The Red Hawk Review Issue #3

EMERGINGYOUNGARTISTS

THE RED HAWKREVIEW

I SSUE 3

"The Escape"Grace Herker

2016ISSN : 2372 -2975

Works of poetry, prose and visual art from Gateway's bestand brightest writers, painters, and graphic designers.

H I G H S C H O O LC O N T E S TW I N N E R

First Place Art Winner: Amy Kleinhans, "Nicholas"

RHR

The Escape - Grace Herker

High School Contest Winner

PoetryJosephine ziemann Sleeping beauty, Above and below, Blah, NormalSamantha House Earth weeps, Songbird, FlowersDebi VanDenBoom House Full of Love, A Poem, You Are HomeKelsie Herzog The Girl

ProseLynn Talarek Just Another DayDomonique Lockridge Being Bullied Made me a better personLeonardo Gomez Maya

ArtworkAmy Kleinhans NicholasGia Fuerte Watercolor LighthouseJosephine Ziemann HI!Krystal Bartholomew Lotus templeSarah Stern Untitled

Spanish ProseJosephine ziemann Las Tres Pruebas Mágicas

managing editor - Jessica Gleason, MFA

Prose Editors:Dr. Colleen ConnollyAmy HankinsKaren Solliday

Poetry Editors:Dr. Katy VopalAnna StottsJessica Gleason, MFA

Art Editor: Lisa Packard

Spanish editor: Kyle Kendall

In This Issue

THE ESCAPEBY GRACE HERKER

Marching, Always marching. One foot after another

through the mud and mire until we got to wherever

they were taking us. I had on my standardized camp

uniform, this horrendous beige colored jumpsuit

with a red belt and grey boots. My unwashed,

greasy, jet black hair was pulled into a loose

ponytail, I looked down at my hands, my jagged

fingernails unkempt and caked with dirt. Maybe it

was silly to feel self conscious in a place like this,

everybody was in the same rough shape that I was.

This place made things that mattered before the

war not matter at all. This place made life a grueling

chore. I was doomed to stay here until I either

escaped, or died. Either by natural causes or a guard

decides I’m not worth the resources anymore.

My name is Kat, but I was more commonly known as

prisoner 66429 during my time at Camp Jacobsen.

Camp Jacobsen was where the government chose

to place prisoners that they deemed “dangerous”. In

the year 2067 Russia sent a nuclear bomb to destroy

the United States. The bomb served its purpose. It

killed about half the population in the initial blast.

But the aftereffects of the bomb, the radiation and

chemicals infiltrating the air are the reason I am

marching in the rain right now. The aftermath of the

explosion caused many people to die of illness

related to the radiation, but not all. Some people

were affected in… unique ways. A small portion of

the population developed strange abilities that

didn’t make sense. Incredible strength, inexplicable

intelligence, and levitation were among these odd

abilities. People became fearful of those few

unusually gifted souls, and built internment camps

to keep them away from the fragile process of

rebuilding the country.

Cruelty is born out of fear, and this camp was the

product of pure terror. I remember the day the

soldiers showed up at the shabby remains of my

house and dragged me into a cage in the back of

their S.U.V. I remember screaming, asking them to

let me out, crying for help. I was in a 3 by 4 foot cage

for 6 hours with no food, water or bathroom. When

we arrived at Camp I was convinced that there must

have been some mistake, but they told me that this

was where people like me belonged, and threw me

into a cell in a large grey concrete building. I have

been living here for the past 6 months.

My daily routine consists of working in a factory,

dragging lumber into machines that chop and shred

them until they can be turned into something

useful. Then I march. I march for hours. I think the

officers assume by making us dead tired we won’t

have the energy to use our abilities, and therefore

will be controllable. That’s what this whole camp is

about, controlling that which cannot be controlled,

eliminating the threat of the unknown. That might

work for people with physical strength. But not me.

My brain thinks the way a shark swims. Fierce,

natural, and capable of great destruction. I am able

to pick up on even the smallest details, and

everything I see, I remember. Vividly and accurately I

will always remember the incredible cruelty shown

to me here. I will remember the medical tests they

put me through, treating me like a guinea pig to try

and see what made me the way I was. I will

remember the way they treated me like an animal,

depriving me of shelter, hygiene, food, and voice. All

these soldiers accomplished by keeping me cooped

up in this hell hole was provoking my anger, and not

just anger over the way I was being treated. My fury

PAGE 3 HIGH SCHOOL CONTESTRHR

was fueled by my innate desire to protect those

around me. Specifically, Charlie.

Charlie was there the day they brought me in. He

has been here for a year. Charlie acquired the ability

of strength. Because of this he has been beaten,

broken, tormented so that he has no desire to fight

his way out. He used to be a bright flame,

illuminating and fierce. They took his fire and cut it

off from oxygen. Charlie took care of me. He

protected me from the guards when he could, and

nursed me back to health when he couldn’t. I don’t

know how many hours I’ve spent staring into his

mossy green eyes, wondering how I could restore

them to the sparkling emerald I knew they once

were. Charlie and I had this, electric, brilliant

connection. Like soulmates if I was immature

enough to believe those existed. We had dreamed

for many days and nights about running away

together, he thought it was just a fantasy. I was

determined to make it reality.

Every day I sharpened my anger and ability, I

memorized the schedule of the guards, observed

them to see which would be the most easily

overpowered. I had fine tuned my muscles using the

grueling work they forced us to do, made sure to be

careful not to injure myself. I was stronger and

sharper than I had ever been. I was finally in a

position to take back what has been stolen from me

ten times over. Tomorrow I would make my escape.

November 30, 2068 would forever be seared into

their minds as the day they lost. They wanted a

docile, controllable, nonthreatening creature. I was

once like that, a normal, happy, 19 year old girl. No

more. They have turned me into a monster.

Tomorrow, I will no longer be prisoner 66429. I will

show them the monster they created.

My plan has been a work in progress for a long time,

but it’s ready, and I’m ready, and I’m getting Charlie

out of here with me tonight. Every day for the last

two months I have noticed something. Every night

the guards check in our cabins at 9:00 pm, 11:00 pm,

2:00 am, and eventually 5:00 am when they wake us

up. During these times all of the outdoor cameras

rotate to film the work yard, the cabins, the factory,

the security towers, and ultimately, the large electric

gate that is the only way out of the camp. However,

there is exactly one time period between 11:00 pm

and 11:20 pm where my cabin door is not being

filmed. And as a result of the cameras shifting

positions, one 30 second time period where the 3rd

security tower door is not being filmed. if I can

manage to sneak out of my cabin and time it so that

I can run to the security tower door while the

cameras are changing positions, I can use my

knowledge of digital security locks to get in the

control tower, and once I’m there I’m essentially

home free. I have total confidence in my ability to

take out any guards stationed there, and I have the

technical knowledge to disable any security cameras

and the electric fence in less than a minute. It’s 10:59

p.m. My time is now. In 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.

As I opened the door and let my eyes adjust to the

blackness of night, I scanned the perimeter for

guards. I saw none. It was raining, but not hard, the

kind of rain that feels like mist against your skin. Just

enough to soften the already mucky ground and

keep my nervous sweat in check. I sucked in my last

shaky breath, and with utmost determination,

decided that this night would be the end of my life

as I knew it. Whether I escaped or not, tonight was it.

I would get out of here, or die trying.

So I ran, I pumped my legs faster than I had ever

before. I cut a sharp left around one of the cabins

and crouched into the moist ground, my feet leaving

imprints behind me. I stopped, collected my

thoughts, scanned the area again to make sure I

hadn’t been seen, and I ran. Past the factory, past the

cabins, past the garden and along the electric fence.

I felt free, like I was flying and nobody could have

shot me down. In my moment of elation I almost


forgot where I was. Almost. I realized that I was

approximately 2 minutes from the security tower,

and if I continued at this pace I would have about a

minute to prepare myself for the most difficult part

of my escape. I had been watching the guards who

entered the tower and I was fairly certain the 4 digit

code was 5-3-9-6. I waited and checked my watch. I

saw the camera begin to shift out of the area of the

third door. I made a break for it. I pushed my nerves

down into a part of my soul where I couldn’t feel

them anymore. My mind transformed itself into a

high functioning machine. I practically slammed

into the door, running so fast that when I stopped

the sludge beneath my feet continued to propel me

forward. I typed in the code, saying a silent prayer to

anyone who was listening to give me a fair shot for

once in my life. It worked. As the door opened I

realized I had about five seconds before the cameras

would shift back into view of the door. I pushed and

I heard the most satisfying click of the lock shifting

out of position. I was in.

The lights were on but I didn’t see any guards

around. I took a moment to remove my 1 size too

small camp issued boots. I didn’t need anyone

hearing me clamoring down the hall like a chimp in

a china shop. As I walked, all I saw in my mind’s eye

was Charlie’s face. I was going to do this for him. I

saw the first guard before he saw me. I hid behind a

door until he was right in front of me. I grabbed his

neck and twisted it at a 90 degree angle until I heard

a deafening crack. He slumped to the ground, and I

felt a surge of energy. I could do this. I would get us

out. I continued at a brisk jog in my barefeet, making

a beeline to the control room. When I saw the door I

climbed onto a nearby bookshelf to debate my next

move. That was when I heard the voices.

“What do you mean you don’t know where 7625 is?!”,

a frustrated guard said

“I checked in his cabin and he was gone. we need to

put this camp on lockdown now.” The second guard

replied.

when the screaming started.

Apparently the others had realized that the

consistent tell tale buzz of the electric fence had

stopped. They began streaming out of their broken

down cabins like a great wave on a stormy day. I felt

a moment of elation as I realized that not only was I

going to get out, but so were the people I had spent

the last six months with. I saw the guards come

running out, shooting at random. I cared for a

second, and then realized that even though some

may die tonight, they died on their own terms,

taking their own risk. My hands were clean, I simply

gave them the opportunity they all deserved. A

choice.

Charlie pulled me up as I slipped in all the chaos. The

cool mud splashed on my face and my vision was

temporarily impaired. I managed to get back on my

feet and sprinted side by side with Charlie. We must

have been mere feet from the exit when I felt a

sharp, stabbing, intense pain in my shoulder. I

looked down and saw my beige jumpsuit turn a

vicious crimson hue. Before I could protest Charlie

picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

While I still wanted to run on my own two feet, this

new vantage point allowed me to view the chaos

around me. In a the haze the grey mist created I

watched the bodies moving around me. I ignored

the motionless ones on the ground. I saw strength

and fierce will in my camp mates, I saw grass and

muck and dirt flying, creating a kind of camouflage

in the air. The last thing I saw before the pain pulled

me into the unconscious was the gates, a threshold I

had not passed through in six months, and would

never pass through again.

I woke to whistling. Charlie whistling. A sound I

never thought I’d here. I took in my surroundings. We

were in some forest. Charlie had made a campfire

and I saw bags of supplies surrounding it. I took a

moment to appreciate the lush green beauty I saw

around me. He saw me wake up and ran over,


practically tripping over his own two feet. He slid the

last few inches on his knees. Charlie rambled on

about how we were camped in the woods, he had

built us a shelter and gone and stolen some medical

supplies to treat my gunshot wound, but I really

didn’t pay too much attention to what he had to say.

All I saw was his eyes. I had been right. They really

were a bright shimmering emerald green. Mission

officially accomplished, I tuned out his rambling and

fell asleep for the first time in many months, feeling

at peace.

The Red Hawk Review high school writing contest

is held each year and asks for submissions from

high school juniors and seniors within the tri-

county area.


Sleeping BeautyJosephine Ziemann

Surrounded by thornsSilence echoes off the stonesAbandoned spindleEmpty castle, save for oneIn the tall tower she sleeps

Above and BelowJosephine Ziemann

OverEncrusted earthHades’ blazing mantleTerren core of humanityAbove

BelowCelestial skyA willow canopyMossy shingles, protruding nailsBeneath

BlahJosephine Ziemann

Why do we prattleWhen there is nothing to sayBlah blah blah blah blah

NormalJosephine Ziemann

Normal is boringA bland model one can’t standYou are so much more

Earth WeepsSamantha House

The wind whispers the soft voice of the blue breeze.The grass weeps, underneath its starving for cleanness to breath.The fiery sun hides from all the passerby’s.

Many choose not to see,they would never believe the earth is howling like the sea.They choose not to see the tons of filth that glitter the streets.But the people aren’t bothered, still wallowing in their wealth.

They don’t know the earth’s rooted soul,it glistens best when unblemished.The rain will pour, and the heart of the earth will roar.

With wind in its sail, the earth willKeep on, keepin’ on.Even when the streets, fields, air are tattered and torn.Stepped on and worn, it’s getting old.

If you litter trash cans with rubble.Listen for the whisper of the wind,That’s Earth. It will be your imaginary friend.

SongbirdSamantha House

Mary watch the songbird perch chirpy,on the tattered picket fence.You see her heart of gold, shining through her chest.The sun was cold, she still had no one to hold.

She felt the sky was caving in.Lonely as the bright gray sky,Time just seemed to pass her by…

The days grew old, her heart grew cold.Time doesn’t stop. Time ticks…. And time tocks.She still yearn for the love that willmend her weathered resistant heart.

Joyful, encouraging and sunny.Songbird come back to me,And light that fire that burns with in me.

Poetry

DID YOU KNOW?

PAGE 7 RHR POETRY

FlowersSamantha House

Yellow, Pinks, Purples, Blues.How many colors will you choose?They have flowers for the cheerful heart,or ones that mend the broken soul.I promise you’ll find one that that has an impeccable glow.

Make sure you pick the perfect flowers!Forget about the ones that leave you sour.I like the ones that have purple hues.But maybe you’ll choose one that has an embellished bloom.Don’t forget about some for the lonely shade, allright?

Dress your yard up or tone your deck down.Hang me up or plant me in the ground.Maybe a lovely window sill is where I’ll be found.I’ll wonder where the rain is, is that thunders soundFlowers friendship lust for the sweet thunder rolls.

Yellows, Pinks, Purples, Blues.

House Full of LoveDebi VanDenBoom

Thank you for welcoming me into your house full of love.Under the Wine Garden 39 is a place where I am accepted into a family.Together there is laughing, learning, soccer, and singing.In the warmth of a home I find the warmth of family.Sharing good food and stories in a house full of love.

Haus voller LiebeDebi VanDenBoom

Danke für Willkommen mich in dein ein Haus voller Liebe.Unter dem Weingarten 39 ist ein Ort an dem ich in eine Familie bin akzeptiert.Insgesamt gibt lachen, lernen, Fußball, und Gesang.In der Wārme eines Hauses finde ich die Wārme einer Familie.Danke für guten Essen und Geschichten in einen Haus voller Liebe.

A PoemDebi VanDenBoom

Once upon a time there was a womanwho followed her dreams.And no one could stop herbecause she said so.

Poetry

DID YOU KNOW?

PAGE 8 RHR POETRY

You Are HomeDebi VanDenBoom

Wanderer, you are welcome here.Come inside.Rest your weary heart.Stay until you can continue on your journey.In this space and place of peace, you are home.

Vagabond, you are welcome here.Path unknown.Even as you traverse.May safe, secure comfort be yours.Each destination you know it to be, you are home.

Nomad, you are welcome here.Be gracious.On your itinerate travels.Provide to others what has been given to you.Hospitality extended to others, you are home.

Free spirit, you are welcome here.You are not alone.Think of us often everywhere you go.You have chosen us, we have chosen you.We are your tribe, with us, you are home.

The GirlKelsie HerzogFirst Place Winner

I play like a girl, I hit like a girl.You say I throw like a girl.And when I run, I run like a girl.All this plus more, enjoy this one size fits small.Who and what I want comes from being strong.Dangerous and fabulous, I’m a girl making this song.I’ve been told, “Just fit in”.A world dark and gray, when life becomes an insult.Take heed when I speak my mind.I am tough, outstanding and seldom kind.I’m empowering this moment.Endorsing myself with a certain sort of mystique.I deliver an independent will, don’t underestimate my physique.I am a caregiver, a woman who won’t give up the fight.I am Mona’s unforgettable smile.I stand tall like Ms. Liberty.I am Harriet who escaped slavery.Like Terrassa, I am here to make a change.I am a leader, a Goddess.I burn like Joan.Hang like Emily.I am Emilia’s drive.Susan B’s right to vote.I am not less, I am more.I am a woman, I cry, I frown, I hurt.And scream at the universe.I am here to make a difference.Like a girl I smile.A smile never felt before.Both defiant and defined.Yet heart will ask for more.Like a girl I drive you wild, looking pretty, “You’re in love”My confidence comes form who I am deep down.Everything I’ve become follows the lack of makeup on my face.Bare and nude and beautiful, I am Marilyn.Flowering the mood.At the end of the day, I have only one thing to say.The next time you try to keep me down or unhappy because you don’tthink I deserve it,You better believe what I am about to say.I will do it like a woman, my way.

Poetry

DID YOU KNOW?

PAGE 9 RHR POETRY

JUST ANOTHER DAYBY LYNN TALAREK

I see different shades of green grass with some

blades longer than the others, taking a closer look

occasionally seeing an ant climbing up a blade of

grass and down the other side. Birds are hopping

around looking for their next meal, bright yellow

dandelions sticking out, a lonely white butterfly

fluttering around. The tall trees are full of dark green

leaves with branches reaching up to the bright blue

sky, with an occasional soft, white cloud lazily

passing by.

I reposition myself on the uneven ground, I see a

stray ant is scurrying around on the blanket I’m

sitting on, and the warmth of the bright yellow sun

is slowly sinking into my skin while the natural

coolant of Mother Nature gently blows over my skin

and through my hair. An occasional white dandelion

seed takes advantage of the free ride as it floats

aimlessly through the air, stopping only when the

wind dies down. The air is crisp, bringing the smell of

someone grilling outdoors nearby.

I feel the weight of the world slowly lifting off of

my shoulders, so I close my eyes. I can hear the wind

as it makes its way through the leaves of the tall

trees. I listen to the chirping of all the different kinds

of birds all around me – some are close, some I can

hear in the distance. An unhappy dog starts to bark

with an occasional car passing by, hearing where all

the bumps in the road are, with a break of the

monotonous sound of the tires rolling down the

pavement.

I start to wonder what it was like 100 years ago. I’d

be sitting in a field unseen by others since neighbors

lived further away from each other back then. There

were very few cars, I’d probably be hearing the clip-

clop of horse hooves pulling a wagon or buggy. The

air would’ve been much more crisp and clean, and

to hear a dog barking could’ve been close to never.

There would have been many more butterflies

around and a real sense of peace and quiet.

Two hundred years ago, there would probably be

very little neighbors, open land, and only horse and

buggy. No electricity, running water, or natural gas

lines, just candles and firewood for the stove and

fireplace. No trying to conserve energy since there

wasn’t any. Children would walk to school,

sometimes up to two or three miles to learn in a one

room school house. There would be no time to just

sit unless chores were done for the day, and the

school work finished. I bet there was a countless

number of butterflies fluttering around, and the air

so fresh to breathe.

I reach down to grab my cell phone to see what

time it is, realizing it doesn’t matter what time it is,

or who tried to call or text me.

When I was a little girl, about 40 years ago, I can

remember looking out of my bedroom window and

seeing butterflies fluttering around everywhere in

the field and seeing lots of trees. In the time I’ve

been sitting here, I’ve seen only one butterfly.

In the far distance, I hear the faint sound of

construction work going on. Is it really that

necessary for the work that’s being done? But yet

these construction workers are being paid to do a

job, so they can provide for their families. Every day

they go to work, same routine, Monday through

Friday. How many other people go to their job, same

routine, Monday through Friday, to provide for their

families? The more I think about it, the more I start

to believe that people may not care about the lack

of butterflies or trees. They don’t hear or pay

attention to the birds chirping, the clean air to

breathe, or see the white clouds lazily passing by in

the bright blue sky.

PAGE 10 PROSERHR

Too busy with their daily routine. People in

general, get too caught up in their daily lives to sit

and enjoy what’s in their backyard. At night, too

busy watching their big screen T.V.’s, or on their

computers sending emails, or talking or texting on

their cell phones over things that may be not so

important anyway. Getting too caught up in the

world of modern technology.

In 100 years, what will it be like? How clean is the

air going to be? How white will the clouds be? Will

we even be able to see the blue sky? What about the

chirping birds hopping around looking for their next

meal? Until people start to realize this, it’s just

another day.

PAGE 11 PROSERHR

Gia Fuerte, "Watercolor Lighthouse"

BEING BULLIED MADE ME ABETTER PERSONBY DOMONIQUE LOCKR IDGE

Looking back at the few pictures my mother has

of when I was a child used to be a very sad and

painful memory. I don't have many of them anymore

because when I went to high school, and in my early

twenties, I tried to destroy as many of them as

possible. Even so I remember everything. I

remember how I looked, I remember what they said,

and most of all I remember the way I felt when I was

bullied. Being bullied has defined me.

My mother was a beautiful woman! She was about

5' 6" with gorgeous white teeth. When she smiled,

you smiled. She had color treated blonde hair that

most black women can't pull off, but not my mom.

Her face resembled Whitney Houston in her prime in

a lot of her photos. I never saw the resemblance until

I got older.

What I admired most about her was that she had

a beautiful shape, like Halle Berry. My mother was

the definition of what I felt a woman should look

like. She had what most people would call the

"hourglass" figure. She was absolutely breathtaking.

She was also a single parent. Working 2 jobs at a

time, we didn't talk much about what happened at

school.

My father however was about 6' 3". Contrary to

what people may have believed from looking at him

as the strong man that he had become, he was very

skinny as a child. That's where I got my height. He

was very handsome as well, but as a man he

probably didn't mind being so tall. That's where all of

my problems as a child came from. He was absent

for most of my childhood, but I inherited a lot of my

physical attributes from my father.

I was a very pretty toddler. I never experienced

any problems until about halfway through

elementary school. I can remember around fourth

grade the other kids started to notice I was a lot

taller than they were. I was without a doubt one of, if

not the tallest girls in school. It didn't help that I was

also super skinny. The icing on the cake had to be

the big pair of pink rimmed bifocals that my mother

got for me. Those glasses made my years at West

Ride Elementary School a living hell.

I didn't have many friends. I was far from popular,

not someone everyone wanted to be around. By the

time I got to middle school, I had gotten a new pair

of glasses which were a lot smaller; I thought that

would at least lessen the bullying. It didn't.

Middle school was hands down the worst years of

my life. Boys didn't like me and for some reason the

girls seemed to hate me for being so tall and skinny.

I was constantly called things like the Jolly Black

Giant and the ugly Tyra Banks. On top of that, I grew

at a much more rapid pace than my peers. This

meant what was called in school "high waters".

That's what they called my pants when they were

too short to be pants and too long to be capris.

They'd ask me things like "Where's the flood?".

Middle school took a really bad toll on me.

I contemplated suicide a lot and actually

attempted to do it once. I hated waking up every

single day just to repeat the same cycle, going to

school to get picked on. Every mean word was

burning a hole in my soul and I didn’t think I could

take it anymore. Every time someone laughed at me

I just wanted to end it. I didn’t want to wake up

anymore. The only problem was dying slow was not

an option for me. The only weapons that my mother

kept were kitchen knives and I found it very difficult

to cut myself. I successfully grazed about 1

centimeters worth of flesh on my wrist before I

realized I couldn't stand the pain. We didn't have

anything that would make it quick and painless. No

guns.

PAGE 12 PROSERHR

After all of that and many nights of crying, I came

to a conclusion. It was the summer before high

school and I promised myself “no more”. I would not

go through another 4 years of what I'd just gone

through. Over the summer, and what seemed like

overnight, my physical appearance drastically

changed. I started to blossom.

I started to look more like a woman and less like

that little girl that everyone picked on. I had breasts, I

had hips, and even smaller glasses. I sat down and

did a lot of reflecting and I went into that high

school with a new attitude. I'm bigger than them, I'm

smarter than they are, and now I'm prettier than

they are. Bullying me was no longer an option and I

would fight if I had to.

Even though I changed physically, I was still that

sweet little girl. I still endured all of the pain and the

taunting that the little girl I once was was put

through. So I stayed true to who I was. I never

followed suit and picked on other people because of

their physical appearance. In fact, I flocked to them.

According to my sister who was popular, all of my

friends were in her words "fat, skinny, or ugly".

Regardless of her opinion or anyone else's, I didn't

care. I befriended people who sat alone in the lunch

room, I became friends with the people who I saw

getting picked on, and I stood up for them. None of

us were popular, but we were still people.

I believe in karma. The girls who made my life

miserable in middle school are far from the beautiful

little girls they were back then. They send me friend

requests on Facebook and I accept their requests

just so that they can see me and the person I've

become. When I go out I see them and they try to

speak to me as if nothing ever happened. Some of

them are hideous, or have no job, or no car, the list

goes on. Those little boys who once picked on me

have since tried to date me and I remind every single

one of them how they treated me. All I can do is

smile.

Looking back on my childhood, I realize that being a

victim of bullying for years has greatly defined the

person that I have become. As an adult Ihave never

judged a person solely based on their appearance.

Everyone gets a chance. Our differences are what

make us beautiful. How boring of a world would this

be if everyone looked the same! No child should ever

have to hate themselves so much that they consider

ending their own life. No child should have to go

through this alone. I will never sit idly by and watch

such an injustice. I don’t wish bad on anyone, but

now it seems that their appearances match their

insides…ugly!

PAGE 13 PROSERHR

Josephine Ziemann, "Hi!"

MAYABY LEONARDO GOMEZ * F IRST PLACE WINNER

The sun creeping in through the open window

reflected off the gold band that was around the old

man’s ring finger. The glinting sunlight caught his

eye and gave him pause. He looked down at it

thoughtfully, his eyes slowly growing watery as

distant memories flooded through his mind. Before

any tears could drop though, his chest suddenly

became racked with pain. He clutched at it, straining

to breathe as an intense coughing fit came over him.

He doubled over, his chest throbbing with a searing

pain traveling through his lungs. He was coughing so

hard, it felt as if the skin of his throat was being torn

open.

A viscous trail of blood sputtered out of his mouth

as his heaving slowly began to subside. He placed his

hand on the kitchen counter top to steady himself,

his breathing coming through in sharp, painful rasps.

And just like that, as quickly as the seizing had come

on, it was gone. He reached up with the hand that

was over his chest to smear the blood away from his

mouth. He stared down at the crimson on his hand,

his own mortality more evident to him now than

ever. He hated that his body was failing him. The

coughing fits were occurring more often, each time

reopening the wounds from the last one so that they

never quite truly healed. Even now, he was still

wheezing in the aftermath of the attack. He knew

that his time was rapidly approaching.

The old man had lived for quite a long time now.

Growing up, like every other human being on the

planet, he could never imagine himself actually

dying. He’d always looked forward to getting ripe

with old age, but no one had told him how

incredibly painful and sad it would be to reach this

point in his life. Any personal relations he’d made

throughout his life had passed on more than a

decade ago. There was no one left who could say

honestly that they knew the old man well – and for

that reason, he was tremendously alone.

He turned towards his sink, turning it on and

spitting fresh blood into it. He washed it down the

drain, his gaze drifting back towards the ring on his

finger. His wife had died more than thirty years ago,

and though the memories of their time together

were starting to dull the more his age advanced, he

was still reeling from the pain of it.

He’d been devastated when she’d been taken

from him. The worst part about it, to him, was that

there was no one to blame. It was a random

accident, completely out of his control, that had

claimed his wife’s life. They’d been driving down the

highway during a massive blizzard when the icy

roads proved to be too much for their old car. Before

they knew what was even going on, his wife had lost

control of the vehicle, crashing through the guard

rail and plummeting several stories down into a

ditch. He had passed out the moment they’d landed

in the ravine. Waking up three days later, he was told

by the doctors that his wife had died before any help

could arrive on the scene.

His grip on the countertop began trembling as the

memories threatened to sweep over him for a

second time. Once again tears began to form in his

eyes. He sniffled, his nose becoming runny, and

wiped the edges of his eyes to clear his already poor

vision. More than anything, he just wanted to be

reunited with his wife. All these years of being alone

and of being in pain had taken its toll on him.

He gritted his teeth and moved away from the

countertop. He hobbled his way towards the

bathroom, dodging around all the clutter that had

become his house. As his body slowly began to

atrophy, his ability to keep his house clean had

faltered and as a result there was a mess in every

PAGE 14 PROSERHR

room. He was just too tired and weak to be able to

keep everything tidy.

He’d already been in his bathroom earlier in the

day, taking medication that had more than done its

job in prolonging his sad life. He looked at himself in

the mirror, surprised to see how wrinkly and

haggard his visage looked. Any traces of youth had

long been extinguished from his body – he had a

hunch, no hair left on the top of his head, and the

hair that was left was a supreme shade of white.

He shook his head, steeling his nerves and

committing to himself to the plan that had first

formed in his head when he was in the kitchen. He

opened the medicine cabinet behind his mirror and

pulled out a bottle of pills.

A miracle of modern science, no doubt, he

thought wryly to himself. He held the pill bottle up

to the light, scrutinizing the label to make sure he’d

grabbed the right one. These pills had been

designed to not only help a person fall asleep fast,

but to vividly dream in their peaceful slumber.

With shaking hands, he twisted open the lid and

poured far more than the recommended dosage out

into the cap. Without a second’s hesitation, he raised

the cap and tilted it forward into his mouth. He held

them there, the bitter taste of the pills coming

through loud and clear on his taste buds, as he filled

a glass next to the sink with water. He drank as

much of it as he could, swishing it around before he

forced it and all the pills in his mouth down his

ragged throat. He set the glass down next to the sink

and turned on his heels as quickly as he could – he

wanted to get to his bed as fast as possible before

the sedatives in the pills began to take effect.

When he arrived at his bedside he didn’t even

bother to take off his clothes, instead choosing to

maneuver his way into his bed fully clothed. He

could already feel the lightheaded, airy drowsiness

of the pills beginning to dull his senses. He spread

out as much as he could, figuring that if he was

going to fall asleep one last time that he might as

well be comfortable. He breathed a small sigh, the

PAGE 15 PROSERHR

last one that he would ever consciously make.

Before he even realized it, his vision of the waking

world blinked out of existence. Next thing he knew,

he was standing tall and upright with the sun

beating down on him from overhead. He saw a

feminine figure standing ahead of him with her back

turned towards him.

“Maya?” he called out. His wife turned towards

him, a radiant and exuberant smile taking up her

entire face. She reached for him, and hand in hand

they walked off, together again at last.

Krystal Bartholomew, "Lotus Temple"

LAS TRES PRUEBAS MÁGICASBY JOSEPH INE Z IEMANN

Hay magia en los tiempos más horribles de la

guerra, y hay un ejemplo muy bueno en la película,

El Laberinto del Fauno. Una niña – se llama Ofelia –

vivía en un tiempo oscuro, sin nada excepto la

esperanza. Vivía en cuentos e ignoraba el mundo

real. Esperaba para un escape de los horrores afuera.

Un día, el fauno del laberinto le habló del mundo

mágico. Ella era una princesa, y su padre la estaba

esperando en el mundo subterráneo. Antes de podía

estar con su padre, sin embargo, tenía que hacer tres

pruebas mágicas para probar que era merecedora.

Cada prueba le exigía una cualidad que necesitaba

tener: para matar el sapo necesitaba valor, para

obtener la daga sin que le despertara el monstruo

necesitaba disciplina, y para ganar entrada al mundo

mágico necesitaba altruismo.

La prueba primera era para matar el sapo que

estaba matando a la higuera. El fauno le pidió que

Ofelia fuera en la tierra y en las raíces debajo del

árbol. Gateó por el barro húmedo y los insectos

corrieron en los brazos y la cara de Ofelia. En el

centro del árbol, estaba el sapo muy grande. Para

matarlo, Ofelia puso las tres pelotas mágicas que el

fauno le daba en la boca del sapo. De repente, el

sapo explotó y luego Ofelia pudo recuperar la llave

que se encontraba en el estómago del sapo.

Ofelia tuvo que ser valiente para completar esta

prueba. Ofelia vivía en un campo de militar en un

tiempo de guerra, necesitaba valor cada día para

sobrevivir los horrores de su realidad. Esta cualidad

es muy importante para una princesa, porque tiene

que ser una lideresa. Ofelia tuvo que demonstrar que

podría una lideresa buena. Hay muchas situaciones

difíciles cuando tendrá que hacer sin miedo.

Necesitará valor cuando deberá mandar soldados a

guerra, o quizás cuando deberá hablar cosas

difíciles.

La gente demandará muchas cosas de Ofelia, y ella

tendrá que hacerlas. A veces, necesitaría valor para

decir que no.

Para la segunda prueba, Ofelia necesitaba

obtener una daga especial que estaba protegida por

un monstruo. En la noche, Ofelia usó una pieza de

tiza mágica que el fauno le daba para dibujar una

puerta en la pared de su habitación. El fauno le daba

dos hadas para que le ayuden, también. En el túnel

de oro que estaba por la puerta, había un festín.

Antes Ofelia se fuera, el fauno le ordenó a ella que no

comiera ninguna pieza de la comida. Ofelia ya había

completado su objetivo – para obtener la daga –

cuando comió dos uvas. El monstruo feo sin ojos se

despertó y atacó a Ofelia. Las hadas del fauno la

salvaron y murieron para hacerlo, y ella escapaba

apenas del túnel.

La cualidad que Ofelia necesitaba probar era la

disciplina. Aunque obtuvo la daga, no obedeció al

fauno. Porque Ofelia no lo obedeció, las dos hadas

del fauno murieron por ella. Si hubiera tenido

autocontrol, las hadas habrían vivido. Aunque era

una princesa, era una niña también. En un tiempo de

guerra, tanta comida como esa era rara. Su

padrastro, el capitán, maltrataba a los soldados del

campo y a su esposa y a su hijastra Ofelia

emocionalmente, pero físicamente sin embargo les

cuidaba. Ofelia estaba maltratada, pero era dudoso

que tuviera hambre, aunque algunas comidas eran

difíciles de resistir. La prueba había probado el

autocontrol de Ofelia por una razón. La disciplina es

importante para una princesa. Una princesa no

puede hacer lo que quiera porque su tiempo y su

vida son de la gente. Hay muchos deberes de una

princesa que requieren disciplina; pero un líder debe

hacer lo mejor para la gente. La mayoría de las veces,

serán cosas simples, como recibir invitados. Pero, a

PAGE 16 SPANISH PROSERHR

veces, las princesas se casan con una persona que no

conocen para el bien de su pueblo. Ofelia necesitaba

el poder de resistir las cosas que quería así que podía

entender las responsabilidades de una princesa en el

futuro.

Por fin, en la primera parte de la tercera y la

última prueba, el fauno pedía que Ofelia trajera su

hermano menor al centro del laberinto. Para hacerla,

necesitaba tomarlo de la habitación de su padrastro.

El Capitán descubrió a Ofelia en su cuarto, mientras

estaba tomando el bebé. El Capitán persiguió a

Ofelia en el laberinto, pero ella escapó. Cuando llegó

al centro del laberinto, el fauno le pidió a su

hermano para la segunda parte de la prueba. Tenía

la daga en sus manos, el tono de su voz era raro y su

presencia era intimidatoria. Ofelia tenía miedo del

fauno, y no quiso dárselo. El fauno le decía que era

para entrar al mundo mágico donde sus padres

estaban, y que necesitaba solamente una gota de

sangre del inocente. Y una más vez Ofelia no quiso,

porque tenía miedo que el fauno matara a su

hermano menor. El fauno estaba enojado con ella, y

le dijo que ella no podía entrar el mundo

subterráneo nunca. El Capitán la encontró, y tomó su

hijo de ella. Antes de irse, le disparó a Ofelia. Su

sangre había fluido al mundo subterráneo, y Ofelia

murió. Ofelia abrió sus ojos y estaba en el gran salón

de trono donde sus padres estaban– Ofelia estaba en

el mundo subterráneo.

El propósito real de la prueba era de altruismo.

Ofelia sacrificaba su propia vida y por su sacrificio, su

hermano podría vivir por muchos años más. Una

princesa necesita esta cualidad porque hay muchas

veces cuando tiene que hacer algo que es difícil.

Como el ejemplo anterior, a veces la princesa tendrá

que casarse con una persona que no conoce, y cada

día estará con él, hasta su último día. Una princesa

debe hacer lo mejor para la gente, sin lo que quiera.

Las tres pruebas habían probado la valiente, la

disciplina y el altruismo de Ofelia. Eran las

cualidades de una princesa y aunque Ofelia era una

PAGE 17 SPANISH PROSERHR

princesa, no nos olvidemos que era una niña

también. Por mucho de su vida, Ofelia crecía en un

tiempo de guerra, y luego vivía en un campo de

militar. Cada día necesitaba valor para sobrevivir los

horrores del mundo real. De repente, el fauno del

laberinto llegó en su vida y le dijo que era una

princesa, pero tenía que completar tres pruebas

antes de que pudiera ir al mundo subterráneo. Las

pruebas había probado por las cualidades de una

princesa perfectamente, pero Ofelia no podía ser

perfecta. Ofelia había hecho el mejor que podía, y

eso es todo que una princesa puede hacer.

RHR

Sarah Stern, "Untitled"

The Red Hawk Review would like to thank TheGateway Foundation for its continued supportof our efforts.

2016 | ISSUE NO. 3 RED HAWK REVIEW

The Red Hawk Review Issue #3

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