Mar 14, 2016
Technology 01 Diversity 01 Is The Constitution Rel-evant? 02 Modern Advancement 02
Restaurant Review: 131 Main 03
Arcade Fire‘s ―Reflektor‖ 04 The Bell Jar: 50th Anni-versary 05-06 Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them 06
NASCAR Nation 07
A Detachment of Society From Death: An Explica-tion of Robert Frost‘s Po-em ―Out, Out‖ 08 Darkened Hope 09 Miserable at Best 10-13 Untitled 14 Distance 14 Night 14 Stagnant 14 Who Do I Want to Be? 14 Just a Dream 14
If someone were to tell me that
I could only use one word to describe
the process I‘ve undergone in produc-
ing this newspaper, I would choose
―arduous.‖ For those of you that
might not know, the word is defined
by Oxford Dictionary as ―involving or
requiring strenuous effort; difficult
and tiring.‖
When I chose to become the
editor and graphic designer of the
school newspaper for my senior pro-
ject, I never anticipated the difficulty I
might face in doing so. Encouraging
fellow, former, and non–students to
submit pieces to me has made me
appreciative of those who are sympa-
thetic enough to spend their precious
time producing pieces for the sake of
others; I will, most likely, clasp my
hands in praise of your generosity for
the rest of my days.
If anything, choosing this as
my project has reinforced my inde-
pendent nature; I don‘t like having to
rely on the contributions of others to
do what needs to be done. I have a
profound, and newfound, respect for
the editors of publications much larg-
er than my own. I have a hard time
imagining the difficulty you must face
in producing a bigger piece than mine
in less than two months; sometimes,
even twice a week.
I have been required to cut
sections from the paper, and to cut
issues altogether. I had originally in-
tended to publish not only a Novem-
ber paper, but an October one as well.
As you can obviously see, the October
paper was thrown on the cutting-
room floor in the hopes that more
submissions might find their way to
me come Thanksgiving.
In a sense, I was correct; I
have eighteen times the submissions
that I had at this time last month.
However, much more valuable to me
is the lesson that I‘ve learned from
the lack of enthusiasm given to my
newspaper by the majority of those
around me; I now know how to think
on my feet and how to improvise
when my plans do not play out ac-
cordingly. This publication has be-
come less of a newspaper and more of
a literary magazine. I‘ve learned, even
more so, how to fend for myself when
given little else to count on.
I‘ve often said that, given the
opportunity, I would go back and
choose a different project that did re-
quire me to be as reliant on the kind-
ness of my peers, but when I take the
time to really consider this, I know
that I would not change a thing about
my project thus far.
Knowledge, in my opinion, is
not about the experiences we have,
but the lessons we learn from them.
We often do not have the ability to
change our circumstances, but we do
have the potential to take a piece of
wisdom from them and grow as peo-
ple.
I am quite aware that there
are a few risqué pieces being pub-
lished in this paper. I ask you, as
readers, to keep an open mind to the
things you are about to take in and
attempt to do just as I have; try to
bring away as much as possible from
the items included after the break.
Without further ado, I present to you
the Rosman Roar.
01
I have many reasons to be
optimistic about our nation‘s fu-
ture, but there is one that stands
above the rest. I have high hopes
in our advancement in technolo-
gy. Technology today has made a
significant improvement over the
past decade, and it continues to
advance greatly every day. To-
day, we have made great innova-
tions in technology, ranging from
video games to prosthetic limbs
that move with our thoughts.
Video games are the best exam-
ple of our advancement because
we have managed to make them
look relatively real. Video games
have also helped with our ad-
vancement in other areas as
well; these areas include our own
military power, which uses the
controller developed by Microsoft
to run some of the unmanned
machines used by our brave
troops. This has not only saved
lives, but has been able to train
people to work them with no
problem because it is almost the
exact same control scheme as
some video games.
With our advancement of
some technology, we have man-
aged to find out new ways to
fight the diseases that curse the
human body. Diseases like can-
cer and other life threatening ill-
nesses have been around for ag-
es; now, with the help of some of
the most advanced technology to
date, we can almost rid the hu-
man body of it, but sometimes,
only to a certain extend. That
certain extent can give someone
a few more years of life with their
family, but other times, nothing
can be done. The most spectacu-
lar find in recent years was the
discovery of penicillin, which can
cure a variety of diseases but is
most commonly used to cure
strep throat.
With these things in our
arsenal, there is nothing we can‘t
do. Without people to discover
these newfound technologies, we
will be left in the dust by every
other nation and be eventually
annihilated by someone else with
more advanced weapons and
technology. So, my hat goes off
to the people who help change
the world every day in what they
do to further our advancement of
all technology.
I recall once talking about
black and white people in school,
how the class was divided. That
was then; people think that the
class is no longer divided, but
that is way off base. We are still
divided: the populars, the ston-
ers, the band geeks, the rejects,
the geniuses, the ball players.
Some may overlap, such as the
populars and the ball players,
but the populars and the rejects
would not even be on the same
planet if it weren‘t for school.
Everyone knows who is in what
group; we know who runs the
school and who calls the shots. I
find it funny that those who
don‘t really have anything im-
portant to say never seem to
keep their mouths shut. Those
who have everything to say never
say anything. Even though si-
lence does end up being the un-
derdog‘s friend, I think that,
when they do say something,
people tend to shut up and lis-
ten. They‘re not like those who
just talk to fill the empty space.
02
In 1789, the United States rat-
ified the U.S. Constitution. Even in
today‘s society, the United States
stands by this ancient document.
The Constitution is made up
of twenty seven amendments that are
called the Bill of Rights. This gives
U.S. citizens certain rights; these
rights include freedom of speech,
press, religion, and many more. The
Constitution also gives African Ameri-
cans, women, and other immigrants
their equal rights. Along with rights,
the Constitution grants the govern-
ment control over foreign affairs, pro-
vides for the national defense, and
regulates trade. Whether we realize it
or not, the Constitution plays a role
in everyday life. State and Federal
laws cannot infringe upon our rights.
It also gives Congress the right to de-
clare war. However, the question at
hand is whether or not a document
written in 1789 is still relevant in to-
day‘s society. With all these examples
listed, it would be hard to believe oth-
erwise. Even if we did draft another
Constitution, it would most likely be
completely different. Our country was
built on the Constitution, and we took
pride in what our government did a
long time ago. Too much work was
put into it for us to disregard it. If
someone does not agree with the Con-
stitution, they have a right to give up
their citizenship. We are the land of
opportunity; our Constitution outlines
this. Immigrants needed toe scape
from harsh persecution, so we moved
to North America. We built a govern-
ment that would not deny us rights
that we needed. If I am not mistaken,
we still need those rights. We are a
Democracy. Even though we are be-
coming a more advanced society, we
would not be where we are today if no
one had met to establish a Constitu-
tion. If our Founding Fathers could
see us today, I imagine they would be
incredibly ashamed of the people.
This country is our Founding Fa-
thers‘, we are just looking after what
they worked so hard to make. We
need to preserve and respect the Con-
stitution, not change it to suit a
handful of people. No matter how
much a society advances, there will
always be a need for individual rights.
The Constitution was, and still re-
mains the cornerstone of American
society.
I feel optimistic about my nation‘s
future because I think we are the greatest
nation in the world. Our country is full of
leaders in the fields of finance, military,
and technology, just to name a few. Being
a citizen of the United States gives a per-
son many opportunities that are not avail-
able to other people in this world.
Our government continually
makes attempts to care for the people of
this great nation. Protecting the people of
the United States is, and always will be, a
top priority. If the government feels a ma-
jor threat, then they will send the military
to help and protect the people.
The military has advanced greatly
over time. The technological advances in
the military have grown. One such way is
with the weaponry. In the past, the mili-
tary did not have computers to help them
on the battlefield. Now, a soldier can
watch different locations all over the world
and even ―fight‖ with weaponry using vari-
ous methods without having to even leave
the safety of his or her desk. Years ago, we
did not have the chance to send in electri-
cal devices to help determine the safety of
our troops; we now have that capability.
Having grown by leaps and bounds, I am
sure that the technological advances with-
in the military will grow and advance.
The future of medicine is advanc-
ing every day. Research and development
of new treatments and procedures on how
to deal with infectious diseases, all the
way down to the common cold, have ena-
bled the people within our government to
provide treatment in our nation that sur-
passes any medical treatment available in
other countries. The medicine has ad-
vanced and so has the technology within
the field; many machines and other medi-
cal equipment have improved and contin-
ue to improve every day.
I am optimistic about our nation‘s
future because of all of the advances avail-
able to our people.
03
Location: 308 Thetford
Street, Asheville, NC
Reservations: Reservations
available, relatively essential
on Friday nights
Price: Lunch, Dinner, and
Gluten-free menu available.
Dinner entrees $16-$30
Hours: Sun-Thursday 11:30
AM—9:30 PM, Friday-
Saturday 11:30 AM-10:30 PM
Parking: Nearby parking gar-
age and parking spots (if
available) nearby throughout
Biltmore Park
Cuisine: Contemporary varia-
tions on classic Southern and
Cajun cuisine
Located in beautiful
Biltmore Park, the city within
a city, 131 Main is relatively
new to our area, but is a
growing name across North
Carolina, with three other lo-
cations. 131 Main falls some-
where between the categories
of Southern and Cajun cui-
sine, with a few interesting
options with non-American
influences.
The setting of the res-
taurant is beautiful, even be-
fore you walk in. As you walk
along the sidewalk before en-
try, you can plainly see inside
of the kitchen, and watch
chefs prepare various ingredi-
ents for meals to come. Upon
entry, you are welcomed with
a hearty ―Welcome to 131
Main!‖ After your senses be-
come accustomed to the at-
mosphere, you begin to take
in the sight of the beautiful,
sleek, cozy dining area, with
views of an open kitchen,
which, as a person that is
largely intrigued with the culi-
nary arts, I find to be an inter-
esting and welcoming experi-
ence. Quickly after, your nose
and ears should be tingling
with excitement; Frank Sina-
tra in the background joined
with the incredible smells
wafting towards you from the
kitchen makes the atmos-
phere a desirable and welcom-
ing experience.
Menus are seasonal,
with some items being year
round. On my most recent
visit, I ordered the shrimp and
grits; as a southerner, I took a
risk...grits are an incredibly
difficult starch to properly
prepare properly, and this
time, I was not disappointed.
The mountain of grits had
mild hints of white cheddar
cheese, and were rather tasty
for something as bland as
grits normally are. The real
hero of this dish was the
sauce, however, which was an
intensely flavored roux with
pieces of ham and shrimp
throughout; that made this
particular dish one of the
most flavorful, yet simple,
dishes I have ever tasted in a
chain restaurant setting.
Overall: The atmosphere
alone makes the restaurant
worth trying at least once. The
food is absolutely wonderful.
Service was good, but almost
to the point of being overbear-
ing; that is my only real com-
plaint with 131 Main.
http://www.ashevillecabins.com/
blog/wp-content/
uploads/2013/05/131Main.jpg
04
Reflektor, the highly antici-
pated album by indie-rock dar-
lings turned stadium anthem pro-
ducers Arcade Fire, was released
on October 28th, 2013, just less
than one month ago. Never ones
to underestimate the power of out-
landish, attention-grabbing mar-
keting, the Canadian band,
formed in 2001, created a sense of
mystery to surround their fourth
album, releasing its first single
under the faux title, The Re-
flektors, scrawling Haitian in-
spired graffiti on buildings across
the country and, following their
fourth musical appearance on Sat-
urday Night Live, airing a bizarre
thirty-minute special (entitled
―Here Comes the Night Time‖) ded-
icated to showcasing their new
material.
Over the years, the mem-
bers of Arcade Fire (which include
married couple Win Butler and
Régine Chassagne, have made
themselves no strangers to con-
sistently refreshing their musical
style; from their first album, Fu-
neral, they have delved further in-
to the delicate topics of death, war
-plagued homelands, the complex-
ities of religious culture, and the
urbanization of our country. The
band, for the most part, stuck to
the baroque pop genre for the ma-
jority of the songs included on Fu-
neral and the albums following
(Neon Bible and The Suburbs, re-
spectively), citing Elvis Presley as
one of their heaviest influences.
On their latest release, they
verge closer to the disco-infused
realm of David Bowie, who pro-
vides guest vocals on the album‘s
title track. Butler has also stated
that the 1959 Brazilian film Black
Orpheus largely inspired the work,
although this should be obvious to
fans, due to the fact that two
tracks, ―Awful Sound (Oh Eurydi-
ce)‖ and ―It‘s Never Over (Hey Or-
pheus)‖, share names with the
film‘s main characters and the
Greek legends the film is based
upon. Reflektor is also largely in-
spired by an essay entitled ―The
Present Age‖, written by Søren
Kierkegaard, which states: ―The
present age is one of understand-
ing, of reflection, devoid of pas-
sion, an age which flies into en-
thusiasm for a moment only to
decline back into indolence.‖
The first, and titular, track
―Reflektor,‖ covers the disconnect
from reality experienced by many
of today‘s adolescents, usually
caused by an overload of technolo-
gy. At one point, butler and Chas-
sagne harmonize, bearing the
question ―We‘re still connected,
but are we even friends?‖ Stretch-
ing to almost eight minutes in
length, the track, although catchy
and relevant to our modern socie-
ty, tends to become somewhat re-
petitive. The song that follows,
―We Exist,‖ might be a cry from
the unnoticed underdog, begging
for attention and requesting that
their voice be heard. ―Flashbulb
Eyes,‖ a personal favorite, possibly
refers to the overexposure that we
have become accustomed to in our
modern media, asking ―What did
the camera really do to your
soul?‖
In ―Here Comes the Night
Time,‖ the band praises the al-
most religious freedom that music
can bring to a listener. ―Normal
Person‖ speaks of the efforts most
people go through to conform to
societal standards. ―Afterlife,‖ a
song whose music video includes
clips from the previously men-
tioned film Black Orpheus, is ar-
guably the album‘s most Haitian-
influenced track, bringing a festive
feeling that makes one think of
Carnival.
While this is certainly not
my favorite Arcade Fire album, I
can see its merits and appreciate
the route the band has decided to
take. It takes real courage for
such a huge (both literally and fig-
uratively) group to change their
direction so quickly and vastly. I
think that the piece will grow on
me with time, as many things do.
05
This year marks the fiftieth
anniversary of the publication of
Sylvia Plath‘s semi-
autobiographical, and only, novel,
The Bell Jar; it also marks the an-
niversary of her following, now in-
famous, suicide. Plath, though
known mostly for her ground-
breaking dark poetry, received
high acclaim for her account of Es-
ther Greenwood, an intellectual
prodigy who, following a scholar-
ship-funded summer in New York
City (spent interning at a promi-
nent, unnamed fashion magazine),
experiences a lengthy battle with
depression, resulting in her even-
tual institutionalization.
It is arguable that the novel
would not have received the same
amount of fame had Plath not suf-
fered a tragic, self-inflicted death
roughly a month after its publica-
tion; the poet thrust her head into
her apartment‘s gas oven, the
kitchen off by placing wet towels in
the gaps beneath the doors. Her
official cause of death was carbon
monoxide poisoning, a direct re-
sult of the fumes emitted.
Plath had two children,
Frieda and Nicholas, with poet Ted
Hughes; the couple had a tumul-
tuous relationship that ended in
separation upon the discovery that
Hughes was partaking in an adul-
terous affair with Assia Wells, a
married woman renting a flat from
Plath and Hughes. Many feel that
Plath‘s final desperate attempt to
end her life was sparked by her
inability to provide her children
with a sustainable home life; as a
single mother in the early winter of
‗63, she lived in an apartment
without a telephone, and with no
heating.
Her last suicide attempt
was not her first, though. Plath
suffered from depression for the
better part of her life. The first
documented attempted occurred
during the summer of 1953, ten
years before the publication of The
Bell Jar, whose plot was largely
inspired by these events. Plath
purposely overdosed on sleeping
pills before slinking into her family
home‘s crawl space, where she
was left unfound for three days.
At the time of its publica-
tion, The Bell Jar was almost un-
precedented in its extremely accu-
rate portrayal of mental illness, a
subject considered taboo by most.
Plath played a significant hand in
humanizing supposed madness,
and in letting readers across the
country see that those in positions
similar to hers were not ―crazy.‖
Plath represented a large demo-
graphic of women who, at the
time, were not being taken seri-
ously by the society in which they
lived. Esther‘s mother encourages
her to learn shorthand and be-
come a secretary, following in her
footsteps. However, Esther sees
greater things for her life, but can-
not bring herself to pursue them;
she lives in the constant fear that
her life will not go as planned and
that, as a result of her innate
fears, it will not really take place at
all. In one of the most well-known
selections from the book, Plath
(technically hiding behind the
name of her character, Esther)
compares her life to a fig tree; ―I
saw my life branching out before
me like the green fig tree in the
story. From the tip of every
branch, like a fat purple fig, a
wonderful future beckoned and
winked. One fig was a husband
and a happy home and children,
and another fig was a famous poet
and another fig was a brilliant pro-
fessor, and another fig was Con-
stantin, and Socrates and Attila
and a pack of other lovers with
queer names and offbeat profes-
sions, and another fig was an
Olympic lady crew champion, and
beyond above these figs were many
figs I couldn‘t quite make out, but
choosing one meant losing all the
rest, and, as I sat there, unable to
decide, the figs began to wrinkle
and go black, and, one by one,
they plopped to the ground at my
feet.‖
Plath‘s novel was published
under the pseudonym Victoria Lu-
cas to avoid raising conflict with
the author‘s mother and with the
friends, enemies and
06
and acquaintances characterized
in the novel. She feared that her
relationships would suffer if she
was revealed to be the author of
the work. Three years passed af-
ter its original publication and
Plath‘s death before the novel was
published in London under her
true name; it was not published
in her home country, America,
until 1971.
Nowadays, many look at
Plath as a martyr of sorts, a ro-
mantic but tragic heroine who
crumbled under the overwhelm-
ing pressures of society while at-
tempting to cope with a debilitat-
ing mental illness. Her life is
widely regarded as a fever dream
of sorts, with many skimming
over the horrific details of her
psyche, focusing only on the
beautiful works her sad state
helped to produce. However, even
five decades later, in a completely
different century, Plath‘s only
novel remains a coming-of-age
must-read, a piece of art that
sends readers on a downward
spiral of their own as they are
brought underneath Plath‘s suffo-
cating Bell Jar mentioned in the
title.
The problems presented in
The Bell Jar remain relevant to-
day; the exploration of sexuality,
the pursuit of a future career, the
feeling of hopelessness that
makes itself known when facing
an uncertain destiny, experienc-
ing a disconnect between a wilt-
ing mind and the body it is en-
trapped inside of.
There is good news for
Harry Potter fans; a new movie is
soon to be under way. Although it
will not be a prequel or sequel to
the Harry Potter movie franchise,
it will be set in the same universe
as the ever-popular boy with the
lightning scar. The movie, titled
―Fantastic Beasts and Where to
Find Them,‖ will be based on the
text-book that Potter used in his
studies at Hogwarts. It has been
released that Newt Scamander,
author of said book, will be our
hero in this movie as we follow
his travels and studies. It will be
set seventy years before any of
our previous characters are born,
centered mostly in New York City.
J.K. Rowling has said that
Warner Brothers approached her
with the suggestion of another
movie. Rowling could not bear to
leave her perfectly crafted world
in the hands of another author,
so she went on to pitch her own
idea for this film. ―Although it will
be set in the worldwide communi-
ty of witches and wizards where I
was so happy for seventeen
years,‖ she says, ―Fantastic
Beasts and Where to Find Them
is neither a prequel nor a sequel
to the Harry Potter series, but an
extension of the wizarding world.‖
With the Harry Potter franchise
being the highest grossing fran-
chise in movie history, it is clear
that fans will be eagerly awaiting
this movie.
http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131020080310/
harrypotter/images/5/5c/Rowling_Teleread.jpg
07
NASCAR is one of the most
popular sports in America. With a
loyal fanbase of over 75 million
people, NASCAR is one of the most
watched sports, not unlike football
or basketball. It is even said that,
with this big of a fan base, 1 in
every 3 adults in the United States
is a NASCAR fan. This is a stagger-
ing number that continues to grow
each day. NASCAR grew in the
roots of the South and, since then,
has spread to all regions of the
world. Its door-banging, paint-
scraping, car-crashing action is
what draws in fans to watch it to-
day. It is not just left-hand turns
over and over again, (for your in-
formation, there are tracks where
there are right-hand turns), it is
strategy, skill, and aerodynamics
at their best. It takes all of these
and more to even have a chance to
win a race, much less a champion-
ship.
Many don‘t understand how
NASCAR even works. However, the
NASCAR points system and the
race layout are very simple. There
are 36 races in each season. The
person that has the most points at
the end of the season wins the
championship. Every position on
the track is worth one point. So, if
there are 43 drivers running in
every race, the winner of the race
gets 43 points, second gets 42
points, all the way down to 1 point
for forty-third position. Then, there
are what are called bonus points. If
a driver leads a lap on the track,
he gets one extra bonus point. If a
driver leads the most laps he gets
one more point. Now, when a driv-
er wins the race, he also gets three
bonus points for winning the race.
So, the maximum number of
points a driver can get in a race is
48 points. During the NASCAR
season, there is a playoff known as
the Chase. The Chase layout is a
little more complicated. To get in
the chase, a driver can be in the
top ten in points. However, there is
another way to get into the Case
through what people call the Wild
Card spots. If a driver is in the top
20 in points, but not in the top 10
(positions 11-20), they are eligible
for one of the two Wild Card posi-
tions. The two people in positions
11-20 with the most wins get the
spots. If some of the Wild Card
drivers are tied in wins, the point
totals for each driver will be added
up to see which two drivers have
the most points to get the spots.
When the drivers are set in the
Case, the point totals for all 12
drivers are reset to 2,000 points.
Then, the top 10 drivers get bonus
points for wins they received in the
regular season. Each win is worth
3 bonus points in the regular sea-
son. However, the two Wild Card
positions (11th and 12th) do not
get any bonus points for having
wins. Winning the championship,
however, is not as easy as it
sounds. To win, a driver has to be
confident, consistent with their fin-
ishes, and most of all, win races.
Oh, and they also have eleven driv-
ers breathing down their necks
who would do anything to win the
championship.
I love to watch football and
basketball any day of the week;
you‘d better believe I pull for Clem-
son Tiger football and UNC basket-
ball, but when it comes to Sun-
days, I have to watch my NASCAR.
Personally, I pull for Dale Earn-
hardt, Jr., but there are 42 other
drivers on a weekly basis to pull
for. Lots of people just write NAS-
CAR off as a boring sport, like golf,
soccer, or lacrosse. However, I
want to challenge you. Next time
you are flipping through the chan-
nels and a NASCAR race pops up,
give it a chance; maybe you will
become part of the family of NAS-
CAR that includes myself and so
many others.
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/
d6/NASCAR_practice.jpg
08
The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell him ‗Supper.‘ At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws know what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy‘s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy‘s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man‘s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all was spoiled. ‗Don‘t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don‘t let him, sister!‘
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then– watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened to his heart.
Little—less—nothing! - and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their af-fairs.
All, but the last two lines of Robert Frost‘s poem, ―Out, Out,‖ is focused around a young boy who works with a buzz-saw in order to earn wages and provide wood for
his family‘s woodstove. The poem uses a great deal of personification, exclusively for the buzz-saw. All of the words the writer uses to describe the buzz-saw and its ac-tions are negative and spiteful; verbs such as ―snarled and rattled‖ are similarly used to characterize a beastly imp, looking for victims to suffer its wrath of ill-will. This dangerous, evil thing is paired up with an innocent, young boy. Frost does write ―he was old enough to know‖ in his poem, giv-ing us a better idea of this boy‘s age; upper teens, old enough to fight in a war, proba-bly. There are two main points I see in Frost‘s poem: (1) hard-working labor, suited for adults, shouldn‘t include young boys who haven‘t fully matured yet and (2) peo-ple ignore death and become indifferent in order to cope with it; they treat death with-out tears or rage.
Analyzing the first 5 lines of the poem, we are introduced to the cold-hearted, belligerent buzz-saw. Line 1 states: ―The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard,‖ which gives us a chaotic intro-duction by personifying the tool. The next 2 lines remind us what this instrument is made for: ―And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood/Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.‖ This second line gives us the reality check; it‘s not living; it‘s a machine used to cut wood to size, which is used as fuel for heating the home and preparing food. The third line, in a way, seems to compliment the buzz-saw by stating that there is ―sweet-scented stuff‖ from its product, but nature‘s ―breeze‖ is required to notice the pleasant smell. And from there, it goes into a description of dis-tant scenery and location with lines 5 and 6: ―Five mountain ranges one behind the other/Under the sunset far into Vermont.‖ This gives us a clue of how late in the day it is and how the young boy must be exhaust-ed. From there, it continues with lines 7-12:
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
These lines indicate that the boy was over-worked and his family had poor work ethics by making him labor so extensively. We no-tice again the personifying actions of ―snarled and rattled.‖ Also, line 9: ―And nothing happened: day was all but done,‖ is a mysterious line to me. It could serve as a form of foreshadowing, for there is more to come. It can also support the suddenness of death.
As we proceed into the poem from this point, the poem takes an abrupt turn and has the boy‘s life come to its last event before ending. The sister of the boy tells ―them‖ that it‘s time for ―supper.‖ At the announcement of this dinner call, the saw then leaps at the boy‘s hand, severely cut-ting it. I‘m sure the sister was directing the dinner call just to her brother and not the
saw, but Frost makes it appropriate by hav-ing the saw ―leap‖ directly after the an-nouncement, at the boy‘s hand. It‘s as if the boy‘s hand was the saw‘s meal. ―The saw has to eat what is offered.‖ Frost doesn‘t blame the boy for this accident, because he is still ―a child at heart.‖ This is why he gives the machine personification, so he can‘t blame it for the tragic ending. I pitied the innocent child when he spoke out to his sister: ―Don‘t let him cut my hand off/The doctor when he comes. Don‘t let him, sis-ter!‖ The follow line, line 26, informs us that things get worse: ―so. But the hand was gone already.‖ The word ―So,‖ followed by a period, provides a short pause for further disappointment, but later aides in the idea of people continuing on with their lives from such tragic events. This ―so‖ reverberates from that point on and you notice it more after reading it a second and third time. It gives the reality of death. It‘s saying in es-sence, that ‗there it is, there you have it.‘ The boy‘s life was limited and painful in ways that he himself did not realize, and it was finally ruined by forces that neither he nor we can comprehend.
In the last two stanzas of the poem, we are given in poetic details, the boy‘s last dying breaths into his death. ―No one be-lieved. They listened at his heart./Little—less—nothing! - and that ended it.‖ His death was the result of massive blood loss and from there it ends: ―No more to build on there, and they, since they/Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.‖ Death means nothing to these people. They are preoccupied with personal affairs and can‘t give grief, for it doesn‘t solve anything. ―No more to build on there‖ means just that. After one dies, in this case, the boy‘s death, you can‘t build off of that. To cry, get angry, deeply saddened is out of the question. In the context of the time period this poem was written, WW1 was still in effect. The correla-tion between the young boy and a young soldier at battle can‘t be interfered. This idea of emotional detachment is undergone with war. The people ignore the boy‘s death just as soldiers must do on the battlefield in regard to their fellow soldiers. The young men that are enlisted die early and un-knowingly just as the boy did in this poem.
So, these two prominent themes mentioned earlier can be seen by the dis-section of the poem. The extensive labor carried out by the boy resulted in fatigue and restlessness, and those two ailments don‘t mix with a buzz-saw. This is a result of a boy doing a man‘s job. There may be a more profound meaning with nature being involved, but it is clear that Frost was put-ting to light the poor work ethics of people using young, maturing boys for labor pur-poses in that time period. The deepest meaning of the poem seems to go past that, though. The title, ―out, out‖ is referencing William Shakespeare‘s ―Macbeth,‖ and Frost‘s poem seems to modernize one of the themes from Shakespeare‘s work, in which life is meaningless and amounts to nothing. But death too, in its intrinsic nature, with darkness and absence of life, is the bitter nothing in which we cease to exist. Since that is where life leads us, nothing equals nothing, and there should not be any griev-ing when we witness it. That is the mentali-ty of the people in Frost‘s poem.
09
We take in our last
breaths of fresh mountain air and
wander back inside the empty
house. The darkness outside
made me feel so alone; I clutch
Anna‘s hand as tightly as I can.
We make our way up the spiral
staircase to my bedroom. I grab
the handwritten note off my desk
in the corner. We step into the
bathroom, where we have our in-
struments of choice laid out on
the counter. I pick up the sharp
razor and let out a deep sigh. I
look at the old mirror hanging on
the damask printed walls and see
Anna starting to cry as she holds
her razor.
I grip her smooth hand
even tighter and try to kiss the
wet tears off of her pink cheeks.
She turns to me and tries to give
me a smile, but it turns out very
small and pitiful.
Anna says, in her tiny
voice, ―Emily, you know I love you
more than anything, right?‖
―Oh, of course I do, you
know I love you even more than
that, don‘t you?‖
Her smile grows a little
bigger, and her deep blue eyes
lighten a little. She loves it when I
try to outdo her.
―Well, I‘m not so sure
about more, but yes, I know,‖ she
answers with what could only be
delight.
The sweetness of the mo-
ment seems wasted, considering
what we‘re about to do. Her frown
returns when she realizes what
I‘m thinking of. I take in a deep
breath and she nods her head.
It‘s time.
I let a single tear fall down
my face. I let go of Anna‘s hand
and look at the soft flesh of my
left wrist. Her flawless face starts
to crumble when she spots my
tear. I try and give her a brave
smile. I decide I might as well give
her a goodbye kiss, I can‘t imag-
ine going without it. I lean my
face close to hers and she closes
the distance. Our lips caress ever
so lightly. It‘s almost as if it didn‘t
even happen, but it‘s too perfect
and meaningful for it to not have
been real. Anna pulls away and I
put her light blonde hair behind
her ear. She touches my face gen-
tly and then grips her blade tight.
I realize that she‘s really ready to
do this, so I grip my razor tighter
as well.
She‘s the first to cut, and I
have to look away quickly. It
hurts too much to watch the per-
son you love hurt themselves. I
slice as deep as possible only se-
conds after witnessing her cut
into her beautiful skin. I feel as
though I might puke, but the un-
believable pains wins over sick-
ness. I see Anna cringe when she
glances in my direction. I know
this is ripping her apart just as
much as it is me, for us to have
to watch this.
So much blood is running
out of my fresh wound already. I
can tell Anna is feeling dizzy be-
cause she stumbles backwards a
bit. Even though my vision is be-
ginning to blur, I grip the razor
tighter and slice right beneath
the last cut I made at the same
time Anna does.
Somehow, mine is deeper
than the last. I can barely see her
now, I‘m‘ so light headed. Blood
is covering almost every inch of
the white marble sink. The next
thing I know, my knees hit the
cold bathroom tiles. I can faintly
hear a car pull into the driveway.
I look in Anna‘s direction and see
red all over her white summer
dress. I look down at my own
clothes and see that the floral
dress I had been wearing is also
drenched in crimson. She‘s hold-
ing her wrist and crying so softly.
I scoot closer to her and we hold
each other on the floor. The last
thing I hear is the sound of
Anna‘s sad whimpering and the
last thing I see is her closing her
eyes. I close mine as well, then
darkness.
10
Darkness sinking in,
threatening to choke me. I can‘t
feel my body. It‘s completely
numb. I attempt to open my eyes,
nothing. I‘m trapped somewhere,
a windowless room with no way
out. At first, I think I‘m paralyzed,
that a fall from that height did me
in. I curse under my breath when
I can suddenly see out of one eye.
There‘s a man, leaning
over top of me with a sorrowful
look across his face. He‘s lifted up
one of my eyelids and then shuts
it back. This gesture does some-
thing to me. I suddenly find my-
self not in complete darkness, nor
looking up at a man who found
my mangled body beneath a
twenty story building. I‘m some-
where entirely new. It‘s a plain,
half-empty room. The only things
inside are a lumpy twin bed and a
night stand with a lamp on top.
Walking across the room, I look
at the white, bare walls, wonder-
ing where I‘ve landed. I sit on the
bed and it makes an eerie creak-
ing noise. I lift the shade of the
lamp to find the bulb underneath
is broken. I whisper under my
breath, ―What is this place?‖
―Hello,‖ I hear a haggard
voice say.
Adrenaline rushes through
my veins, but there‘s no one
there. I sit back down on the bed
and see that there‘s an odd older
woman sitting next to me. She
has light gray hair, almost white.
Half of it is falling out and what
remains doesn‘t look like it will
hold on for much longer. Her skin
sags around her dark, hallow
eyes, and twisted mouth.
For a moment, we just sit
there. Mostly because I have no
idea what‘s going on and I‘m ac-
tually terrified of her. I look at her
quickly when I think she‘s staring
away. She catches me and smiles
a sickly wide smile. Her teeth are
jagged and have what looks like
blood smeared across them. I feel
bile building up in my throat. My
plan starts to sweat. I‘m about to
jump up and leave the room
when she speaks.
―Wait, my dear boy. Why
leave in such a hurry?‖ Her voice
sounds almost seductive, which
makes the bile double in amount.
―Stay with me. We can play
games, please.‖ She‘s scooting
closer as her words spill out and
fill the dim room. ―I know lots of
games, fun ones too.‖
She has removed all space
between us. I feel her hot breath
against my cheek. The smell is
rotten. My throat tightens. The
feel of her tattered, black sleeve
against my forearm gives me
goose bumps.
Fighting back the fear in
my voice, I calmly ask, ―Could
you possibly tell me where I am?‖
She seems almost amused
by my question. She shakes her
head a little before saying, ―I don‘t
think that‘s such a good idea.‖
―And why would you say
that?‖ I ask. Still trying to keep
control of myself. Still hoping the
situation doesn‘t escalate.
―Because if I did that, then
you might not want to stay with
me.‖ Her head cocks sideways
and she smiles again, showing all
of her sharp teeth. Some of them
are pointing at angles that make
them stab into her gums. I would
like to think that the blood caked
on them is her own, but some-
thing in my guts tells me other-
wise.
Before she‘s able to realize
the plans going through my head,
I sprint for the door in the corner
of the room. I grab the handle but
am stopped when I feel rough,
boney fingers grabbing at my
hair.
―You mustn‘t leave, my
lovely boy,‖ she practically spits
the words at me. She slams me
on my back so hard I feel the
breath leave my lungs immediate-
ly. Her hand runs along my torso,
up to my chest, then my throat.
11
I think she‘s going to choke me
before she moves her hand to my
jaw. Slowly tracing it, she says,
―I‘m so hungry. I haven‘t had
such a nice looking meal in quite
some time.‖
Then her mouth opens,
just a little at first, then it be-
comes wider and wider under the
corners of her mouth are snap-
ping apart and blood starts pool-
ing out. I gasp just barely and
she lunges. She has latched onto
my shoulder, and I feel her teeth
digging in as deeply as she can
get them. I scream out in pain,
hoping someone can hear me,
but knowing better than that.
I feel her detaching herself
from my shoulder and I leap at
the opportunity. I punch the side
of her head with all my strength
and she‘s knocked onto the floor
next to me. I quickly start to
crawl for the door, unable to
make myself stand. Her sickly
fingers wrap around my ankle. I
kick in every direction, hoping I
make contact with something
that will slow her down. I feel an
empty eye socket; I Hear the
crunch of her nose as I keep
kicking my foot. Finally, she lets
go and I seize the moment to
sprint for the door. I‘m about to
shut it when I see her arm com-
ing towards me. I hesitate a se-
cond too long before slamming
the door shut. I step back a little,
seeing the flailing limb on top of
the doorstep.
I close my eyes and take a
deep breath. I collapse on the
wood porch, feeling as though
movement would be the death of
me. As my breathing become
steadier, I tell myself that I need
to get up and go; that I need to
put as much distance between
me and that beast as possible.
But just as I‘m thinking about
where to go, everything goes
black.
I awake what feels like on-
ly moments later, but there‘s no
longer any light outside of the
house. My entire body feels like
it‘s on fire. My senses are height-
ened. I hear every tiny creak in
the floor boards as I stand up.
There‘s a large festering sore on
my left shoulder. I can almost
sell it. I lean my head over the
side of the porch and heave my
guts out. I keep retching, but
there‘s nothing left in my stom-
ach to come out. I start walking
down the sidewalk, hoping to put
a lot of distance between me and
that house.
I stop at a rundown gas
station a mile or so away to see if
anyone is there. I grab the door
before noticing that there‘s a
bloody handprint on the handle.
I quickly let go and start step-
ping backwards. I whisper to my-
self, ―Where am I?‖
―This, my boy, is no-
where,‖ says a deep voice behind
me.
I turn around to see a
man, not much older than my
father, standing right behind me.
He has blue jean overalls on that
look a hundred years old, with a
dirty white t-shirt underneath.
His hair is combed over to one
side, very thin. He twitches every
time he looks up at me. It makes
me feel uneasy.
―What‘s your name, boy?‖
He asks a little louder than I ex-
pected, almost like he‘s spitting
the question at me.
―Samuel, sir,‖ I stutter as
it comes out. ―Or just Sam.‖
―Well, ‗Just Sam‘, what do
you think you‘re doing? Trying to
break into my station, here?‖ he
yells.
I study him briefly. At
first, all I noticed was his age
and the condition of his clothing,
but as I take a closer look, he
reminds me a lot of the old wom-
an back at the house. His hair is
falling out, his lips look as
12
though they haven‘t been parted
to speak in years. His entire body
is covered in a layer of dust, like
he‘s just been sitting and waiting.
―Uh, no, sir. I was just, I, I
was looking for someone to help
me, actually,‖ I‘ve never been very
good in tense situations.
He speaks with more ease
this time. ―Then I guess you‘ve
come to the right place. I‘ve been
here long enough to help you out.
What is it that you want to
know?‖
What is it that you want to
know? I consider this a moment
before answering. ―To be honest, I
just want to know how to get out
of here.‖
He approaches me with
caution. His large boots dragging
the ground with very step. Every
hair on my body stands straight
up as he slowly inches towards
me. I notice him staring at my
bloody shoulder. His head twitch-
es. He takes a pair of reading
glasses out of the front of his
pocket. They‘re layered with dust,
but he puts them on anyway, as
if he could possibly see out of
them.
―Is this Agnus‘ handy
work?‖ He calmly asks me as he
starts to poke the disgusting
wound.
I wince at the pain and
take a step back. ―Agnus?‖ I let
out the breath I‘d been holding.
―That thing that attacked me has
a name?‖
―Of course she has a name,
stupid.‖ He says in disbelief.
―Who else is going to greet the
newcomers?‖ He lets out a whole-
hearted chuckle.
―Welcome?‖ I gasp. ―She
tried to devour me. A nice fruit
basket or even a friendly hand-
shake would have been much
more appealing than having some
old, decrepit woman try to seduce
me into being her lunch!‖ I‘m
breathing heavily now. Slowly fill-
ing with rage and disbelief at the
situation I‘ve been put in.
―She‘s what you would call
a guard of our realm. You see,
this state of purgatory is just for
those who have committed sui-
cide,‖ he lets out a sigh and plac-
es the glasses back into his pock-
et. ―And, by the look of that
chunk of skin missing from your
arm, it looks like you‘ll be taking
ole Agnus‘ spot.‖
―What do you mean? What
does her practically biting my
arm off have to do with how I
spend the rest of my pathetic af-
terlife?‖ I spit the question at
him.
His eyes wonder to the in-
side of his broken station. ―That‘s
something you‘ll have to take up
with her.‖ He begins to stutter, ―I-
I‘m unaware of the details.‖
The man then walks to the
front of the shop and sits in a rot-
ted, wooden rocking chair. His
eyes stare off into the dark gray
sky. He begins to rock back and
forth, his mind going completely
blank of all thoughts. I wave my
hand in front of his face as the
rocking chair comes to a stop,
but he‘s gone. His dark eyes are
filled with nothing, as if life had-
n‘t been in them only moments
ago.
I put my right foot on the
first step, trying to pluck up the
courage to force myself back in-
side. It‘s completely black outside
now. The only audible light is
that of a candle inside the house.
I can smell my puke from earlier
and it makes me want to heave
again, but I refrain. I feel a sharp,
burning pain in my wounded
shoulder. I grit my teeth and suck
in a large gulp of air before climb-
ing the few steps to the door. I
gently place my hand on the han-
dle of the door, but it slides open
before I can twist the knob. The
wind wisps inside and makes the
candlelight go out I smell fresh
blood as I step into the darkness.
13
―Lovely night out, isn‘t it?‖
Agnus says once I‘ve entered the
room.
―Let‘s cut to the chase.
What‘s going on with my body?‖ I
ask. ―What did that bite of yours
do to me?‖
I can only see her silhou-
ette. I can tell she‘s smiling be-
cause the smell of her rotting
mouth is wafting in my direction.
She says, ―Quick to pick up on
things, aren‘t we? Don‘t you want
to make it up to me for cutting off
my frail arm?‖ I can hear a quiet
dripping sound coming from the
area where her arm used to be.
I go for a different ap-
proach, ―I‘m sorry about your
arm. Can I help you with that?‖ I
slowly walk towards her, afraid
that if I move too quickly, she‘ll
pounce.
I reach the nightstand next
to the bed and grab the set of
matches. I hesitantly light the
candle, afraid of what I‘ll see. In
the dim lighting, she looks worse
than before; I didn‘t realize that
was possible. Her hair is nearly
all gone, just a few patches here
and there still remaining. Her
eyes are hollow, but still filled
with a lust for blood. Her mouth
is hanging slightly open. Dried
blood is crusted in the corners of
her mouth.
She stares at me for a mo-
ment before saying, ―Take a good
look, my dear boy. You‘ll look a
lot like me before you know it.‖
―It‘s the bite, isn‘t it?‖ I ask,
hoping to pry as much infor-
mation from her as I can before I
kill her.
―Of course it‘s the bite, stu-
pid. What else could it be?‖ she
states, slightly shifting her
weight. When she does this, blood
from her absent arm gushes out
onto the mattress. ―Sadly for you,
though, I‘m not ready to go just
yet…‖
She lunges off the bed onto
me, knocking me backwards. I try
to throw her off, but she‘s still
stronger than me. Her sharp teeth
caress my cheek. I take my fist
and bury it into the side of her
gut. I feel a few ribs break be-
neath my punch. She screams
out in pain, but doesn‘t stop
gnawing me. My ear, my neck.
She won‘t slow down long enough
for me to get a grip on her wrig-
gling body.
I finally wrestle her to the
ground. I‘m crouched over top of
her, trying to snap her neck,
when her head breaks free and
takes a chunk of my thigh out. I
yell in pain. I‘m at my last resort
with energy; if I don‘t kill her
soon, I‘ll become her midnight
snack. I detach from her arms
and throw myself to my feet. I
grab both of her shoulders and
turn her body over. Her face
slams into the hardwood and it
gives me an idea. I take the back
of her skull and start pounding
her face into the floor as hard as I
can. I hear blood and teeth hit the
wood floor. Her body finally stops
fighting it. I lay her on her back;
she gives me a pleading look in
hopes that I‘ll shoe mercy. I twist
her neck until I hear it snap.
Even though I didn‘t get all
the answers I was looking for, I
know what‘s going to happen
now. I will become her. My body
will deteriorate and I will be
forced to feed on the newly dead,
just like her. I tear off some cloth
from the old woman‘s dress and
start to clean my wounds. I sit at
the end of the bed, dabbing at the
blood on my face and neck. I start
to push Agnus‘ body underneath
the bed when the room starts to
shake.
The next thing I know,
there are two girls standing in
front of the door. One is tall and
has rich brown hair, the other is
shorter, sickly looking, with soft
blonde hair. I see blood dripping
down both of their arms; it smells
rich and delicious. When they no-
tice me sitting across from them,
they grab each other‘s hands in-
stinctively. I feel a sickening sense
of happiness as a smile stretches
across my face.
14
“Untitled”
By: Savannah Norton
All her life, she‘s been told.
Been told what to wear,
What‘s socially acceptable,
How to act,
Who to be friends with, what things she should own,
What or whom she should be interested in.
She‘s also been told to be herself.
How can she ever be herself
When the things they tell her are so completely anti-her?
When her perfect outer mask starts to crack
And the real her begins oozing out,
They back away and revolt.
―Just be you,‖ they cant.
―That‘s not you.‖ they say…
What they don‘t realize is that the ―her‖ they knew
Was never actually her.
The real her was buried deep in the recesses of the girl they invent-ed,
Suffocating under the mass amounts of pressure she was facing
To somehow transform her very soul into something else.
Perhaps that‘s the reason why she can never work up the cour-age to end her life,
Even though she thinks about it every day.
She knows if she does it,
She can kill the monster that she‘s encased inside of…
But, in doing so, will also end every chance
The real her might someday have to be released.
“Stagnant”
By: C.O.
Once a raging river,
A disarming power of
Force,
Life,
Ambition,
And drive,
I am now
Stagnant.
A slow and still breed-ing ground for the pests:
Depression,
Anxiety,
And never-ending dread at the thought of leaving my house.
And try as I might
To pull myself out
Of its suffocating depths,
My fingers can‘t find a way to grip the earth at the surface,
And my lungs fill with water
As the insects dispose of their larva
Inside.
With no current to push me
Toward the shore,
I can feel myself
Slipping under.
Drowning.
“Just a Dream”
By: Jenah McCall
Last night
I dreamt of you
And, once again, I woke up
Wishing it were true.
It‘s so hard to forget
Someone who meant so much
I remember your voice
I remember your touch
I love you so much
But I want to cry
I keep denying it
And I think I‘m gonna die.
“Who Do I Want to Be?”
By: Tiesha Pressley
I want to be the person
That everyone knows to be good.
I want to be the person
That isn‘t afraid to stand out.
I want to be able
To speak what is on my mind.
I want to be able
To stand, not hide.
No, I don‘t have all the answers,
But I know that I will be fine
If everyone lives their lives
And lets me live mine.
I want to be
Me.
“Distance”
By: Lauren Mahoney
Distance.
It should be a barrier,
It should make the heart grow fonder,
Yet it‘s holding us back.
I want you
More than anything I know;
I want to be there in your arms,
But instead I‘m here alone.
I know it‘s there, you feel the same way too.
We could begin our ―forever‖.
Instead, we are stuck;
It needs to happen,
I need to be with you.
I look to our future in hope,
But what do I find?
Distance.
“Night”
By: Jenah McCall
Night.
Night is dark, it is not bright.
The only light
Is from the stars.
Stars.
They‘re up in the sky,
Shining down,
And waiting;
Waiting on someone
To wish on them,
Or gaze at them
Just like we did
That night.
So tonight,
I‘ll go outside
And gaze at the stars,
And wish on them,
And think of you
And that night.