverie evokes animosity, in the same essence as the artificial moon. And how you covered my eyes with roses to shield me from your ominous glaze.

For how many thorns shall I need to remove, for your facade to finally, eternally, vanish from my reasonings? Seraphina, my bloodied reminiscent, The masquerade has melted away, just like your roses did, under your own parching, wavering flame. Where in this vast universe would we be if your luminescence was from the heart? My perception is dim, gloomy, but a fragment remains, from before my tempest– I don’t suppose you’ll witness, but there remains a single, flickering light. Seraphina, my vexation, The thorns that once pricked my eyes now form an enclosure, embracing my defiled, bruised body. I, who once craved your essence, now crave the void that once devoured me whole. Now, the obscurity of your gray eyes no longer contain the stars we had once admired together. Seraphina, my vengeance, The goddess of Rhamnous awakens from her prolonged slumber and gazes upon you. She’s tended to the thorny gashes in me– the harrowing gaps filled with remnants of a flame.

Seraphina, my past, I hope the tempest encircles you well.

Your masquerade has become barely a flicker within the sky. Shining now with new stars

and an authentic lunar. Nemesis has spoken, and I pray that you receive thorns of your own, to agonizingly pluck from your eyes.

Avery Afseth Daydream | 2025

Cardboard Boxes

Ainsley Swiger | 2026

I hate cardboard boxes; I can’t bear the blank, ugly beige. The sour stench of mildew and paper makes me sick, and I shriek at the shape. The cracking noise of the tape sealing the container’s coveted contents, sends shivers down my spine. The brushing of box upon box makes my eardrums bleed. My mind screams at the screeching tires of the shipment truck. I shudder at the Sharpies scribbling a foreign address onto every surface. I panic at the proliferating pile of packages, suppressing my past into nothing but a parcel. I loathe the loss of my memories as they’re left in a lackluster casket. My treasured time stowed in a bland bundle. I hate cardboard boxes.

I placed the black candle on the new coffee table and lit the wick. My eyes trailed from the satisfying white flame to the Old English script on the glass casing: Think of the Puzzles Robin Owens | Mathematics Faculty

The day before, James and I had borrowed a friend’s flatbed trailer and trekked to a garage sale. I was in a feet-dragging mood playing the supportive girlfriend to my optimistic, teacher-of-the-year-winning boyfriend with whom I’d just moved in. “It’s perfect. We’ll take it,” James smiled at the gruff homeowner who gave me the creeps (though, I’ve been told I have that effect on people too, not much of a smiler). No negotiating, no what do you think, Maggie? Just handing over a crisp one hundred for the largest coffee table I’d ever seen. Think of the puzzles! I’d imagined him saying as we loaded the table onto the trailer, a rich mahogany rectangle the size of a lifeboat. “Will this even fit in our living room?” I blurted. “Don’t you think it will destroy our shins? Look at these edges. I see no mercy here.”

Extinguished by blood alone Forevermore one must atone

James would never approve of such a macabre household item, but I didn’t approve of the coffee table, and here we were. I blew. I pinched. The flame burned on, black wax pooling in the center. Unsettling. Fascinating. At the sound of James’ footsteps, I snuck the candle to the half bath we never used, set it on the counter, and shut the door. He came around the corner, then. I kissed him on the cheek, promptly forgetting the inextinguishable candle existed.

James had laughed then kissed me in that stranger’s driveway which melted my resolve like candle wax. “Think of the puzzles!” James replied, and I smiled. I rose first the next morning and, forgetting about the new table, slammed my shin into its edge and crumpled to the floor. From that low angle, I noticed a hidden drawer. Inside was a small, dusty, wrapped shoebox. Unsure what I was hoping for, maybe a salve for my fresh injury, I tore the tattered paper and opened the lid to reveal a black candle. Over the next three days, the bruise on my leg dissipated, but my mind fractured into a thousand tiny puzzle pieces. I was distressed, haunted by incessant visions of the man who had sold us the table. Determined not to drag James into my madness, I drove alone to the man’s home. I banged on the front door, then, apparently, collapsed.

James was by my side in the hospital that day. At night he went home. My greatest regret would be not asking him to stay. The catalyst for my lifelong atonement. I had long forgotten the candle, both its flame and its curse. A nurse told me the next morning. A fire. In his sleep, nearly impossible to extinguish.

Everything—and everyone—gone, save for a coffee table.

Alex Bruton Anger | World Languages Faculty

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