Respite The 2020-2021 Hoover High School Literary Magazine 1 20 21 Emma Haupt Tyler Fremon PJ Johnson Jonas Muhlenkamp Luke Penney Siena Pilati Allison Richardson Emily Sturr Literary Magazine Winners: Caroline Triner Izzy Warburton Cover Art: “The Starry Desert” by Audrie Sponseller Prose: “Shattered” by Jonas Muhlenkamp (pages 13-15) Poetry: “Old Willow Tree” by Lauren Hobe (page 19) Photography: “Eyes” by Taylor Hennagin (page 22) Mr. Rankin Miss Walker 2 The River Remembers By Tess Rosler The banks of the Tigris-Euphrates River, flowing through the hills and valleys of great Mesopotamia, provided the sustenance needed for the construction of civilizations. Through the magic of nature’s processes, the River’s water has been recycled through generations, and the River has seen the rise and fall of many eminent legators. In the heart of the Fertile Crescent, the Egyptians and Mes- opotamians build their societies from the sediment deep in the River and the soil near the banks. The River has provided all the resources needed to nourish its people. However, before even the Sumerians laid their claim to the proliferating land, there stood a village too inconsequential to leave a legacy. Despite the forgetfulness of land and air, the River still remembers it all. The village, whose name has escaped history, was built from bricks made of sun-dried clay harvested from the riverbeds themselves. Clay embedded itself under the fingernails of the village founders, as their hands roughened from the work and their backs broke from strain. Hours were spent harvesting the clay from the bottom of the River, shaping it into usable pieces, and leaving it to bake in the hot sun. Roofs were woven from the long native grasses, so sharp they would cut your legs when you walked through them. Slowly, the forgotten village came together. The River remembers it all. The village children would spend every day exploring along the riverbeds. They would spend hours peeling apart the skins of narrow-leaved cattails and scattering clumps of white, fluffy seeds across the banks. Where the seeds landed, new cattails sprouted almost immediately, providing the village children with an endless activity to amuse themselves with. In the hot, summer months, the older children would sneak out in the dead of night to sleep on sandy banks as the River’s ripples tickled their feet. Parents would warn their young children of jackals and hyenas, and tell stories of babes whose lives were stolen to fulfill the need buried in the genetic code of every predator. In the evenings, native fish would be speared and grilled over a fire pit. As the young adults of the village sharpened their weapons with skipping stones and wove baskets out of long grass, the elders would distract the young children with epics that their grandparents, long dead, had told them. Their stories would be told around the fire as meals of wild mongoose and loaves of bread baked from River grain were eaten. Stories of the old gods who were still worshipped at this time were the most important, followed by stories of ancient heroes. Children would gather and hold their breath as the elders took turns sharing feats of heroics and battles against monsters. The River remembers these ancient stories most of all. During the winter months, rain fell from the sky and replenished moisture in the soil. The villagers didn’t mind and found their lives unaffected by the changing conditions. Rain overflowed the River, and over time the riverbeds the children loved to play in became fully submerged and submitted to the demands of the current. On the rare occasion that snow fell, it was only a little. Oftentimes, it could only be seen during the wee hours of the morning, when only the village elders were awake. The adults still spry enough to contribute would spend their days planting seeds of wheat and barley, millet, and maize. They would spend their nights burning incense made from resin and onycha and praying to the old Gods for good harvests the following spring. Children would play in their rain, returning to their homes every evening with mud caked on their legs and laughter on their tongues. The River remem- bers it all. (continued on page 4) 3 (“The River Remembers” continued) Through our modern lens, the lives of these villagers are meaningless. A strange feeling arises as the mind struggles to comprehend the idea that every person that has ever lived holds their complex reality different from our own. The village is home to an old woman who has mothered many children and been a grandmother to many more. She is widely respected, and the children rush to her feet when they notice her eyes becoming glassy as she begins to tell stories from her youth. The village is home to a young man who wishes to leave. He wishes to escape his mundane existence, and find adventure in a foreign land. He hears the elder’s stories of heroics and aspires to leave a legacy of his behind. He contemplates leaving everything behind in the night and sneaking out into the vast, overgrown forest surrounding the only land he has ever known. He never does this, his fear continuously conquers his ambition, and his name is lost to the world. There is an even younger girl, who sleeps between her parents and doubts the existence of the old gods and then shames herself for her own blasphemy. She too dreams of impossibility and transports herself to a reality where she is the daughter of King Sargon of Akkad and beloved princess to all Akkadians. The River remembers all of the villagers it has created a home for and carries all of their stories with it. The River flows from Lake Hazer and empties itself into the expansive Persian Gulf. It carries its stories of the ancient village into the Indian Ocean. Unfortunately, the people of India and Turkey, and Iraq cannot comprehend the language of the River. Its stories are lost to the tongue of man and provide a home for the fish that swim beneath its depths. The River flows even farther, with the hope that one day the stories of the village will be understood and transcribed, but to no avail. The River observes the fall of Vlad the Impaler and the great Ottoman Empire. It observes the spread of the Renaissance from Italy to France through Francois l. It observes the founding and construction of North America and the pain and turmoil of Polish and Irish immigrants. It carries every story with it, from the very beginning of the creation of time, and even before that. The River will continue to carry every story with it until the final day of Earth, where the River will swallow the land and everything will succumb to its ne- glected and painful history. The River will continue to remember it all. 4 Color Sunset By Jordan Palmer 5 New Year By Jaclyn Scaffidi New Year: Another year has passed And just like that It came and then dashed Time to grow and learn Lessons and successes are what we yearn Resolutions will be made We will continue to work hard in this decade Finally a new year Let us fill it with cheer Enjoy it and live in the moment See what it has in store Whatever it is, help us to adore Come together and celebrate Do your best and do not hesitate Keep the faith and have hope Find your way to cope On to the next part Follow your heart Happy New Year Let all of the negativity disappear 6 Second to None By Mitchell Thomas Quarterback with the number one “Across the field” they play and run Wilson and Olave catching balls in perfect time The defensive line solid as a Bose-Einstein Kickers and Punters doing their special parts Julian Fleming waiting to start Coaches on the sideline trying to play it smart Brutus, the greatest nut of all Working the sideline and fans every fall The roar of the shoe can be heard from miles away Led by Urban’s successor, coach Ryan Day Consistently voted one of the top picks, Each and every year going to a New Year’s Six They’re my favorite team, my number one The Ohio State Buckeyes Second to none. From defense, offense to special teams, The flow of the game is like a cycle, Pass, run, tackle, pushing forward towards the goal. Go, Bucks! Go! Touchdown! Add one more… The importance a kick can have on a game. From the stands we hear the fight song blare “Hang on Sloopy” the crowd sings and cheers At half time they dot the i Completing the script, “Ohio” The best damn band in the land, “Across the field” they play once more Pushing, pushing for their team to score The calendar says October But on Saturdays (this year) there is no scarlet and grey In Columbus the “road to Indy” sign lays All are absent in the “Horseshoe” on game days No wave in the crowd, No “O-H-I-O” No tailgating, no parties, nowhere to go Diehard fans, still remain loyal though Waiting, watching, hoping so Finally, next Saturday the journey begins again The Buckeyes D line will make the Huskers RB unend. Indy awaits for OSU. 7 Waves By Taylor Hennagin 8 The Hardest Worker in the Room By Gina Cardinale “Conscientious” was the word that my math teacher, Mr. Ackerman, used to describe me at a par- ent-teacher conference I attended during my sophomore year.