February 2015

INSPIRLIONSFEBRUARY 2015

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INSPIRLIONS is a publication which provides a forum for the creative writing, artwork, and photography of the students, staff and alumni of Littleton High School, Littleton, Colorado.

INSPIRLIONSVolume Two Issue 1February 2015

IN THIS ISSUE

POETRY

Inspiration Halle English p. 4The Day I Became Invisible Abigail Hiett p. 7I Hope You Get Caught In Traffic Natalie Lasater p. 8The Collision Nathan Schultz p. 10The Future Is Buried Paige Johnson p. 13Untitled #8 n. k. c. p. 14Cauliflower Ears Jim Keohane p. 16Girl in the Mirror Sam Burke p. 20Thoughts on Water Maya Harris p. 26-32Silence the Stalker Harper Martin p. 34Ode to a Cheerleader Ally Kennedy p. 47Here Comes the Sun Molly Rosales p. 48Haiku John Kron p. 50

PHOTOGRAPHY

Oscar Sanchez Perez Front CoverKathy Le p. 8-9Justin Zamora p. 12-13Kathy Le p. 14Kathy Le p. 25Brynn Svenningsen p. 26-27Isabel Rowland p. 28John Kron p. 30-31John Kron p. 32-33Kathy Le p. 45Isabel Rowland p. 49James Gordon Back Cover

STORIE

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The Day I Shrunk Down to Half an Inch

Kerry Fliedner p. 24

I Saw It AllLinnaea Eger p. 36

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ARTWORKBrynn Svenningsen p. 2Isabel Rowland p. 3artist unknown p. 5Brynn Svenningsen p. 6Emma Olsen p. 15Halle English p. 18-19Sam Burke p. 23Daniela Leon Guillen p. 35

STAFF Editor in Chief - Nyx DealeyLiterary Editor - Kathy LeArt Editor - Brynn SvenningsenPhotography Editor - Isabel RowlandContributing Editors - Maya Harris Ellen Huggins Jim Koehane Emma Olsen Advisor and Layout - John Kron

Inspiration

I look in the mirror,and wonder,

I wonder if i’m ever gonna be something in life,I wonder if i’m inspired,inspired by the greatest,

inspired by my family,my friends,and most of all myself,

i wanna be someone in life,i also wanna be one to look up to,

i wanna shine,shine like stars.

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Poem and Drawing bystudents in Ms. Fisher’sPoetry class.

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The day I became invisible I saw things I never thought I would.

I saw my friends’ true personalities. (Ones that I thought I knew)I saw my boyfriend love someone else. (One of my friends, in fact)I saw my family be a family without me. (They didn’t seem to mind that I was gone)I saw new people. (A new start maybe?)I saw these people actually cared. (They weren’t fake)I saw the personalities that were just like mine. (This was a whole new ballgame for me)

The day you become invisible,Don’t be afraid.

You will find those who see youSee you and love you for who you are.Not who you should be to fit in.

Abigail HiettGrade12

Self Portrait by Brynn Svenningsen, Grade 10

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I hope you get caught in trafficI hope you stay away, far away from hereI hope you can’t see the guilt in my face and the place where I spun a web to trap a butterflyBecause I longed for its pastel wings the way a baby longs to be heldAnd I killed it.Is that okay?I thought I could drape myself in the soft power of flight and become rebornBut now the wings are broken, and I lied when I said I was going to try again todayI slipped back into the cocoon of shallow fear and I sealed the door shut with a promise to come out tomorrowBecause there’s always a tomorrow, right?I wish I were Cinderella, or the Beauty with her BeastSomeone else could save the dayBut not mePlease don’t let it be me I hope it’s rush hour and I’ll still have time to generate the best kind of lieThe kind that won’t hurt youOnly me

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I think I’ll stay here, remain the fool and try again tomorrowThat way I won’t trick myself into believing the rippling stars in the water are real celestial bodiesWho have come to purify me of my deceptionIt’s too hard to pin my movements and reason the way my heart powers though Maybe if you’re bringing pizza home I can pretend it’s anything but bread and cheese and calories,Pretend this is the epitome of American CuisineYes, I’ll do thatBut I’m just so sick ofClenchingTo a parallel universeWhere I’m the Beauty who lives to please and loves to have her family homeCause right now, I’d rather you were away and caught in trafficCause right now, I think I’m frantic I killed the butterfly, I cut off my escapeYou don’t have to punish me. It’s already been done

Natalie LasaterGrade 9

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The Collision

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Between what I see and what I say,Is a story tangled in thick vines of broken glass, engine steam, cracked rubber, and bent metal,Is a world of politically incorrect thoughts, and exple-tives that smile on the tip of my tongue waiting to be thrown out at you,Stemming from my observations.You see, your reaction are quite thought provoking,The kind of thought that makes me want to keep your story in line, with the back of my hand.Several times.Oh, what’s that, ACLU? Didn’t like what I did there?You see, what i see and what you see is the type of see-ing that blind men do in the park on sunny afternoons.I don’t have to see anything at all, because I know where you are and from this incident, a little about who you are,I hear the squeak of the hamster wheels.Your next sly move, you’re next verbal jab, cross, hook, cross. Aimed at this human, who, like you has experi-enced the same traumatic incident that you have.My car, my car! Oh no!Oh no! Your car? Your car? God help us all.

by Nathan Schultz, Grade 1211

In fact, God, why don’t you come down yourself and fix this poor soul’s driving machine. He seems a little help-less,Hedonistic? Never!Watching in the sidelines as this combination of igno-rance and modern culture collide, I cannot help myself.Snicker.What I see is someone playing games with the truth.The difference between what I see and what I say to you,Is a world of restraint.Facilitated by my meekness.

Concert Collage by Justin Zamora, Grade 12

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The Future is Buried

Our generation has started to fallBut the generation after isAlready six feet under ground.Not even attempting to reachthe surface.

They’re running full force into adulthoodat the age of twelve.Sex, Drugs, and Rock & RollSeems to be the motto they follow.

The terrors of life starting for them in middle school.The parents holding the very shovelthat buried them.

Paige JohnsonGrade 12

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Untitled #8

and when your hands are shakingbecause you had caffeine for breakfastand razorblades for dinnerjust know that I still love all of your beautiful soul

n.k.c.grade 11

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Self Portrait by Emma Olsen, Grade 10

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Cauliflower Ears

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18 artwork by Halle English, Grade 12

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Girl in the Mirror She stares in the mirror looks at her new dress that falls

just to her knees

All she sees is the way the fabric grabs at her waist and even though everyone tells her she’s not she still feels fat

The way the scars on her stomach keep her from the bi-kini section at the store and opens her to ridicule at the

pool and keeps her from wearing what she wants

She curls her hair and sees the way her hair isn’t straight or curly but a confused mess in between and how it’s not

long or perfectly soft

She puts on her make up careful to cover the scars on her arms, her face, across the bridge of her nose.

She puts on her eye liner and looks are the color of her eyes and see the way they are dirty grey not really blue

but under all the makeup and fake smiles is a girl that only wants to be what she is

not

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She walks out the door and goes to the dance

She is told all night she is breathtaking but every com-pliment she receives falls into the black hole that she

calls her memory and every insult sticks to her skin like glue.

She sees the pretty girls all around and wants to be just like them, perfect hair, perfect nails, and perfect make

up, perfect everything

She goes home on throws the new dress to the ground and her make up comes off in the form of tears

She hears her friends complain about how they look and she wants to grab them by the shoulders and

scream “You are beautiful!” over and over until they lis-ten

But she will never listen when they say the same to her

She thinks that she will never be beautiful

She looks in the mirror and thinks of all the things people thinks she is

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Her teachers think she’s smart

Her friends thinks she’s sweet

Her ex thinks she’s crazy

And the little boy across the street thinks she is a prin-cess

She tries so hard to be the best she can be but always seems to fall short

She looks and all she sees are her imperfections and ev-erything that makes her less than beautiful

She crawls into bed and thinks of the girl in the mirror

She wishes that she could look like someone else, be someone else.

She will always just be the girl she sees in the mirror

She is everything she wishes she wasn’t and nothing that they think she is.

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Poem and Drawing by Sam Burke, Grade 10

The day I shrunk down to half an inch,I saw what light bulbs really are. They aren’t what you think, wires and conductors, you see there are little fair-ies in there. They glow, and there are engineers that have specifically made comfy homes for them, and when they dance around and play, it doesn’t look like there is any-thing moving in there to hear them making a ruckus. The electricity that supposedly powers the light bulbs are actually treats, sweet and yummy food that make the little beings excited. That way, they’ll keep playing and glowing. After the treats stop coming for the day, they will go to sleep and get ready for the next day of fun. The fairies can get lonely, so there are two or three or many more (depending on the size of the bulb) in each bulb because they are friendly, and playing alone is never fun. Fairies are all very talented, and their dif-ferent colors show their different talents. The blue lights love art, like drawing and painting and theatre. The red like sports and are mostly found in the longer bulbs so they can run around. The white love playing games with each other, like tag or hide and seek. And the green like music, so in there they will sing and play music on the little instruments. All of them, despite their color, love to dance though. One of their favorite games is to play “impersonate the humans”. If there are any around

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they’ll watch below and see who can act most like one, and they’ll reenact the scenes they see. Little buggers they are. In case anyone tries to catch them though, they’ll vanish and go somewhere safe. Same with when the hatch for their treats stops opening, they’ll get bored and go to this place. Where’s that you ask? Nobody knows besides them, and they won’t tell. But they did say it’s where they’re able to play and snack and be hap-py all of the time. Which doesn’t really apply to them, because all they care about are the games and each oth-er. And nothing makes them happier than glowing. by Kerry Fliedner, Grade 12

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Thoughts On Water

The next five poems were all written by Maya Harris, Grade 9

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WaterWater is something that comes in great uses,it is used to be drank, or made into lemonade.You can use it to wash, clean and to drink.This can all be produced from your own kitchen sink!

Not only useful, but dangerous too,you would not believe, all that water could do.It sprays and it smashes in the big blue sea,and can sometimes destroy things bigger than you and me.

Now water is great, don’t get me wrong,but you have to be careful in all your day’s long.Water is helpful, dangerous and cool,but for now don’t go deeper than your community pool.

Photo by Brynn Svenningsen, Grade 10

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WaterfallRushing, flowing, breathing water.Will you take me there?People, families, tourists watching.All the way down there.

Photo by Isabel Rowland, Grade 10

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The WatersI see the waters, clear and blue, Shining as beautiful as new.The soft sand beneath my feet,As the slow tide and I meet.Out swimming in the clear waters,It makes me feel so much smaller.It looks as if it will never end,with the waves, always I am sent.

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The OceanThe waves crash along the lineThe land and water in align.Strength and power are in the tide.The surfers inside must abide.

This photo and the next by teacher John Kron

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As I Look Upon the OceanI stand upon the beacheslooking over the oceanthe breeze reaches the waves rolling with motion.

I look upon the setting sky;The ocean’s colors are anew.The blue shades fly by As orange hints in a flew

As I look upon now, the moon reflects itself upon the waterit’s silvery shine seems to boy,pure to a great degree.

The wind’s voices singAnd the moon’s mirrors shineAs the bells of the ocean ring,the glistening water so fine.

The crickets chirp,Nearby the sand,as the valiant rocks usurpthe land.

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Looking for you through every hole,When he spots you, his eyes pierce your soulHurry! Run while you can!For the silent stalker isn’t an ordinary man!

You know if it’s him when late at night,The beds bugs refuse to bite,You know he’s there when the cat loses her purr,and the dead begin to stir.

He’ll track you for many days,He’ll follow you through alleyways,Hurry! Run while you can!For the silent stalker isn’t an ordinary man!

Beware the darkness of the night,Always keep on a light,For he hides under the moon, Hope you won’t see him anytime soon.

Now, you must see,He won’t ever let you be.Hurry! Run while you can!For the silent stalker isn’t an ordinary man.

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Pencil Drawing by Daniela Leon Guillen, Grade 11

I Saw it All by Linnaea Eger, Grade 12

From the beginning I saw it all. It was early February in New York City. It was so cold that snow didn’t even fall. The windows were fog-gy from the heat on the inside and the extreme cold on the outside. I sat watching cars pass by. Taxi, taxi, limo, taxi, this was boring. I stretched to get up and The Doctor hurried in. His brown hair was wild and his white coat streamed be-hind him as he raced past. I said hi quietly, but he was so excited he didn’t hear me. He rushed into the kitchen to grab an egg carton and ran back down to the basement. I hurried after him, hoping to see what the excitement was about. When I reached the basement I saw 10 eggs. Now, these weren’t chicken eggs, they were about the size of a soft ball. He did it!! The di-nosaur eggs! The Doctor was an expert on Eu-

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dromaeosauria dinosaurs. This family included velociraptors and deinonychus. The Doctor had spent his whole life searching for more clues about this family. Now he had created them! It had been a long process of extracting the DNA and injecting it into a host cell that accepted it. He had finally completed it. The eggs sat in their cartons under a warm red light for weeks. In April The Doctor was still excited but his happiness had started to fade. He’d finally created the eggs, but now they all seemed to have died. He left them under the light for a few more months, but by May, The Doctor had given up hope. One day after dump-ing the remnants of the experiment in the gar-bage, eggs and all, The Doctor left the house. His hopes for this experiment had been crushed and he thought his life’s research was a waste. The house was quiet and I decided to take a nap. Later in the day The Doctor staggered in drunk. I tried to help him to his room, but he was fall-

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ing everywhere. We got to the couch and he col-lapsed into a deep sleep. I was sitting by the window again, just relax-ing, when there was a sound from the kitchen. I looked into the kitchen, but didn’t see anything. As I was walking back to the window I heard it again. I looked back at the kitchen and decided, whatever was making that sound, I didn’t want to mess with. Hours passed and the noises con-tinued. As time passed they changed a little. The noises started off as though a bird was pecking on something but then they changed to more rustling. Finally when there were little peeps and rustling I decided I probably should check it out. As I slowly walked into the kitchen I saw the trashcan shift a bit. Startled, I jumped back. What in the world?! I thought. Inching closer to the trashcan, I pushed it over, hoping whatev-er was in it would run away. Run away they did. Ten little feathered dinosaurs burst out of the trashcan. I jumped away so they wouldn’t touch

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me, but tried not to make any sound so The Doctor would not wake up. They were alive?! How? What? Wow! The Doctor be so excited! I tried to tell The Doctor what had happened, but in his state of depression he pushed me away. He was always drinking or sleeping. The dino-saurs hid when he was around since he was so loud. I saw them all the time, but never once did The Doctor catch a glimpse of them. The dinosaurs grew slowly over time, but then when they started to become normal prob-lems arose again. One day in mid July the heat and humidity was so intense that The Doctor opened up some of the doors to try to cool the house off. I was lazing on the couch by the back door, trying to cool off when I saw a few of the dinosaurs scuttled outside. I leapt up trying to chase them down, but they were very speedy. I couldn’t catch them but as I looked over to the side yard I saw the rest of them escape. They were gone, they’d probably be dead in a few days

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because the hazards of the city. I sulked into the house, feeling as grumpy as The Doctor. As weeks passed strange reports on the news of bird lizards causing problems appeared, but I just passed them off as the usual UFO or Sas-quatch sightings. People these days only want-ed attention and they always seemed to make stories up. It was silly, until one day an emer-gency warning flashed on the news. Huge di-nosaur-like creatures had appeared in Central Park, and were creating a wake of destruction. The Doctor and I sat intently watching this re-port. “No way” he said. “Are those... No, they can’t be! Those are mine! How?!” His excitement grew and he ran to the car. I hopped in, excited to see his creations. As we drove to Central Park, The Doctor was talking so fast. “I can’t believe it actually worked!! I wonder how they got so big so fast! I bet it’s all the tox-ins in the air. Their cells just soaked the toxins

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up and they grew rapidly. I know it’s that! I am so excited to see them and study them!” In Central Park blockades were set up ev-erywhere and policemen were hurrying peo-ple away from the park. I stayed in the car but watched The Doctor walk up to a policeman excitedly and explain the dinosaur problem. Ini-tially the policeman laughed, and then, when he realized The Doctor was not kidding, he grew a little angry. The policeman said some-thing along the lines of the dinosaurs being out of control and The Doctor needing to fix that problem. The Doctor shook his head, respond-ing that he did not know how to control them. The policeman threw his hands up and ordered The Doctor back to the car. The Doctor brooded the entire ride home, but his spirits weren’t too crushed since his creations had survived. Hours passed and we watched the updates on the dinosaur emergency. Calls arrived from the police station, FBI, other scientists and the

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press. The other scientists were very excited and wanted to know more. The government agen-cies were not pleased at all. These beasts could not be restrained with any human technology. Their skin was was impenetrable to bullets and tasers, and they moved too quickly and jumped too high to trap. The Doctor was torn; he had to choose between his modern day city and his life creations. After hours of relentless phone calls The Doctor chose to create a formula to stop the dinosaurs. I sat at the top of the stairs and watched the doctor mix elements together, hop-ing to make a solution that would stop the dino-saurs. After many tries and near explosions in the house, The Doctor created a formula that turned living flesh into stone. It was WCl5 , tungsten and chloride. Tungsten was a very fitting ele-ment to use since its base word means heavy stone in Swedish. Once The Doctor finished the formula he called all the agencies back, explain-

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ing that he had found a way to stop the dino-saurs. In the day and a half since the dinosaurs had become a city-wide catastrophe, twelve peo-ple had died and fifty-seven people had been injured. The city was terrified of the 7 ft tall, feathered beasts. The Doctor had to stop the di-nosaurs before they hurt anyone else. The only way to stop them was to use the compound. The Doctor was still disappointed about not being able to study his creations, however it was the best for the people. Ten packages of the WCl5 compound were successfully made, one for each dinosaur. The Doctor gave the packages to the FBI. Ten teams were sent out, each with the mis-sion to spray the dinosaurs with the compound. The process of tracking each dinosaur down was tedious. They escaped so easily. The packages of WCl5 were compressed to high pressures and dropped around the dinosaurs to create a tear gas effect. Instead of burning the eyes of the di-

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nosaurs it turned them to stone. One by one the tungsten reacted with the flesh of each of the dinosaurs, stopping their destruction for good. These stone relics reminded New York City and the world every day that the past is the past for a reason.

We sat watching the news reports of the past thirty six hours. “You know Nickel? I learned a lot from this incident. We learn from the past through history books and digging it up. Not from recreating it.” He patted my head. I flicked my tail and purred in response. I saw it all.

Photo by Kathy Le, Grade 10

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Ode to a Cheerleaderby Ally Kennedy, Grade 12

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How do you dare say,That cheerleading isn’t a sport,?That cheerleaders aren't athletes?We practice,We train,We work,We perform,We perfect,We compete,We win,Do you have what it takes?To yell so loud,The next day you are not heard?To practice a single thing,A million times,Until you get it perfect?To memorize a thousand tiny details,For 2 minutes and 30 seconds of fame?To never forget to smile,Breath,Focus,Use facials,And point your toes,All at once?To remember 58 different cheers,To show off a team that never wins?Catapulting a girl in the air,Her life in your arms,Muscles screaming in agony,But you ignore the protests and catch her anyway.Sacrificing yourself,For your family of 30 girls,On one mat,With one chance to hit it.

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Here Comes the SunBy Molly Rosales. Grade 9Waking up represents pulling through,Pulling through to see the sun again.But sometimes the sun doesn't shine.Sometimes we're greeted by clouds, rain, or snow.Sometimes we're greeted by arguing, tears or screaming.Sometimes we don't want to wake up.Some nights it’s impossible to wake up.Some nights last just under eternity.Almost as if someone wrapped us in a cold, dark, sheet of regret and pain.We try to fight it off.However;We may falter.The aura proves to be impossible to break free of.Sometimes we try to reach out.We beg for help.But our cries only merge into the whimsical silent melody that sur-rounds the muted.We fall, amongst the pure feeling of hurt.Engulfed in misery.And only then, do we believe.That it's time.It's time to give up.It's time to fall, and wait for the flashing lights to retrieve us.For the tears to start to weep.For our bodies to be swept away amongst the grief.

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But then a miracle occurs.A star begins to rise in the distant horizon.

It warms the cold thoughts of before.The sun arrives.

Dawn.A new day.

We pulled through.

Photo by Isabel Rowland

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Haikuby Teacher John Kron, written in 1968

Upon what riverin what faraway countrywill my boat capsize?

photo by teacher James Gordon