The Art of Clowningby Jaeda Moyer
Freshmen girls should worry more about their looks. Reflecting in the mirror, they would see that they are so incredibly talented they could star in a circus. Freshman girls would make perfect clowns, masking their true identities with makeup. Since their whole lives are already on social media, privacy should not be a problem. In their group chats, they do no harm -- they are simply clowning around.
In their 3-ring circus, spotlights would be unnecessary. The ghostly amount of highlighter these perfect girls wear allows them to shine on any stage. These girls would not be any old clowns, but entertainers who naturally juggle multiple boyfriends. Circus makeup and costumes would be a small price compared to what they usually spend on their artificial hair and nails. The girls would not need a small clown car, because they could pile way more buddies into the brand-new jeep their daddy just bought for them. They have also mastered comedy at high school lunch periods, where they poke fun at the "weirdos" whom they think populate the circus freak show. There are always openings to become a clown, but those big shoes are best matched with big mouths to fill them.
Desireby Emme Richards
Victory tastes like iron;
Rageby Jaeda Moyer
Taste anger: trickling
Cabela'sby Emme Richards
So many to choose, far too
I am called, my name whispered,
Ghost Pepperby Jaeda Moyer
Hot blistering sun strikes down
A New Dayby Emme Richards
A warm season of rebirth - -
Lively, trickling turquoise waters sprint like swift winds.
Bag it Upby Jaeda Moyer
Am I supposed to rake up all the leaves?
Chaotic Mindby Emme Richards
Where am I? There's darkness, as far as the eye can see. A light breeze tugs at my hair. It's not unpleasant; it's actually very warm. I catch some noise in my ear and turn around. A vibrant city stands before me and I realize I'm standing on a bridge, which leads to the bustling heart of the city. Now that I'm facing the bright lights and skyscrapers, the honking of cars and police sirens are much clearer. They call me. . . and I'm running. Running across the bridge suspending me above a calm, fast-flowing river. I look ahead but I don't seem to be getting any closer. Frustrated, I keep trying.
The city is unreachable, so I give up. I turn away. Busy sounds drain from my ears, replaced with silence. I don't look back as I walk to the end of the bridge. The ground below me turns from thick wood to soft grass. It's not as dark as I remember. It seems like the bright city has drained all color from the grass. I walk, and in no time I'm surrounded by pastures of the darkest green. The only light is given off by a single constellation: the Big Dipper. No moon, no planes, no illumination. Steeds of night, grazing, lift their heads. When their eyes meet mine, it all comes to me. Why could I walk to this place? Why was entering the city impossible? Why was nowhere achievable? Why does it all make sense?
And I awake.
Nightmares are dreams gone badly. My nightmare might be the least of someone else's worries. Sometimes I'll wake up sweating, unable to recall what happened. Many a time I've woken up with tears in my eyes and I'll know it was emotional. I've become so accustomed to these unusual, scary dreams that wake me with a jerk. Those are my "night terrors." While these dreams are less common, many of my nightmares are recurring. I've never thought about why these dreams choose to infect my nights. Perhaps my imagination chooses to run wild while I'm sleeping. The attention I have during the day is all directed towards learning, so when it's time to rest, my mind is free. The cage in which it was confined is gone and, sometimes, it chooses to wreak havoc on my senses.
As if wanting to make me miserable when sleep is supposed to be peaceful, my dreams take a toll on my energy. The events of the day that were most memorable replay themselves or are put into a simulation where I have little, or no, control over my actions. I feel terrible afterwards. I'll think about them for days at a time until they're nothing but a memory. Even when these nightmares are at their worst, it's not the dream itself that makes me scared; it's how it will toy with my emotions. Dreams throw me onto the most unstable roller coaster. They contort my thoughts in the worst ways. My feelings reach a peak of happiness, then are thrown to the ground where sadness resides.
Nightmares come and go. They have no cure or prevention: in fact, the most unexpected ones hit me hardest. Dreams of death, unfulfilled potential, and failure make me weary, but more aware of how I treat others. Nightmares have enhanced my senses and creativity.
Readingby Sarah Morgan
Each story fills my summer days with joy - -
Ceaseby Jaeda Moyer
I wake at 5:30 a.m. Roosters are not crowing; the grass is lightly frosted; birds are silent. Crawling out of bed feels like being slapped with a cold, dead, prickly cactus. This year is a new beginning: new school, new friends, new teachers, new classes. I used to see new students come and go. Being the new one makes me realize how strange those students must have felt. Struggling to fit in; seeing if you fit with the jocks, nerds, know-it-alls, athletes, artists; whether you are shy, pretty, anti-social, popular, or even mean. I do not fit into just one category. These people do not know me. Sometimes I wonder how well I know myself? Nerdy, shy, and athletic describe me at the moment.
Going to a new school must be like being adopted. I do not remember, but when I was a one-year-old, everything I knew changed into the unaccustomed. My nannies handed me over to unfamiliar people. My brain did not recognize these strangers, who would soon be the people forming the base of my world. I walk into high school now, see unfamiliar faces, and think, these are going to be important people in my life.
This year has made me realize I do not want to count down the days until I graduate. I enjoy high school; these next four years are going to be easy compared to my future. Food, clothing, everyday items, gas, are all paid by my parents now. People tend to wish away special moments, and regret not having savored them in the future. I do not want to have to go through life thinking about what should have happened compared to what actually happened. Waiting for future moments makes time feel like it is standing still; but living out my memories builds who I will be.
Campfireby Sarah Morgan
Bright orange flames flicker
Sonnetby Kiki Eckhart
It feels as though I'm not able to breathe,
Tranquilityby Jaeda Moyer
Peace is white; calm.
Peace is blue: a riverbed
Shadyby Sarah Morgan
Black understands white,
White understands black, as it
Duplicitousby Emme Richards
Poverty immerses itself in wealth,
Wealth unveils poverty:
piecesby Jaeda Moyer
Failure knows success.
Failure unveils the power to withstand a blow;
Meby Emme Richards
The sun is my foe,
Competition Dayby Kiki Eckhart
Gliding onto the ice, I could feel my legs start to shake. Weak and scared, I felt as if one hundred butterflies were fluttering around in my stomach. I skated to my position, and all I could think about was what the judges were going to say. Had I not been preparing for five months to perform perfectly, I would have been much more nervous.
All of the past few months had been filled with training, comprising four lessons, as well as six one-hour practices a week. Working to get better by always putting in an extra effort, I knew I could meet my goal to skate my best. My schedule was always crammed with all the extra time I needed to spend at the rink. My positive attitude every day before I stepped out on the ice assisted my realizing how well I could do. I persevered through all of this exhausting, hard work to be successful.
The pressure that I put on myself, as well as pressure from my coach, from the judges, from my parents was the hardest part. Standing on the ice, I glanced at all the excited faces reflecting a desire for me to do well. Seeing my coach, my friends, and my family anticipating what was about to happen was impeccably nerve-wracking.
The loud cheers when I landed my first double jump gave me a sense of confidence. Witnessing my coach smile when I perfectly executed my first combo spin diminished my nerves. When it was all over, I realized how much all the hours I had spent skating helped. In the end, the feeling of accomplishment I had was the biggest win of all.
Marshmallow Worldby Jaeda Moyer
Light delicate flurries
Hikingby Sarah Morgan
I enjoy hiking to escape the stress of reality and explore a whole new place all alone. It's also healthy exercise. Recently, I went on a hike to Crystal Mountain with my mom and our two dogs. We began our hike and instantly noticed all the vegetation, like huckleberry and willow bushes. I soaked in rays of sun shining through the holes between aspen leaves and pine needles. It felt so natural to be out alone in the wilderness. The sound of dogs' feet thumping down the trail warned me of their approach; along with the cloud of dust that would clog my mouth and nose. It made me cough and stumble around, and I tripped over rocks and roots.
A small stream that the dogs loved to splash in ran near the trail. In one place, it ran deep enough to wade in, so I took off my socks and shoes and sat on the bridge that carried hikers over the creek. Cool water smoothly running over my hot, dusty feet felt so refreshing. Sounds of ripples flowing underneath me soothed my mind. A splash in my face snapped me out of my peace as the dogs rushed through the stream. As we walked, I held out my hand and let branches of rough evergreen trees and berry-less huckleberry bushes brush against my skin. When we stopped to take a break, cold water rejuvenated me. I was disappointed when we had to turn around, because that meant our trip was close to ending. We couldn't finish the hike as there wasn't enough time, but what we did get to trek was breathtaking.
Sonnetby Emme Richards
Small finches perch upon the windowsill:
Time to Eatby Jaeda Moyer
Relaxed, the groundhog sleeps lightly:
King of Sleepby Emme Richards
Tired from ruling all day.
Picture Perfectby Jaeda Moyer
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2015-2016
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2012-2013
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2010-2011
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2008-2009
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2005-2006
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2003-2004
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2002-2003
Pieces written by 3rd Year students in 2001-2002
Copyright © 2017 Marie M. Furnary All rights reserved.