Ringu. Apple. Sweet. Fresh for the perfect day. Right from the tree she picks those that are pure. She’s young, maybe six yet tall for her age. She picks only the flawless ones to take home for her aging grandma whom she loves dearly. Ringu. Grandma once told her, on a crisp, May morning that apples were once a poisonous, Vile and dreadful fruit. One not to be picked. But the fruit was so beautiful and enchanting, that it could not go without being plucked. Over time the people bred this apple with one no one dared to eat because of its bitter taste. The two went together like lovers. It created the shining, ideal apple, that their people eat still to this very day. Ringu. The young girl picks them from the orchards near the Fuji mountains. She walks the same route each time she comes. Sometimes she brings her older brother along. He always picks the ones atop the tree with ease, and she feels jealous when he does so, but her brother always reminds her that she too will grow tall and reach the most delightful ones. Ringu. When the young girl arrives home, with a basket full of only the richest fruit, Her grandma is always waiting patiently with a warm smile. Grandma always takes the basket and sets it atop the kitchen counter. She will make something special, as she often does. None of the apples will ever go to waste. They are too delectable. She puts the apples into various dishes. Jams, cobblers, crumbles, pies, donuts, and platters. The young girl watches and helps when asked, for when her grandma departs one day, She must also know how to prepare the perfect Ringu. BiographySenior 2019: High-School was supposed to drag by at a excruciatingly slow pace. Though I’m beginning to think that mentality came from the numerous high-school movies we watch as kids, because it didn’t go by gradually. Instead, it whizzed by unexpectedly. Though the beginning of my senior year was rough, I enjoyed the majority of my high-school career and I’m sorry to see it pass.
I have never excluded myself from activities involving school as I did sports throughout my time here, yet I didn’t put myself out there either. This year, I was able to take classes that I didn’t think I would enjoy at all, but did! During my second semester I took Yearbook which I actually dreaded doing due to the busyness of it all. But come mid-quarter, I was looking forward to going because I felt appreciated by my peers in that class for just doing my work! I’m not a very outgoing person, but I did want to make the best of what I participated in. I’m only going to high-school once, I’m only going to live once, I’m only going to experience this once, so I’m going to believe in each thing I do.
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Above the rest, I have one trait A hunger that I cannot sate The road I walk by chance or fate The burning desire to create Waxen colours melt in my hands As I give birth to faraway lands Snow and sky and sun and sands Through it all, my need still stands So I sing, and draw through sound Notes are king, with colors crowned The magic here makes me confound And over the hills my wants bound I have searched and I have sought But all I've found has been naught Everything that I've been taught Cannot sate my hungry thoughts Perhaps you cannot just learn But take the path and every turn And eventually you may discern Within you is that for which you yearn My path far from over, now I write For in my own worlds I take flight Sound's voice and color's sight Kindling for my fire, now alight BiographyMy name is Elizabeth Golden, I graduate in 2019, and I am from Alaska, Washington, and Minnesota. I work with, love, and own parrots. I like to read fantasy, and like to write fantasy as well as poetry. Most of my works explore the ideas of freedom, individuality, and creation.
BiographyClass of 2019
BiographyMy name is Aspen Goyne-Storm. I'm a senior this year, so I’ll graduate in 2019. I enjoy reading anything really, but I prefer Dystopias and Mystery. I’ve recently gotten into poetry. I gather inspiration from my friends and experiences. I think the best poetry is the stuff filled with emotions.
Everyday, to get to where I need to go, I walk a taut, thin string. Down below is an abyss of shadows as far as the eye can see. The string sways from time to time, And my footing can sometimes slip, But on I walk got to get to where I need to be. Today, however, my footing has gave way, And though I hold onto the string, My fingers are failing me. I try my hardest not to slip, Yet my fingers cannot hold on. Now I wonder as I fall what the darkness holds for me. BiographyClass of 2021
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