Table of Contents cover artwork "Pause of Blue" by Alex Felkel '21 January Kaleidescope by Nicholas Zak 2 The Hell With It by Jonathon Fales 10 King by Philip Boveri 17 Trouble in Albany by Kevin Korte 23 Art Has No Color by Tanner Jackson 28 Max & the Magic Eight Ball by Tanner Jackson 34 Not Prank War, but Locker War by Louis Hess 38 Boys Town by Brady Burke 43 Johnny & the Sandcastle by Paul Bytnar 52 Pride by Kevin Jeffries 57 Lessons by Kevin Jeffries 62 Home & Hakim’s by Mike Mattern 69 Keeping the Sport by Braden O’Shea 74 Unnatural Disaster by Ryan Hughes 81 Friends Until the End by Ryan Hughes 84 The Fall of Avalon by Ethan Becher 88 The Scrivener 2021 The De Smet Jesuit High School Literary Magazine Moderator Robert Hutchison Staff Ethan Becher John Hilton Nick LaConte Harry Signaigo Phillip Boveri Ryan Hughes Vito La Fata Nicholas Zak Brady Burke Tanner Jackson Hutson Lil- Paul Bytnar Kevin Jeffries libridge Jonathan Fales Jacob Karraker Mike Mattern Louis Hess Kevin Korte Braden O’Shea 1 January Kaleidescope by Nicholas Zak, 12 The Snowstorm had been blowing for two weeks on the after- noon of January 7th when Adam was walking back to his car. The sides of the street were piled high with old snow that was stained black from the asphalt and salt and beginning to melt and overflow onto the side- walk. Adam’s dirty black boots ground into the film of salt appearing on the sidewalk and deftly maneuvered around the areas of ice that still remained as he walked down the street. To his right was an oft used road, cars whirring past occasionally, their exhaust blowing over and heating his chilled nose and ears for a brief moment. As one particularly large minivan drove past, his mind wandered to the warmth of the car he would soon be arriving at. It was not a fancy car, but Adam had worked hard for it and now he could go wherever he pleased in it. As Adam had not yet reached his car though, he struggled through his thick gloves to pull up a gray striped scarf over his mouth and a large black beanie down further over his head. Despite this, the cold still stung the insides of his nostrils as Adam came up past the power cut that signaled only a couple blocks left to his car. In days past he would have used that cut to walk further to the old park that, today incidentally, Adam had left his car at. He wondered at the benefits of maybe once again taking that old shortcut from long past, the speed with which he might get to his car weighed against the shame of being a grown man caught trudging off the beaten path. Eventually though something sparked inside Adam, a feeling thought long lost, and Adam took one big black salt covered boot and plunged it into the snow off the sidewalk. Another step, and then another, and a car blew past melting more snow into slush on the side of the road, but now Adam was too far away to feel the warmth of it, for he was in the snow. Soon Adam had left a trail behind him, salted shoes growing clean as their excess was left behind in the pristine snow now imprinted with a single set of boot prints. Adam let his mind wander to a time when this walk would have been common, where a snowstorm could have done little to fight against the pounding of dozens of children’s feet. Where once there had been a vibrant path, now only Adam’s boots stepped. He reached the first of the great metal towers that dotted the power cut just as he began to have second thoughts about making this arduous trek. Thinking back to the time before Adam brought his large nylon gloves up to the freezing metal of the tower and let his hand rest along an old line of graffiti tagged by some group of disaffected teenagers long ago. Adam remembered the day the graffiti first appeared on the tower. How Charlie, with his hair down below his eyes and a perpetually lost tooth shouted out, “Hey everyone look what’s been painted on the tower here!” How the gaggle of kids behind Charlie had jostled him out of the way to see and touch and wonder about the arrival of this new painting in the static world they spent every day in. “I bet they were six feet tall with great spiked jackets and Mo- hawks!” shouted Claire, the only girl Adam’s friends could allow within 2 their group. A short kid with wavy blonde hair piped up, “Are you stupid? Clear- ly they all wore ski masks and black hoodies to hide their faces.” While Claire had gained the respect of most of the group, this newcomer, whom Adam had always been certain was from the rich kid’s academy down the road, had still not been convinced on Claire’s standing in the group. “Well I think Claire’s right” said Adam who could freely admit years later that he, and everyone else in the group, had a crush on Claire, but at the time would have denied the accusation with a punch to the jaw. As Adam pulled his hand back from the graffiti and the scene playing in his mind, he tried to think of what had happened to all those friends he had known Nicholas Hale, 12 years ago. Charlie had gone into accounting, Adam was fairly sure, but Claire, and that blonde headed kid? Adam tucked his hands back into the coat pockets of his much too expensive coat and shook his head to dispel the thoughts. Car, warmth, getting home in a timely manner, these were what mattered, not some old winter day from years ago. He stepped away from the old tower and back out into the snow of the power cut. The cold was beginning to become pervading the further he got from the road and its life. He breathed in deeply and the cold pierced his nostrils in an almost physical way. A smell reached him quite un- like any that could be produced by a freezer or any cold room on a hot day. This smell was natural, and it was one that Adam had long forgot- ten existed. He reached up to cover his nose with his scarf, but the cold remained, beginning to seep into him. As he moved off the edge of the power cut, Adam reached an old path through the brush of the woods taken many times by a younger version of himself. The snow underfoot began to mingle with dead leaves and grass and the crackling of broken twigs. Adam brushed away a branch coated with fallen snow to make way for his adult frame and realized that if he was still a kid this path would have been entirely accessible. It was only in the last few years that its secrets had become lost to him. The brush around him brought back memories to Adam of summers 3 long forgotten, and winters of another time. He remembered days play- ing tag when he would race through the forest, branches tugging at his clothes and tearing scratches into his arms and legs that he would stumble over when explaining the dirt and grime to his parents. He re- membered the winters when the snow reached up to his knees and he had to wade through the snow like a great frozen river on a quest to a friend’s backyard to build a snowman or participate in a snowball fight that would be regaled to those who missed it for months after. Adam even began to recall times in between when he streaked mud along the bottom of his vampire’s cape on the way to a Halloween gathering, or stained his shoes with grass and wet as he attempted to sneak off after a Sunday spent in endless boring church. But no, Adam was here to get to his car faster. He took a step and another and the memories were gone. It was not as if Adam had inten- tionally left this life behind. He had grown up, and with growing up comes changes. He told himself the times spent on a little forest path and out next to an old tower daring each other to electrocute themselves by touching the sides were nothing more than the wants of children. He was an adult now and he knew the secret to it all lied with his car and in get- ting home in a timely manner. Adam’s step onto the firm concrete of the sidewalk brought him back to the real world. A passing car blew the pervading cold from his nos- trils and the ever-present road salt once again returned his boots to their afflicted state. Adam waved to a neighbor, Mrs. Margorie, as he walked by and she waved back only thinly masking the surprise at the sudden greeting. “I suppose the cold isn’t letting up anytime soon Mrs. Margorie.” Adam called out to the old woman sitting on her porch nearby, with its overabundance of wind chimes and knickknacks only able to be acquired through years of dedicated hoarding. “Oh no dearie, I think it’s going to let up any day now. The cats have 4 Matthew Maher, 12 been pawing at the door to be let outside, and they’re never wrong.” Adam smiled to himself at the picture of one of Mrs.