Hutchinson Public Library Young Adult Newsletter April 2017 Edition

ART — Grades 6-8 1st - Kendall Schoenhals (Haven HS, 8th gr) 2nd - Shyann Queen (Inman JHS, 6th gr) 3rd - Emily Fowler (Hutchinson MS-8, 8th gr) ART — Grades 9-12 1st - Hannah Funk (Haven HS, 12th gr) 2nd - Freddie Evans (Inman HS, 11th gr) 3rd - Veda Ann Mansur (Hutchinson HS, 10th gr) PHOTOGRAPHY — Grades 6-8 1st - Bella Brownlee (Sterling Elem., 6th gr) 2nd - Macy Brownlee (Sterling JHS, 8th gr) 3rd - Alisha Burris (Burrton MS, 8th gr) PHOTOGRAPHY — Grades 9-12 1st - Aurora Nadeau (Buhler HS, 11th gr) 2nd - Chase Swanson (Buhler HS, 12th gr) 3rd - Danae Moser (Buhler HS, 10th gr)

POETRY — Grades 6-8 1st - Courtney Ball (Sterling JHS, 8th gr) 2nd - Lexi Milne (Inman JHS, 7th gr) 3rd - Moriah Harris (Inman MS, 7th gr) POETRY — Grades 9-12 1st - Melinna Acevedo (Hutchinson HS, 12th gr) 2nd - Timothie Foster (Buhler HS, 10th gr) 3rd - Aisjha Miles (Inman HS, 9th gr) SHORT STORIES — Grades 6-8 1st - Elizabeth Leck (Inman MS, 8th gr) 2nd - Gracie Smith (Hutchinson Magnet School/ Allen, 6th gr) 3rd - Christina Voth (Sterling JHS, 8th gr) SHORT STORIES — Grades 9-12 1st - Cecilia Garcia (Haven Virtual Academy, 9th gr) 2nd - Allison Bomgardner (Buhler HS, 9th gr) 3rd - Aubrey Myers (Hutchinson HS, 12th gr)

Winners for this year’s Creativity Contest are posted below, and winning entries are featured in this newsletter. Eighty-one teens were represented by the 169 entries received. We thank everyone who took the time to participate. If you’re eligible to enter again in future years, please do so!

ART

Grades 6-8

1st Place

by Kendall Schoenhals

2nd Place

by Shyann Queen

3rd Place

by Emily Fowler

Grades 9-12:

1st Place

by Hannah Funk

2nd Place

by Freddie Evans

3rd Place

by Veda Ann Mansur

1st Place

by Bella Brownlee

2nd Place

by Macy Brownlee

1st

3rd Place

by Alisha Burris

by Aurora Nadeau

Grades 9-12:

by Chase Swanson

by Danae Moser

3rd Place

2nd Place

POETRY

Grades 6-8

MY LOST FRIEND by Courtney Ball

He was my best friend. Haliurose, nice, kind, Clumsy, adventurous, Crazy, smart friend.

We walked around town For hours

Talking about his life, Dreams and hopes.

He always had hope no matter what. He loved to dance.

Danced as much as much as he breathed. He was great at it, too.

Once we were walking around And we heard a boom.

We turned around and saw an old lady on the ground We helped her home

And then left. He wanted to make a difference in the world.

I wish he still could. Once he put on makeup

And a dress just to make me smile. I almost died laughing. I’ll miss his good heart, Full of passion and love.

I hope he is still dancing and helping And watching over me today.

Oh, how I miss you My lost friend.

1st Place

ON A STARRY NIGHT by Lexi Milne

On a beautiful

Starry night, I was Wondering by the riverside

Watching the stars go flying by From Earth they look so very small

But they are bigger than us all Saturn, Neptune, Jupiter, Mars, all of them among the stars

Exquisite elegance, danger and fear Brilliant beauty, dark and dear

Wondering by the riverside Oh, on a beautiful

Starry night

2nd Place

ALL SUMMER LONG by Moriah Harris

All summer long

I listen to my song. It helps me keep calm Just like my lip balm.

Sometimes I sing aloud,

I even sing it proud Like there isn’t a crowd

Or a rain cloud.

Some people might think it’s weird But I wish I had disappeared

To get away from reality. I wish they would agree.

I do not like being alone.

I don’t feel like I’m well known. But when I find my song,

I begin to feel strong.

3rd Place

Grades 9-12:

RAIN DROPS by Melinna Acevedo

I loved you all I could But you couldn’t find a way to love me. So all I ask is this, You of all people know How much I love the rain. I’m asking you to love it, too, To love me through every crystal drop. So next time it rains I’ll know That wherever you are You’ll be thinking of me And what used to be. With every rain drop Your heart will stop And with every thought of this A tear will slip. Those passing by Won’t even bat an eye For they won’t know Whether it’s a tear sliding down my face Or a rain drop slowly making its way to the Earth. I’ll find myself tracing the paths Of water sliding down the glass Unconsciously spelling your name In all the twists and turns. Hidden within the chaos Will be the story of us. I’ll catch myself smiling Thinking of how when rain slides across your lips I’ll remind you of how we once kissed.

1st Place

THE DARK CYCLE by Timothie Foster

Beginning new, Journey began Unaware of the infamous plans Heading out to start my trek My goals I would not and could not forget Not for riches or for fame Simply to relink the flame The beasts did maul, the poison, fire The undead curse ties me down with wire And when they brought me to an end The curse brought me back again But allies, too, did I meet Their help put me back upon my feet For on the trek, I held my pace My goal to save the human race The sun did fill me up with light To go down into the dark and fight Corruption tried to take me down No wraith could bring my hopes to drown At the end of my long quest My fate entwined with all the rest Sacrificed to the fire To momentarily rest the curses dark ire To keep the flame alight for a thousand years Till another faces my fears

2nd Place

WE ARE ALSO HUMAN by Aisjha Miles

Maybe we don’t get that brand

Money’s not endless like the sand

Maybe we don’t get the same thing

Fitting in doesn’t make you king

Maybe we don’t like that sport

Why does it matter, if we’re tall or short

Maybe we don’t like that food

This is our life, please let us choose

Maybe we look just like a nerd

But we don’t care about your word

Maybe we look dark and glum

All we want is to be loved some

Maybe we are, the best at lying

Maybe we are, the best at spying

You did this to us with your own hand

But no matter what, we are still human

3rd Place

SHORT STORIES

Grades 6-8: RIPPLES ON THE WATER

by Elizabeth Leck

The sun shone down upon the water, making it glisten as if a thousand stars and gems were embedded within the cool liquid. Adam was with his sister, Adria, sprinting to the shore of a large, crystal clear pond that seemed as a lake to the adventurous children. They were in their Secret Place. The place shared only with the kind, elderly librarian and his book-mouse. The place with a sea of liquid crystal too grand and immense to pass. The place shadowed by the towering cathedral of the trees’ canopy. The place with a thriving underbrush. The place with wildlife and untold legends wherever you looked. For the children, the place had no magnificent name; it was simply the Secret Place.

Adam and Adria had just escaped the stifling confines of the school building a little bit ago, and they had run over here as soon as they had dropped their beginners’ books. Nearly there, they collapsed, exhausted. They lay in the cool, soft, shadowed grass as they waited for their hammering hearts to catch up with their growing legs. As soon as they could stand up again, they scampered over to the water’s edge, snatching wild berries to feast on as they went.

At ages six and eight, the children has yet to learn anything but basic numbers and letters. However, their minds had the ability to contain and fathom the deep thoughts of only the greatest thinkers, although the thoughts were not so elaborate as one might assume. The thinking chambers belonging to the children were simpler than those of their peers, yet could comprehend more than most adults. This, of course, was unbeknownst to the duo.

Adria, after cleaning her fingers of the ambrosial juice (much unladylike slurping involved), headed to the small crevice in the rocks they used to hide their treasures. She extracted boys’ pants and a loose shirt; the young lady much preferred the freedom of these over the limitations of the society-required dress. While Adria went to change behind the privacy of two trees and several bushes, Adam sprawled out on the sugar-fine sand. Changed, Adria removed herself from the living wall, and skipped over to replace the clothes she now wore with her dress, neatly folding the skirt and gently setting it in place.

Adam sighed as Adria sat contentedly beside him. For several minutes, they were intrigued by the critters and sunlight dancing through the refreshingly clean air. The boy, youth that he was, could not stay still forever, though, and eventually stood.

Adria tore her eyes from three flitting butterflies as her brother rose, and watched him select four flat, round pebbles from the earth. Adria admired her brother for many things, skipping stones toward the top of the list. This would be a show worth watching.

Adam walked to the very edge of the water. He had abandoned his shoes some time ago, and the wet earth felt blissful as it squished between his toes. Carefully selecting one stone, he gracefully brought his arm back, then swung it forward, letting the smooth stone roll off his forefinger like water droplets off a leaf. Both pairs of eyes were locked on the stone as it arched downward, barely skimming the water before a second ascent and descent, momentum carrying it in a perfect curve. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven skips they counted. Almost before the first stone sank, Adam released another missile, sending it on its wondrous journey across the cool expanse. Adria smiled to herself. Their friends sometimes referred to Adam as “Willie,” after their elderly neighbor who, in his youth, set the record for skipping with twelve skips covering sixty-four feet. Adam held his own with eight. Adria, as well as the great Willie himself, had faith that Adam would grow to be the next record holder.

Adam’s own smile wavered, however. The ridges created by the second stone had disappeared. Now, as he watched, the previously smooth water shimmered where the first stone had descended. The shallowest of ripples began appearing, and a circular gap parted the waters.

1st Place

“Adria, look!” But Adam’s call wasn’t needed, for her eyes were already glued to the spot. With gaping mouths, the children watched the first stone rise, then retrace its steps back to Adam’s position. Adam was too stunned to catch it as it flew back to his hand, and it fell to the ground. The thin waves dispersed only to reappear roughtly a yard away. The process was repeated with the second stone, the small object landing gently beside the fist.

Astonished, Adam squatted low to the ground, with some difficulty bending his trembling leg. His hand slowly retrieved the two stones. He somehow managed to stand up and pocketed the peculiar duo. He hesitated, his hand resting on the stones in their stowaway for a moment longer, then decided it was safe to keep them there for the time being.

Adria noticed that her mouth was still standing awkwardly open, and hurriedly clamped her jaws shut. She might not have believed what had just transpired, but Adam’s reaction and slightly bulging pocket diminished her doubts; she trusted and admired her brother. Almost anything he believed, she believed. It took her only a short time to decide that the stones were definitely magical.

Adam inspected the two stones he had not yet thrown, and upon selecting one, he slid the unused stone into his empty pocket. He struggled to bring his still quaking arm back, and attempted twice, failing both. It was probably just a trick of the eyes. He tried semi-successfully to reassure himself.

Like an invisible, reassuring hand had reached out to steady him, Adam’s face suddenly transformed from a look of utter confusion to one set in grim determination. He pulled his arm back. He threw with all his might, but the third stone came skipping back.

At that moment, the children’s eyes met. Silently, yet each realizing what the other was doing, they made a vow. A vow to discover the meaning and the making of the miraculous stones.

Inspired by The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, by Chris Van Allsburg

FINDING THE WENDIGO

by Gracie Smith

“You’re cheating, dude!” said Brett.

“No, I’m not. You just suck!” said Tommy sarcastically. Tommy closed his PSP and got out his phone.

“What are you doing? I was just about to claim my victory!” Brett teased.

“Yeah, right! But I gotta tell my sister that I’m okay,” Tommy said as he got back on his phone and started recording.

“Hey, Haley! It’s the third night, and I’m perfectly fine, so no worry! I will be home in a day. Talk to you in the morning. ‘Bye,” Tommy said, ending the recording.

“Hey, where are you going?” Tommy asked as Brett opened the tent door.

“Nature calls,” said Brett.

Brett went outside. He felt as if something or someone was watching him, but he brushed it off and did his business. He heard some branches break a twig in the trees, and then something jumped at him. Something bloodthirsty! He screamed and the creature growled his terrible growl.

“Brett!” yelled Tommy as he hesitantly jumped to his feet.

Tommy peeked his head out the tent door and saw nothing. Then something began to growl. Tommy looked up and saw the creature standing right there. The creature grabbed him and jumped into the trees and ran away with Tommy and Brett in his hands.

“Wanna drive?” asked Dean.

“Dean, in your whole life, you never once asked me that,” said Sam in shock.

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind,” Dean said offensively.

“All right, where are we?” Sam asked.

“We are just outside of Grand Junction,” Dean said.

“Okay, so we are almost to the woods where the two boys went missing,” said Sam. “Why do you think Dad sent us here? Could the boys’ disappearance have something to do with the supernatural?”

“It’s possible. I mean, why else would Dad send us here?” said Dean.

“Maybe we should talk to the family of one of the boys first,” Sam said.

“You’re right,” said Dean.

They knocked on the door of the Collins family.

“Hi, I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean. We are park rangers and we wanted to ask about the disappearance of the boy named Tommy,” said Sam quickly.

Of course Sam was lying. They were not park rangers. But they needed to stop whatever had made the boys disappear.

“Okay, I’m Haley and this is my brother Ben,” the woman at the door said.

“When did you notice that Tommy was missing?” asked Dean.

“About two days ago,” said Ben sadly.

They asked many questions, but none of them would help to find the boys. They told them they were going to walk through the forest and see what they could find. Sam and Dean left the house and went to their hotel to sleep until morning.

They woke up early to get to the forest as soon as possible. To their surprise, when they got to the forest, Haley, Ben, and some other man were there already.

“This is Roy,” said Haley, pointing to the man. “We hired him to help find Tommy.”

2nd Place

“You guys got room for two more?” asked Dean loudly.

“Sure, but it’s dangerous,” said Roy.

“I think I know what it is. I did some research last night,” Sam whispered to Dean.

“What?” asked Dean.

“A Wendigo,” said Sam.

“Makes sense. Wendigos are super fast! Then Tommy isn’t dead yet,” said Dean.

They set off into the forest. After a while they heard a growl. It was a loud and terrifying growl. Sam and Dean instantly made a salt circle around everyone. Roy thought it was stupid and wouldn’t stop a bear. But he didn’t know that it was not a bear and that it was a Wendigo. Roy ran out of the circle to chase what he thought was a bear.

“Roy, stop!” yelled Dean, as he took off running after Roy.

“You guys stay here in the salt circle. You’ll be safe here!” Sam said, running after Dean and Roy.

But he stopped after hearing Roy scream and then the screaming coming to a fast stop. Sam knew that it killed Roy right on the spot. Sam ran to where Roy was. Roy’s head was decapitated.

“We need to get back to the circle now!” yelled Dead.

Then Haley came running over.

‘Where’s Ben?” Sam asked scaredly.

“In the salt circle,” she said. “What is that thing?”

“It’s a Wendigo, and the only way to kill it is with fire,” said Dean.

“We need to keep moving,” Sam said.

But then the Wendigo grabbed Dean and Haley, and took off to wherever it was keeping the human. Sam ran to Ben.

“We need to follow that thing. It took Haley and Dean!” Sam shouted.

They took off after the beast but soon lost its trail.

“Now what are we going to do?” said Ben, throwing himself to the ground.

But then he noticed an M&M trail that Dean must have left behind.

“We should follow this!” Ben said. “Dean did have a bag of M&Ms, right?”

“You’re right. Let’s go!” Sam said, taking off running.

The M&M trail lead straight to the cave of the Wendigo. They took off inside of it, trying to find Sam and Haley. Then they saw them and Tommy. They were hanging from the ceiling with ropes. Ben and Sam cut them down quickly.

“We need to get out of here before it comes back,” said Tommy.

“We need to kill it first,” Sam said.

Then the Wendigo was back. They shot the flare gun and missed. It was just too fast! They didn’t think they would be able to kill it. But then Dean shot at it once more and hit it right in the head. The Wendigo shot up in flames and burned to a crisp.

“You killed it!” Ben cheered.

They quickly got all their stuff and left the cave. They called the police and they patched up their wounds. Dean and Sam left, and they never ever came back to that forest again.

UNTITLED

by Christina Voth

PROLOGUE

When a child is born and it laughs for the first time, its soul is fractured. A few of the shards stray from the infant’s body and form into an imaginary friend. That creature can take on any form the child chooses; it is the best friend, though no good things can last forever. When a child grows up, the friend fades away. They return to their dimension using the gateway key all carry, and then they retire and drink life force regularly to keep them alive until they are ready to die. Though not all are ready to accept this fate …

STORY

He’s growing up, and I am fading away. It started happening a few days ago; Weston couldn’t see me completely. Now I’m completely gone to his eyes. I can’t reach him now … tears threaten to spill over my cheeks — No! I will not give him up! He is my child! I rise from my place on the floor and angrily wipe away my tears, smearing the rainbows I cry. I smooth down my cloud dress and make up my mind; I would protect and watch over him forever. I will not lose him.

I reach into my pocket, pull out my portal key and open the dimension portal. As I walk through and enter my world, I stand dazed momentarily; it has always been breathtaking how beautiful is is. The sky is midnight blue, light lilac, and dusty rose where the sun sets. On the other side of me the sun rises, this time with an array of golden hues. The cherry blossom trees shed their petals into the warm breeze only to regrow once again. All of this around me makes paradise. The humans call it heaven and my kind angels. And we let them dream, sweet dreams of paradise and love. If I do this I will never be able to return. I think of Weston, and my resolve returns. I fly over to the temple of life and enter. I make my way through the maze of doors and halls until I find it. The room of life. It houses all of the vials of life force in the world. I fill my pockets and grab all I can carry before opening the portal again. I look back one last time at the world of beauty I hail … and walk through the portal. Saying goodbye forever, I swallow a vial of life force. He may not be able to see me, but no matter. He is mine … forever.

As the days turned into months, into years, he became sad; I didn’t know why. He stopped eating; he had trouble sleeping. He was becoming numb, and somehow I knew that was worse.

“Hey, Weston!” a feminine voice called out as a knock on the door sounded. I quickly flew over and through the door, and stopped in front of the girl; this girl who wanted to take my boy away from me! Rage filled me as I transformed into a monster from a child’s nightmares. The girl screamed, eyes bulging as she ran down the hall. I quickly changed back as I heard Weston open the door. He looked around the deserted corridor, and I saw a tear slide down his face. He walked back into the apartment hunched over like a broken man. As he laid down to sleep on his couch, I affectionately stroked his hair.

“Yes, you are mine forever. No one will ever take you away from me,” I whispered. As he lay sleeping, I decided that I would get him some of his favorite foods from the store. I swooped through the aisles picking up cakes, cookies, and candies. I flew through the streets, relishing the warm breeze that reminded me of home. As I flew into his apartment, I knew something was wrong. Then I entered the living room, and he was there … hanging from a noose attached to the ceiling, a note in his hand. I read the note and realized why he was sad. I had driven everyone away until he was alone. Tears began spilling down my cheeks — No! I must save him, I won’t let him die alone! I got him down from his hanging tomb and reached into my pocket for my emergency vial of life force. I opened his mouth and poured the vial into it, and waited. Tears of pain and anguish blurred my vision as I realized that he would never wake up. An unnatural screech filled the air, and I realized it was me. I looked in the mirror at my face. It was distorted and grotesque. I had become a bogeyman, and I had murdered my child. I put his noose around my own neck and stopped flying. A single tear slipped down my cheek as the world went black and cold.

This is my last mark on this world. farewell.

— Cloud Princess Annette

3rd Place

Grades 9-12:

DREAMS by Cecilia Gracie

1918

“Grandma, what’s this?” Martin asked.

Martin’s grandmother stopped sorting through a box to look at him. Her face softened when she saw what was in Martin’s hands. It was a small dreamcatcher, decorated with colored threads, ribbons, and beads. Martin’s grandmother smiled. “It’s a dreamcatcher,” she started. “It was given to me years ago … in 1880, I do believe. It was the day I had gotten to my new home from Ireland. I was a little girl, scared out of my mind. I went over to our neighbor’s house to ask for something, I don’t remember what. I saw plenty of treasures in his house, but this one caught my eye. He gave it to me as a gift, along with this advice. He told me to use the dreamcatcher until I met someone who needed it more. I hung it above my bed that night, and I had the most vivid dream of my life.” Martin’s grandmother paused, her eyes glowing. She smiled softly.

“I used it until I married your grandfather, then I forgot about it. It must have been sitting in this box for nearly 40 years,” Martin’s grandmother trailed off. She walked towards her grandson, gingerly taking the artifact from his hand. “I had a dream about meeting my true love the night before I met your grandfather. Whether or not you believe in these sorts of things, this dreamcatcher brought me a lot of comfort.” Martin’s grandmother smiled softly as she remembered her childhood, and all the dreams that she had believed in because of the dreamcatcher.

“Martin,” she continued, “I think you could use a few good dreams at the moment. Why don’t you take this and hang it above your bed. And I’ll tell you the same as the man told me. Use this dreamcatcher until you meet someone who needs it more, then pass it on to them.”

Martin took the dreamcatcher back from his grandmother and ran to his bedroom. Martin gently hung the dreamcatcher on his bedpost. His room was bare, even through Martin had been living with his grandmother for a year. The dreamcatcher added a nice bit of color. Martin ran off to help his grandmother finish moving boxes.

That night Martin fell asleep, forgetting the dreamcatcher was hanging above him. For the first time in months, Martin didn’t have nightmares about the war. Instead, he dreamed of playing with his father, swimming in the river outside of town. When Martin awoke, he shook his head, knowing his dreams were complete fantasies. Martin hadn’t seen his father in over a year, not since he had been drafted to fight the war. Martin didn’t even know where his father was, and that was when the nightmares had started. But his grandmother had said that the dreamcather had helped her, and so Martin believed that it would help him, too.

Later in the day, while Martin was helping his grandmother with chores, he heard a knock on the door. “I’ll get it, Grandma,” Martin said. Martin skipped to the front door and flung it open. Martin gasped at the figure he saw before him. Before tears could even form in his eyes, Martin’s father had engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug.

The pair stood on the doorstep, holding onto each other. Before long, Martin heard footsteps behind him, followed by a faint gasp. “Alfred, my son!” Martin’s grandmother cried, joining the hug.

After a long while, the trio pulled apart. They stood in silence on the porch, just staring at each other, unable to express what they were feeling. At last, Martin’s dad spoke. “Well, I know I just got home, but how about we head down to the river? It’s a hot summer day, and I think we all deserve a break and some time to catch up. What do you say, Martin?”

Martin smiled at his dad, his eyes gleaming. “It sounds like a dream come true.”

1st Place

1950

“Mr. Burns,” Lucy addressed her history teacher. “Do you have a moment?”

Martin Burns looked up from the paper he was grading. “Of course, Lucy. What’s on your mind?”

Lucy thought for a moment. “Well, sir, I just wanted to ask about the dreamcatcher hanging on the back wall. I never hear you talk about it. Something about it caught my eye.” Lucy rocked back and forth on her toes.

Martin Burns smiled. “That’s an interesting piece to notice, Lucy. I can’t tell you much about the dreamcatcher. My grandmother gave it to me when I was nine, back in 1918. Maybe I can write down what I know and give it to you tomorrow.”

Lucy nodded. She was quiet for a moment before saying, “It’s nice to have good dreams, especially ones that come true. I wish I had more of those.” Lucy trailed off.

“How old are you, Lucy?” Mr. Burns asked.

“I’m eleven, sir,” Lucy answered proudly.

Mr. Burns smiled. “You’re very bright for your age. I think you’ve got the most potential of all the students in your grade.”

Lucy beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Burns stood up from his desk and walked to the back wall. Carefully reaching, he pulled the dreamcatcher off of the wall. Mr. Burns returned to where Lucy was standing and held the dreamcatcher out to her.

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Sir, I couldn’t. it’s yours! And it was your grandmother’s before that. Isn’t it sentimental?”

Mr. Burns smiled. “I’ve had my time with the dreamcatcher, and now it’s time to pass it along. The only other thing I must tell you is the same thing my grandmother told me when she gave this to me. She told me to use this dreamcatcher while it’s of use to me, then to pass it along to someone who needs it. I think you should have it, Lucy.”

Lucy smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. Now run along home,” Mr. Burns said.

Lucy went straight home, and hung the dreamcatcher on her wall next to the picture of her mother. Lucy didn’t believe in superstitions. She thought she was too smart for that. But sometimes Lucy thought that even the smartest people could believe in something fake for comfort.

“Goodnight, Mama. I miss you,” Lucy whispered as she closed her eyes. “I think that you would have loved my new dreamcatcher.”

All night, Lucy saw stars and planets and moons. She dreamed that she was floating through space. she dreamed that she was happy.

1969

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” the radio crackled.

Lucy and the rest of her team cheered. After all of their hard work, they had finally put a man on the moon. For Lucy, this day meant so much more. This was the final product of all her hard work. She had become valedictorian, got into her dream school, and finally applied to NASA, and now it was all paying off.

After the celebrations had ended, Lucy returned home. While she was getting ready for bed, Lucy dropped an earring under her bed. She got on the floor and peered under her bed, looking for the pearl stud. Instead, a glimmer of color caught her eye. Lucy pulled out the old dreamcatcher for the first time in years.

Lucy looked at the old gift and smiled before hanging it above her bed again. And once more, Lucy dreamed of the stars.

2016

Queenie read the name on the door before walking in. She had been volunteering at this retirement home for the last few months, and she could honestly say that she enjoyed it. Queenie had always loved stories, and speaking to the citizens of Sunset Meadows after school provided many stories to listen to.

It was the first time that Queenie had ever spoken to the woman in room 17B, Lucy McCartney. Queenie knocked softly before pushing the door open. “Hello, Mrs. McCartney?” Queenie asked.

“Come in, sweetie,” Queenie heard. Queenie walked over to a rocking chair in front of the window where Lucy McCartney was seated.

“Hi, I’m Queenie,” Queenie said, kneeling down in front of the chair. “I’m a volunteer here. I was wondering if there was anything I could get for you, or if you wanted someone to visit with for a little while?”

Lucy smiled. “That would be lovely, dear. I don’t get many visitors these days.”

Queenie glanced at a chair before pulling it over and sitting next to the rocking chair. “What about your children or grandchildren?”

Lucy shook her head. “I never had any, and my husband died a few years ago. I’m mostly alone now. It makes my day when people like you come and talk to me.” Lucy looked Queenie in the eye. The sincerity written on Lucy’s face touched Queenie.

Queenie quickly looked around the room, looking for something to ask about. “There are quite a few different star maps and pictures of planets here. Do you like space?”

Lucy chuckled. “I think that ‘liking space’ is an understatement, dear. I worked at NASA when Neil and Buzz were jumping around on the moon. It’s where I met my husband. I think it’s safer to say that I’m obsessed with space.”

Queenie was speechless. “Wow, Mrs. McCartney. That’s incredible. Really. How did you end up working for NASA?”

Lucy smiled again, looking off into the distance. “It was a dream ever since I was a little kid. I never knew what it meant until I was eleven. That was when I realized how much I liked planets and space. Actually, I can thank my history teacher, Mr. Burns, for that.”

“Your history teacher helped you find your love of math and space?” Queenie asked.

“Stranger things have happened, dear. But, yes, Mr. Burns helped me to find my true love in life, though I don’t know if he ever knew it. It all happened because I was such a curious young soul. He gave me the dreamcatcher as a gift. It was one of the nicest things that had ever happened to me. The world has changed a lot since then. Not many kids would find a dreamcatcher fascinating anymore. They’re too worried about their apple-what-nots. Though, as a scientist, I must say that the technology is incredible.” Lucy laughed, and Queenie joined in. That was when Queenie saw splotches of red and orange out of the corner of her eye. Shifting her focus, Queenie saw an intricate dreamcatcher hanging from the dresser.

“Mrs. McCartney, is that the dreamcather?” Queenie asked.

Lucy smile. “Why, yes, it is, Queenie.”

“It’s beautiful. I can see why you like it so much.” Queenie stared at it for a few moments more, admiring the colors.

“Why don’t you go get it,” Lucy said.

Queenie got out of the chair and walked to the dreamcatcher. She carefully picked it up and walked it back over to Lucy. Queenie laid it down in Lucy’s lap before sitting back down.

Lucy carefully stroked the feathers and smiled. “This reminds me of so many beautiful memories. But it doesn’t do me much good any more. All of my dreams have come true. What are your dreams, Queenie?”

Queenie stopped. “I’m not quite sure, Mrs. McCartney,” Queenie answered honestly.

Lucy smiled. “Well, I’m sure that this will help you figure it out. Here,” Lucy held the dreamcather out to Queenie.

“I couldn’t — “Queenie started.

Lucy cut her off. “It’s not of use to me. All I ask is you remember what I tell you. Use the dreamcatcher while it can help you, but then pass it along to someone who needs it.” Lucy placed the dreamcatcher into Queenie’s hands.

Queenie stared at it in awe, then whispered, “Thank you.”

Queenie spent the rest of the afternoon with Lucy, then returned home. That night, Queenie slept with the dreamcatcher above her bed. But when she woke, Queenie couldn’t discern what her dreams were. There had been random characters and people waltzing through movements with no story. Queenie was let down, but continued to sleep with the dreamcatcher. Before long, Queenie gave up that she would determine what her dreams meant.

When Queenie visited Lucy McCartney again, after they spoke for a while, Mrs. McCartney asked, “What are your dreams, Queenie?”

Queenie shook her head. “I don’t know. The dreamcatcher isn’t helping me like it helped you. All of my dreams are just random fragments with color and characters. I don’t think I have the imagination for it to work.”

“Nonsense!” Lucy cried. “I’ll help you figure this out. What do you do with your time? What do you enjoy?”

Queenie smiled. “I dance, and I love telling stories. Dancing helps me to tell a story.”

“Dear Queenie, I think that you may be overthinking your dreams,” Lucy said with a smile.

Queenie smiled again, sudden clarity surrounding her future. “I think you may be right, Mrs. McCartney.”

2028

Queenie grinned as she took her final bow. After years of working towards this, she had finally completed her show. Queenie had found a way to tell her story through movement and dance and music, and it had taken her years to get to this point.

After leaving the stage and returning to her dressing room, Queenie sighed. She looked to her mirror, where a brightly colored dreamcatcher hung. Queenie smiled as she taped a copy of a letter next to the artifact.

The letter was from her old friend, Lucy McCartney, telling Queenie how proud she was of all she had accomplished. Queenie had used the letter for inspiration every day that she worked on her show. And when the show had finally opened, Queenie had dedicated the show to Lucy.

Queenie took one more look at the show’s dedication page of the program:

To all the dreamers … chase your dreams. Shoot for the stars, reach for the heights, be in charge. Just remember that after you achieve your dreams, you should help someone else find theirs.

Queenie smiled and took the dreamcatcher off the mirror. She had found her dream. It was time to help someone else find theirs.

DEMONS OF MY REFLECTION by Allison Bomgardner

I look into a mirror and see a girl with white hair. The hair is stringy and greasy, but soft. It hangs across her face in thick bundles, covering her eyes and lips. It’s unclear if there is even a face underneath the mass of snowy tangles. The hair whispers in her ears, phrases and words that make her heart beat faster and her blood boil. Fears and worries trickle into the girl’s mind, overtaking her already sparse thoughts. Maybe the hair isn’t covering her face, but hiding it. Maybe it’s hiding wide eyes and tear drops, a quivering lip paired with pale cheeks. Maybe it’s not really a girl. I can’t see their face, so I can’t tell. Whatever they are, I can tell they’re in pain. I can see the tops of their shoulders; they’re hunched and shaking. Still, the hair continues murmuring its honeyed jabs at the person in the reflection. I can catch a few words like abandonment and death and emptiness. These words send shivers down my spine and make my hands grow clammy. It wasn’t a foreign sensation; this emotion housed in my mind daily, but never like this before. It was overwhelming, practically drowning me in all of the questions and worst-case scenarios. Those weren’t so bad. After all, I was living in the worse-case scenario. I was almost positive that no one else had to deal with what I had to. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own. I’m the one to blame. I recognize myself in the person, and I begin to drown in fear.

~~~~~~~~~

I look into a window and see a girl with gray eyes. The eyes are wide and bloodshot, but captivating. The irises swirled violently as tears shimmered in the corners. The tears didn’t fall; no, because that would draw attention away from the eyes themselves. Silvery spider-webs danced across the cracked irises, forcing me to focus only on those eyes. The rest of the girl’s face wasn’t anything to remember — plain, average features — and showed no emotion whatsoever. If it wasn’t for her eyes, I wouldn’t be able to tell if she was living. Thoughts gather in her abysmal eyes; wicked, cruel thoughts that make me shudder. Hysterical words repeated like a sick mantra, deranged phrases praised and glorified in the mind of this girl. This girl before me shouldn’t be functioning, shouldn’t even be alive. Her mind is being overrun by madness, her ideals waltzing with insanity. Pain hides in the corners of her mind, barely recognizable, but still there. Still there, and still functioning. It stabs periodically at these thoughts and ideas, a constant in the irregular. It grounds the girl, keeps her from crumbling into dust. I can feel these thoughts poking at the edges of my own mind, threatening to infest my own body. Wait. Not threatening, but already done. I begin to feel thoughts of my own rise in my mind, poking at precarious spots. One wrong move and I would be gone, thrown into the whirlpool the girl before me was struggling to fight. I recognize myself in the person, and I begin to drown in insanity.

~~~~~~~~~

I look into a puddle and see a girl with blue skin. The skin is flaky and blotchy, but smooth. It covers her entire body, like it should, but it looks eerily normal. Her facial features and the colors of her hair blend together, but are in the background when compared to her skin. The skin shines underneath the dim light, small ripples flowing across her body as wind moved the water in the puddle. It looked as if she had been born of sapphires, but the skin had a cruel kind of beauty. Fat tears ran down sunken cheeks, leaving no trace of their existence. This girl didn’t even flinch as her unrecognizable eyes grew red under the stress of crying constant tears. Cracked lips twisted into a permanent frown, her entire body trembling under the stress of keeping still. The longer I stare at this girl, the larger and heavier the cloud above me feels. I feel emotional hurt and pain rest on my shoulders, soon becoming uncomfortable, then unbearable. I don’t know how this girl is still standing up, with so much despair weighing in her mind and gaze. But, as I stare back at her sorrowful face, I see the answer. It’s her skin; it’s the only thing keeping her up. It holds her muscles and bones in place, refusing to let them drop. It’s stretching over tired features and weary limbs. The skin itself is

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acting as a barrier — and a strong one at that — yet still, it’s somehow causing her more pain. She can’t control the torrential downpour of depression she is forever stuck in, just as I can’t. I recognize myself in the person, and I begin to drown in sadness.

~~~~~~~~~

I look into a knife and see a girl with red teeth. The teeth are crooked and irregular, but polished. They grind together harshly, making me jump back in sync with the girl. The teeth snag at her lips, tearing delicate skin and bringing forth a thick liquid the same color as said offending teeth. They bite at her cheeks and tongue, forcing her to stay silent during this assault. The girl’s fingers are clenched into tight fists, trembling with barely sheathed passion. Her eyes pour forth a torrent of rage, spilling across her facial features easily. I feel a heat in my chest, previously buried, rise up. It filled my body with warmth, but I felt colder than ice. Pictures and thoughts, injected with intense hatred, flew through my mind. This bitter passion overtaking me wasn’t foreign, but it was much, much more harmful than before. If my feet weren’t rooted to the floor, I would be running, searching for the nearest source of life in order to obliterate it. I can’t understand these irrational feelings, but they threaten to take over me. The girl chuckled cruelly, yet somehow sadly, almost as if all the emotions she’s feeling aren’t her choice, but rather generated. It’s the teeth, piercing her tongue so her own thoughts can’t be spoken. However, the tongue works in harmony with the teeth. A shredded red tongue darts out, leaking words and thoughts that the girl was purposefully keeping back. Biting phrases and sarcastic comments that are intended to rip at the recipient, hack through their confidence and beliefs with ease. Some of these I recognize as things that have flittered through my own mind, things I’ve kept from saying for fear that they’ll get me in trouble; but for this girl, it’s no problem. I recognize myself in the person, and I begin to drown in anger.

~~~~~~~~~

I look into a TV monitor and see a girl with black lips. The lips are cracked and thin, but full. They are naturally painted with the color of the night. The lips make the girl look corpse-like, forcing her skin to look even more pale. Her eyes are glassy with pain, lips moving on their own, speaking words she doesn’t want to believe. Her lips weave honeyed phrases out of air, jabs about her greasy hair, her freckled skin, her too-small eyes. The lips tell her how inferior she is, how she’ll never be considered beautiful. Thoughts fill her mind — destructive thoughts — with weight loss and exercise plans. She tells herself she’s going to start skipping meals in order to be skinny, in order to fit the ideal of what her lips tell her is beautiful. Even with all these horrifying thoughts on the perfect girl, those simply were in one part of her mind. Other parts were overtaken by what should be considered socially healthy, the level of athleticism she should be at, and what her grades should look like. Her mind was full of people telling her, “You should look like this.” Slowly, I begin to examine myself as well. I fit none of the ideals people say I should be fitting, and I feel an overwhelming sense of inferiority blanket me. Then comes the questions, the doubts of who I am, who I’ll become, who people see me as. The lack of faith in myself is soon on par with my insecurities, neither one of them outweighing the other, but instead, each one of them working together in merciless harmony. I recognize myself in the person, and I begin to drown in doubt.

~~~~~~~~~

I look into a DVD and see a girl with green freckles. The freckles are unsightly and laughable, but charming. They cover her entire body with emerald splotches, so much so that her pale skin underneath is nearly lost. Her face is the one thing not overrun with the freckles, even though they are splashed across her nose and cheeks. The girl sneers, her closed-off face tightening with a nasty expression. She begins to spout off things she wants to have, things that others own and she doesn’t. whether she wanted good looks, or to be athletic, or to be popular, the girl just wanted more. Sometimes, it goes as deep as her wanting someone to pay attention to what she’s going through. There’s all those things on the internet and TV, videos of people overcoming their problems and others supporting them wholeheartedly. How is it fair that some people get support and others are cast aside like dirty rags? I begin to nod along with the girl, disgust welling in my heart. So many people take what they have for granted, and they just don’t care that other people don’t have what they do. Some take advantage of the food laid before them while others are going their third

night without so much as a crumb of food. Then, there’s the rich people who buy ten cars just to park in a musty garage and show off occasionally. Money that could be better spent helping people and saving lives, but they just don’t care. It’s infuriating, and I feel myself itching to punch something. This feeling isn’t necessarily anger — I don’t really care for hurting the people, nor do I feel the need to — but it’s more like wistful loathing. It’s plain as day what this emotion is. I recognize myself in the person, and I begin to drown in jealousy.

~~~~~~~~~

I look into a camera and see a girl. Hair the color of fresh blood falls in spirals onto shaking shoulders, making her look afraid. Mossy eyes shine from sunken sockets, weighed down by heavy bags as her gaze darted around the room sporadically, making her look crazy. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, paired with deep stress lines she shouldn’t have at that age, making her look depressed. She bared her off-white teeth, making her look aggressive. Her pink lips were bitten raw unconsciously during her mental struggles, and she kept touching them, making her look insecure. Splotches of orange freckles were present across her entire body, but heavily splashed across her nose and cheeks, although she seemed to now like them, as she was scrubbing at her cheeks with broken fingernails, making her look disgusted. She’s not pretty, and not memorable, but there’s something about her that I can sense. Oh, right. The girl is me. The pieces begin to click in my mind. I realize now what I was doing, looking back at my reflections all those times, picking myself apart and labeling the emotions I felt most often. The names of my innermost demons bounce around in my mind: fear, insanity, sadness, anger, doubt, jealousy. However, there’s one word missing from the summary of my life. Hope. No matter what I went through, I always held a bit of hope, even if it was idiotic for me to do so. It’s the only reason I stayed alive, the only reason I was able to keep going all this time. I used to think that I had to put on masks to hide my demons, to make myself look normal, but that wasn’t the case at all. My masks were the demons themselves, forcing me to camouflage my true self under the guise of whatever I thought I was feeling. These masks are hurting me instead of helping me. My time of looking into mirrors, windows, puddles, knives, cameras, and DVDs are over. I think it’s time I shed my multitude of masks, and see what the world has to say about the real me. I recognize myself as the person, and I begin to drown in hope.

(UNTITLED)

by Aubrey Myers

It wasn’t unlike me to fall in love with the wrong guy. Many a time I had thrown myself into the first man who had shown any sign of interest. Needless to say, I’ve suffered many a heartbreak as well. But Samuel was different. Yes, our time was fleeting and, yes, I was left heartbroken once again. However, death tends to induce a much heavier sadness, a burden that cannot be lifted, a wound that can only be healed by time. I tried not to fall in love with Samuel Claflin but, with a laugh like heaven and a face like his, how could I not? He was witty and smart, and always a little sarcastic. To top it off, his heart was made of gold, nonetheless. His personality gave me life, almost as if I was stealing it from him.

I used to lie in bed next to Samuel, imagining the day it would all come to an end for us, for him. I knew there’d come a day when I wouldn’t lie next to him, when it wouldn’t be his cold feet and mischievous grin waking me up. Or his auburn hair standing every which way, tickling my nose with the scent of his shampoo from his shower the night before. He had the prettiest green eyes that were completely incapable of hiding what he was feeling. He was the most romantic man I had ever met. We’d go on spontaneous weekend getaways and picnics on the beach, always decorated with flowers and candles. He loved to just lay out under the stars, the wind blowing gently to make it not too cold but not too hot, either. He always had the craziest ideas. He could never sit still for longer than a few hours so we were always on the go. I’d never met someone full of so much life.

Months went by and Samuel started to wither. His once glimmering eyes were now hollow and dull. With sunken cheeks and grey skin, he was hardly recognizable. It was so hard to watch a man who loved life so much not be able to live it. He was confined to our bed for many months before being forced into the hospital one last time. I was there when it happened. His mother had stepped out for some fresh air, so I sat next to him by myself. He had been sleeping for nearly two days, waking up every so often when the nurses came in, before dozing off. The room was stuffy and dark, totally drained of any life. The monotonous beeping of the monitor rang in my ears; sometimes when I miss him, I still hear it. He knew I was there. Sometimes I could feel a gentle squeeze on my hand that he had been holding since he’d arrived at the hospital. Right before it happened, I felt him waking up. He opened one brilliantly green eye and then the other, and just looked at me. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks and I could see them forming in his. I held his soft, cold hand in mine and moved as close to him as I possibly could. I could hear him chuckle at my desperate attempt to get close to him before he pulled me onto the bed with him. I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. His skin was icy but covered in sweat. His tears were rolling off his cheeks and soaking my hair. I wanted so badly to take away his pain and make him stay, but the time was near. I rang for his mother but she did not make it back before Samuel’s body began to shut down. His muscles tensed and his breathing became uneven. He managed to whisper, “I will always love you ,darling,” before his entire body relaxed and he was gone.

I stood with his mother at the funeral and held her hand. She had become family to me, the mother that I had never had before. Her body trembled next to mine as the tears took over her petite body. Every now and then a small, desperate gasp escaped her mouth, but it was mostly just soft whimpers and silent tears. The service was beautiful, decorated with the brightest flowers we could find and lit up by the tall, white candles that Samuel had always admired rather than paying attention in church. Towards the end of the funeral, his mother made her way to the front to read the eulogy I had helped her write. She wore an all black dress and a veil to cover her eyes, but it did not hide the stains on her cheeks from the stream of tears running onto the podium in front of her. “My son was the sunshine in all my days,” she choked on her words. “Even at his worst, he always gave me his best …” she trailed off into nowhere. Her hands gripped the stand so

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so tightly that the veins in her fingers twitched under her white knuckles. I hurried up to her, catching her before she collapsed. I escorted her to the stairs, her shoulders hunched and her head dropped, her heart breaking. I returned to the podium, my brightly colored dress (Samuel’s favorite) swishing by my sides, and read the rest of the words scribbled on the tear-stained paper. “And in the end, he was still the same Samuel I had always loved and that I will love for the rest of my days.”

I made it through the service without a single tear. I felt so numb, as if there was nothing left inside. I had been crying for so long and now here I was, looking at the love of my life for the last time and all I could do was miss him. I laid my flower on his chest before they shut the casket. It was not till the door was sealed that I felt hot tears escape my eyes and once they started, they would not stop. I sobbed horribly, filling the empty room with the sounds of my sadness. I held onto the casket, my head resting where his chest would be. A hand grasped my shoulder and his mother looked at me sympathetically, for she knew the pain I was in. She grabbed my hand and we watched as they took his casket to the hearse.

Several weeks after the funeral, I finally built up the strength to go through some of his things to return some of it to his mother. Pictures of us decorated the walls, reminding me of a better time. I went to his dresser and started to rummage through his clothes before coming across something at the bottom of the drawer. I removed a layer of clothes to reveal a neatly wrapped gift. My hand reached the box that had my name painted on the top in Samuel’s clean handwriting. I sat on the floor, back against the wall for support. I examined the box carefully before opening it. Inside was our favorite movie and the scarf I had been bugging him about for months, but he refused to buy for me because I had “too many scarves already.” But hidden under the scarf was an envelope with nothing on it. I opened it gently, and on the top, the note said “10.6.16” — two days after his death, our one-year anniversary.

“My heart, my queen. My person, my bean. My love, my life. And now my wife?”

It was then that I noticed the ring taped where the note had been. My hand flew to my wide-open mouth. The ring glimmered in the soft light of our bedroom as I slid it on my finger. It fit perfectly. I hurried to the bathroom, tears forming in my eyes. I threw the cupboard open and pulled out the two-week-old pregnancy test that flashed positive. I looked up to the sky as if I expected to see him there, and whispered, “You’re going to be a dad, Samuel. We’re going to be a family.”

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Young Adult Reading Program

A short time from now, in a library not so far, far away, teens will be invited to participate in

“Story Wars,” the 2017 YA summer reading program at Hutchinson Public Library.

Registration begins Friday, May 26th, and continues through July 27th.

Throughout the summer reading program, teens can submit forms for each book they read, each two magazines/comics they read, or each hour they listen to an audio book. These forms are used for weekly prize drawings and for the grand prize drawing at the end of the program.

Teens who register also receive a punch card, which is punched when you turn in your first five forms. Once you’ve finished your punch card, you’ll receive a special “punch card prize.”

All teens who register for the program will be invited to our end of the program party, where we’ll also draw for our grand prize.

Interested? Need more info? Contact us at 663-5441, x.145, or at hutchteens@gmail.com.

Interested in applying for Hutchinson Public

Library’s Young Adult Advisory Board? If

you’re currently in grades 6-10, you can

apply.

The YA Board plans programs and activities

for area teens, and helps with some material

selection. YA activities sponsored by the

library include a teen summer reading

program, gaming days, the creativity contest, and coffee houses.

Application forms are available at the library’s circulation desks and in the YA area,

as well as from some area school librarians. (There’s also a form attached to this

newsletter.) Return your application to one of the Circ Desks by May 15th. We’ll

have interviews soon after school is out.

Want more info on the YA Board? Contact Terry at the library (663-5441, ext.

145; terrychristner@gmail.com).

COMING UP:

May 1st-15th — Apply for YA Board Applications available soon

from area school librarians & at the public library.

May 26th-July 27th — Teen Summer Reading Program

“Story Wars”

July 27th — End-of-the-Program Party for teens registered for Teen Summer Reading Program

NEW BOARD MEMBERS NEEDED

Hutchinson Public Library Young Adult

Advisory Board Application

Name ______________________________________________________________________________

Address ___________________________________________________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________________

Telephone ________________________________________________

Email (optional) ____________________________________________________________________

School (2016-2017) __________________________________

Grade (2016-2017) ________________ *OPEN TO YOUTH WHO WILL BE IN GRADES 7-11

List reasons for wanting to serve on the YA Advisory Board: List any special talents, interests, strengths, etc.: Signature: _________________________________________________________________________

Parent’s Signature: _________________________________________________________________

Return form to one of Hutchinson Public Library’s Circulation Desks. Deadline for application is May 15, 2017.