Recent Changes

"A demon is only an angel who refuses to submit."
-Julie C. (10th)
"Whoa, wow, dow (cesuo qu)!"
-Ewing Taylor (12th)

underlining
When poems in a foreign language are translated into English, they need not be underlined. If you quote a foreign word in the foreign language, then it should be italized or underlined. That's not the case here.

The easy part is over, now comes the much more difficult part of making sure the creep is attracted to you. If they try to touch your body, they are attractted to you. If they are more subtle, and don't let you catch them staring, have a friend on constant guard. This friend will assure you if and when they are staring or talking about you. This friend will wonder why you care, do not, by any means, tell this friend that you are trying to entice a creep. They will think you are a freak and will not do your dirty work of catching the creep for you ever again. This is no good. You will need all of the sane friends you can get once the creep is yours.
I suppose I should tell you what to do once you have the creep under your power. Be nice to them, but not too nice. Hang out with them during school. Pretend to make plans with them, but back out at the last second. Never hang out one-on-one with your creep. You will get hurt. Use the creep only as often as you have to. Don't ever take complete advantage of them. They are a human being whether you like to admit it or not. Treat them as such. They have feelings. They deserve respect as much as you do, if not more. They are smart. You are dumb. Never forget that everthing they are doning for you, they are doing for love or lust. Don't mock that.
Things Fall Apart Essay
Katie Byrd
In Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe demonstrates the effects of British colonization on the
native Nigerian people and Ibo culture. Achebe does this through the main character Okonkwo, a well-
known fighter in Umuofia who often turns to violence when verbal arguments don’t go in his favor.
Okonkwo begins to question his cultural identity first after being exiled to his motherland and then after
Christian missionaries enter his own village.
After accidentally killing a man when his gun misfires, Okonkwo and his family are exiled for
seven years in his motherland, Mbanta. The exile means that Okonkwo will lose all of the titles and
respect he has worked to gain. Because Okonkwo enters the new village with nothing and is completely
at the mercy of his mother’s people, he fears being viewed as weak and womanly. He initially rejects the
village and even as he returns to Umuofia, he is described as having less of the fiery passion he one
possessed. While Okonkwo was living in Umuofia, a large part of his personal identity was based on his
success in agriculture, tribal government, and wrestling. By leaving, he lost all of the respect he gained
and despite his dismissal of all things “womanly,” it still deeply affected him.
Once Okonkwo returns to Umuofia, he is one of the few within the tribe who are against the
missionaries’ presence entirely. While most of the others were suspicious of them initially, many
villagers have since joined them. Mr. Smith, the priest of the village’s church, has frequent discussions
on religion with tribal leaders and many villagers are educated in schools run by the missionaries.
Okonkwo however remains outspoken against the Christian presence. Because his son has already left
Ibo culture for Christianity, this opposition is important to Okonkwo to retain his cultural identity. He
has only recently returned to Umuofia, but if the Christian influence does not end, Okonkwo would have
no chance at regaining his position of authority.
As Okonkwo copes with exile from his village and the new presence of Christian missionaries, he
also must cope with the threat to his personal and cultural identity. He does this by resisting acceptance
of his motherland and the missionaries. He becomes the strongest voice of opposition, causing violent
altercations an ultimately Okonkwo’s death.

Each mistake heavier and more bruising
Than the last
Night Journey
Du Fu
The fine grass on the river bank
moves softly in the breeze,
The single mast of a lone boat
defines the night sky,
The stars hang over
the vast, level fields
The moon boils
in the great, flowing river
What is my reputation?
How does it reflect our way of life?
A name should give people rest
from oppression and poverty.
There is a sound of fluttering.
What does it mean?
A single gull
between the sandy earth and sky.
Translated by Katie Byrd, Dr. Donaldson, B.J. O’Laughlin, and David Taylor

Then we wait
They think of us just as bait
glad I ustjust ate
We do'tdon't want to
My sister is the toy
But I switch as a ploy

Tattoos
Daniel Vargas (12th)
often just that, thinkthat. Think before a to Mom.
My Dad
Alex Ahmedov (7th)
My dad was born in Arkhangelsk in 1972. Here in this biography, I will tell you stories of when he was growing up in a small village in Syktivcar to the United States of America. I hope you enjoy.
Growing Up In Russia
childhood life.
When my dad was living in the city, after they moved out of the village, his mom would have to help patients non-stop. She was a doctor and often was forced to leave my dad at home while she worked. When she was home, however, they would celebrate. One time, they went out to get ice cream at a place called Severianka. It was about a ten minute walk from their apartment buildings, and him and his mom would talk about how their day was. After they got ice cream, they found a small, blonde Bolognese dog out on the street. They thought she would die out there in the crowded city by herself so they took her back to their apartment. They named her Lada and when they got home, Lada immediately ran underneath the couch. She didn't come out for two days except for when she had to go to the bathroom. Since they lived in an apartment, they let her do her business out on the patio. Lada was especially afraid of my dad. It was probably because she was abused by a boy his age and thought he was going to abuse her too. Well, the apartment owner was a strict no-dogs-in-my-apartment-building kind of guy, so my dad's mom asked her friends back in the village if they would take care of her. They agreed and my dad couldn't see her until it was the weekend. Every weekend, my dad would go to the village and see Lada. They had the time of their lives together and my dad couldn't wait to go back to see her. Eventually, it was time, and Lada got hit by a truck. My dad still misses her today, but somehow, he knew that there would be more pets in the future.
Teenage Years
My dad went to college in Russia but doesn't really want to talk about it. Their first stop on an airplane was Anchorage, Alaska. My dad didn't know how to work the sink faucet and was stuck trying to figure it out. I guess someone told him how, and then they were on their way to their next destination. While he was flying there, him and my mom stopped in San Francisco. It was December of 1993 and a young lady came over and started talking to him in English. My dad didn't know any English since he just got to America and all he could say to the young lady was "Merry Christmas." Eventually, he came to Ogden and started going to Weber State for an English class. There were many other non-English speakers so he fit right in. He was there for about two months and learned most of his English from movies.
AMERICA!
through videos.
My
My younger brother that time.
My dad has gone through a lot since he was a little kid and I'm just glad that he is still alive to tell me these things. Thank you for taking this ride of a roller coaster through my dad's life with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. His life did have some ups and downs but for now, it all seems to make sense. I would like to thank my dad, my mom, and all of you who made this story possible. I hope you will remember these stories and think about how life would have been growing up in a different country. This was very fun to write and I'm glad to write about you, Dad. I love you!
This I Believe
Some of these flowers are red, some bl;ue, some multicolored with different hues. All in all, just taking a glance. Life is a gift with emotions, pains, and colors. Burning your hand on a stove isn't fun, but neither is getting your arm amputated. The only real reason we learn to live is by loving and caring. Not just for family and friends, but your peers. Love everybody!
The actual riddl is to live your life and don't worry about what it means.
Listen to whatWhat I say, insteadSay, Instead of hearing what you wantHearing What You Want to hearHear
Kaime Peterson
12th
Even though it still hurts to see him and think that he honestly believes that I would say that I know that I can rise above it and be stronger because of it. Rumors hurt, but you can't change other people ot the things that happen around you. You can however change the way you deal with them and this I firmly believe.
How to Attract a Creep
Maddison Morris
11thMorris11th
There was once an episode of Scooby Doo about a "Creeper." He ran around a small farm town and scared teenagers. Real life creepers are not very different than Scooby's version. Attracting them isn't that easy. You don't really have to try, but if you really want a creep around, there is a certain kind of person that you should be.
"Why," you ask yourself, "would I ever want or need a creep around?" Well, my friend, the answer is simple. You want a creep around to get rid of another creep. It is an endless cycle. Once you've enticed a creep, there is no leaving the cycle. Consider yourself warned.
There are many positive aspects to having a creep under your command. If you're upset of agngerered, they may or may not take care of the problem for you. They are usually much smarter than you and everyone around you. The creep is a creep not due to his mental instability but due more to his outward physical appearance or views of women and dating. Another positive aspect to having a creep around is the obvious slave factor. They are willing to do just about anything for your attention, for they hope that you will give them some affection in the end. They do not realize they are being used. They do not realize that you will not be interested in them romantically.
The negative aspects of a creep, however, definitely outweigh the positive. There is, of course, the fact that they will definitely try to touch you inappropriately.They will becoume jealous of your significant other. They will stare, stare, stare at certain parts of a woman's body. They will, again, pretend you aren't noticing. They will memorize your schedule, your address and your phone number if you or someone else give them the information.
to them. SoeoneSomeone you've spoken
Once you have chosen a target, begin a conversation with them. After school or during a class with them is definitely optimal. If these things are unavailable, Facebook is always a viable option. Chances are good, if you are friends with the creep, they have already stalked your Facebook profile. Don't bother stalking theirs. The next time you see them in IM, strike up a conversation. If they seldon get online, send them a message. In this day and age, nearly every teenager with Facebook (which is virtually every teengager) has Facebook Mobile. They will get your message; they will be ecstatic. Begin talking to them. Find out if you have anything in common. If not, don't fret. They will pretend to like the things you like. The creep will probably be a little bit of a nerd. Bring up Star Wars or World of Warcraft. These topics usually make the creep putty in your hands.
The easy part is over, now comes the much more difficult part of making sure the creep is attracted to you. If they try to touch your body, they are attractted to you. If they are more subtle, and don't let you catch them staring, have a friend on constant guard. This friend will assure you if and when they are staring or talking about you. This friend will wonder why you care, do not, by any means, tell this friend that you are trying to entice a creep. They will think you are a freak and will not do your dirty work of catching the creep for you ever again. This is no good. You will need all of the sane friends you can get once the creep is yours.
respect as mushmuch as you

“She’s like her father! She’s not right in the head!”
“I can’t do this.” Danyel sobbed and ran out of the house, Shaylee, of course, was right behind her.
to Miley.
“It’s okay.” Miley whispered. Her voice was shaky, not comforting at all.
“I’ll talk to them.” I gurgled. “In the kitchen…Okay? Mama, I’m okay.”
Ben Johnson, 8th grade
I am the most feared creature of the human race. I live in a swamp far away from my human food source and walk to the village every so often. Some people say the mere sight of me can kill you; others say that my smell can rot your skin away. To be honest I just think that my claws can kill you. Some nights I can hear those partying and I have an urge to kill someone. One night I had just about had enough of their singing and partying. I ran to their village and burst open the doors. I almost ate every last one, but I couldn't because I was too full. I ran home and slept for the next week.
all Geets.
I
I had to my butt.
I ran home to tell my mother what I had found out and what I was going to do about it. I was going to the palace and wipe them off the face of the earth. I waited until about an hour 'til sundown and ran to the palace. I blew open the doors and roared my beastly roar and ate a Viking. I opened my eyes to see a bunch of drunken Vikings, but only one was naked. I focused my vision on him to see that it was Beowulf. I walked over to him and reached down to grab him and eat him, but like a ninja he snatched my wrist and thrust me to the ground. He has me in a half nelson, now a full nelson, ohh now he's beating me with Bobby Nelson. I couldn't bear it any longer, I stood up and tried to shake him off me, but suddenly I couldn't move my elbow or even twiddle my fingers. I looked to my side... my arm, ripped out of its socket, was lying on the ground. I ran home and fell into my mother's arms as my soul faded away.
A Monstrous Mother's Lament
Elizabeth Wharton (8th)
"Grendal! Grendal! Come home! Where are you?"
come home.
Where is he? I thought, where had he gone? I didn't know. I could not even imagine where he would go.
"Grendal!" I called. "Grendal, where are you?" My chalk face was dripping horribly of water. I shook my head, trying to get it off. My attempts were useless so I stood in the rain, eyes darting to catch a glimpse of him. But my desperate cries were unheard, for the wind howled even louder. "Please Grendal! Come home!" I tried again, screaming it at the top of my lungs.
No answer...
I stepped out of the safety of the sea where I had been dancing back and forth, unsure where to go, and rushed back into the trees. I climbed up one tree and jumped on another, leaping back and forth around the woods. I reached for another branch to climb even higher, pausing every minute or so to call out for my son once more. "Grendal!"
far away.
"Mother..."
I jumped at the voice, nearly slipping off an oak's branch. The branches were becoming slick and slippery but I didn't care. It was definitely my boy's voice! He was here somewhere! But where? Where? I jumped off the tree and landed gracefully, splashing a little because I landed in a puddle. I raced into a clearing, judging by the direction the voice came from, to find the familiar outline of my baby sinking into a freshwater pond. I rushed to his side, diving into the pond's unwelcoming, pure waters, and seized Grendal in a motherly embrace. I shrieked.
His arm... It... It was gone. It took me a while to register it into my breain, to tell myself that my son's arm was completely gone. I couldn't speak. Every sound I could muster was gone.
How? How did this happen? Who would be so heartless to do this to him? A young man who just desired a few nights of sweet, well-needed rest? Who? Again, I did not know.
of scarlet.
"G-G-G-G-Grend-d-dal..." I stammered. "Wh-Who d-d-d-did this t-to y-you?"
Grendal's dim eyes traced my face weakly. His lips moved slowly as he spoke a barely audible whisper. "Beowulf...Of the Geets." His face was taut of pain, speckled with dots of my tears and his own blood. He rasped. "Mother, I am so sorry..."
"No, don't," Grendal rasped feebly. "Mother, I...I..." He gave a rattling breath and fell limp. I stared at him, my heart stopping. I shook him, crying out.
"Grendal... Come on, hon', wake up. Don't play tricks on me. Please." He didn't budge, his eyes still staring lifelessly at me. The truth crashed down on me but I could not believe it. It couldn't be true...Not him. "You're fine. You're fine. You're alright. You got to be alright!" I was on the verge of hysterics. "Grendal! WAKE UP! PLEASE!"
to death.
Then
Then it came to me.
I knew what I had to do. I was going to find this "Beowulf of the Geets" and make him hurt. The maniac that maimed my son was going to pay. The same pain that my baby went through, that murderer was going to feel it. He will. He will.
Beowulf, I will find you.
* * * * *
disturb them.
I
I knew what be alone.
I stopped walking, with the rain still pelting my face. I glared hatefully at the castle that loomed out of the darkness. Herot was in my grasp. I would have no mercy once I have Beowulf. Once I got rid of him, I would take over Herot and make the citizens live in hiding once again, quiet as if they never existed. It would be what Grendal wanted.
precious arm.
Fiery
Fiery rage engulfed a victim.
I glanced down at the man closest to my left. I had seen him on many occasions accompanying the King on horseback, lurking on the shores that were right above my lair. He laughed and taunted us, as in demons, calling angels. To a demon, angels were the worst insult you could get. A gruesome, but wonderful thought crossed my mind. A sharp fanged smile graced my ruby lips. I could get rid of him too. Two birds killed by one stone. Simple.
I leaned over him and quickly slit his throat, slightly cringing at the sight of crimson pouring out of his skin. I hate to wake up and see that! I thought, Well, this is for my little boy! With one last glance, I walked quickly around the sleeping men and raced out into the night, preparing myself for the murder of the maniac that slaughtered my son.
* * * *
Back at home, I tenderly placed Grendal's arm on top of the fireplace so I could gaze at it. As soon as I was finished with Beowulf, I was planning to rejoin his arm with his body and bury him in the cave. I hope it was fine with him to wait.
needed closure.
My
My lips quivered alone now.
I
I froze.
Something was stirring out of the water from behind me. I could hear the familiar ripple of the water. I had memorized the sound of Grendal's ripple, which was loud and ended with a pluoop. However, this was much smaller and had a small pop. My hear pounding, I whirled around to face...
Beowulf...
I stomped my foot and felt myself shoot upwards. Now my head was scrapping against the roof of the cave. Beowulf looked like a guinea pig now, small, helpless, and incredibly annoying. I seized him into a crushing hold and watched him wriggle and struggle in my massive hand.
For the first time ever in my long life, I felt regret deep in my gut. Utter fear showed in Beowulf's eyes. No matter how much effort he put into his struggling, he couldn't get free. I could not stand to watch. Here was the murderer and I didn't want to kill him. Why? What was wrong with me?
was gone.
Beowulf screamed and screamed, cursing. I did not care what he said. I just wanted him to go so I could never be bothered again. As I lowered to sit on my knees- at this point, my head was at level with a sword that used to belong to my late husband- and attempted to set him down peacefully. Beowulf cursed again and grabbed the sword. I was shocked. He really did want to kill me.
I closed my eyes as he swung the sword straight at me. I felt a sharp pain in my neck and...
By Elizabeth Wharton (8th)
It took me a moment to realize that there were no whispers or singing of the songbirds, actually, come to think of it, no sound was to be heard. It was dead. Nothing moved. Nothing seemed to be alive. I gazed at the tall Sitka spruces around me, watching how the little needles scratched against each other when the cool fall wind blew. The leaves from the deciduous trees rustled against the hard bark and floated around me. My throat constricted, drowning any sound from me.
as twigs.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Nature is against me."
"It may seem so, Princess." A malicious male voice crooned from above.
I felt like my courage had died. My body was working against me. I wanted to move, I so dearly wanted to run, or at least to scream. But I couldn't. It took every bit of strength to look up and glare at the speaker that somehow was responsible for the forest's silence.
gruesome gaze.
"Do not call me princess." I snapped heavily, attempting to get my bravery to revive.
He laughed. His laugh seemed so dark like he, himself, was the devil from Hell; like he was born from Hitler's ashes. As though he were living in the shadows and slaughtering innocent girls for a living. That dark. I shivered, even though I wasn't cold anymore.
"They won't find anyone." His strong hands squeezed my wrists ruthlessly, sending pounding pain up my arms. I let out a short shriek of anguish and struggled, trying to ignore the drainage of feeling from my wrists that he was crushing brutally. I could feel the bones slowly, agonizingly, shift from place, snap, and rupture under his hold. I screamed again, louder and longer this time but he silenced me with a great heave over his shoulder. I kicked my legs wildly, yelling helplessly and shaking violently on his right shoulder as he trudged away from the creek and even deeper into the woods.
Back
By Shaniya Baird
9thAnonymous
I am hurt me.
You pull me close and run your fingers through my already tousled hair, as if to comfort me. I'm scared and the stillness of your body tells me that you can sense my fear. You whisper an apology, almost undetectable beneath my sharp uneven breaths. You want me back. Of course. It seems like we always end up in this dark shadow of your many apologies and I always take another chance. I am always stupid enough to forgive you.
had said.
I remember how it once had been love, almost too good to be true, when the thought of no "us" was something that neither of us dared to speak of. Now we have been through this so many times that it seems like a way of life to us. Like if we do not continue this cycle we will die. It's like the bird and the worm.
my existance.
I look into your eyes, now weary with suspense. Behind that sea of blue I love so much, I see sincerity and it pushes me to tell myself that i DO need you.
I think back at all those nights I sat alone, longing for your presence. Those nights I sat longing for the warmth of your hands to pull me close to you, to hear the steady beat under your chest.
You turn back once again and look at me.
"I love you," I say.
open arms.
I run forward and throw myself at you, burying my face in your shoulder to hide my tears.
over again.
"I'm sorry. I can't leave you again. I'm so sorry. I was stupid. I need you. I love you."
You just kept repeating these words. These insignificant sentences that have brought me back so many times. These words that I have heard so many times.

What Am I?
Daryk Freeze (12th)
I don't know what I am.
Am I even human?
Just what should I be?
What do you see, there while you sit starin' at me?
Do I look bear, with the wings of an eagle?
When you gaze in my eyes, do you see somethin' evil?
Do I look human, like I have my own life?
Do I live in a house, with some kids and a wife?
I can tell we aren't the same.
I don't even know my name.
These questions tend to force a state of final remorse.
Even I had to admire the fire in my desire
to find something I may never acquire.
It may take forever to fine
the previous mind, I left behind.
I finally collapse under the feeling of doom.
Only to wake up in the emergency room.
I notice her nice aroma.
She says I've been in a coma.
I've been out since November
but I can finally remember.
I lost my dog, my kid, and my wife.
Which reminds me- I might as well take my own life
Good bye.
Untitled
Jayden Penman (8th)
Who are we?
Imagination.
Whose?
Life.
Where?
Hanging on to their last bit of life
Before the bitter cold chokes it out.
the breeze,
Each
Each gust of more leaves,
Sending them fluttering, fluttering down.
Sweet Dreams