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Student Art Spotlight

Updated: Apr 2

In North Scott High School, there are many students who showcase an abundance of different artistic talents. From writing, to taking pictures, to singing, and dancing, students have continued to show their talents whether it be a school assignment or something they did for fun.

I thought this article would be an amazing opportunity to spotlight some of the students here at North Scott High School and their amazing artistic creativity. 

So I reached out and messaged some people I thought would be interested in sharing their work.


Fiction

First up we have a short story written by Aria Webb who is a senior at North Scott High School.


Aria has been writing since she was in elementary school, she sees it as a way to express her feelings on paper, when she can’t say the words out loud. Her love for writing has expanded recently, and that caused her to write this phenomenal short story:


“Living on When your Best Friend Isn’t”

by Aria Webb


I woke up that morning, face puffy and red. I forced open my eyes one-by-one, crust from last night’s tears making each blink almost impossible. Swinging my legs over the edge of the short-legged bed, I rubbed my face as I stared blankly against my bland white walls, no longer littered with old pictures I couldn’t bring myself to look at. I ignored every buzz from my nightstand, stumbling from my bed frame to the bathroom across the soda-stained carpet. In the bathroom I lazily ran a brush through my bed-hair and threw on Ruth’s favorite warm-brown, cable knit, oversized sweater hanging from the hook in the wall and a pair of hole-filled jeans that I’d worn the day before. I could hear both my parents talking downstairs, all packed up by the time I ambled down the steep stairs, heart breaking with each step toward the bottom. My mom looked at my shirt, sorrow written in every laugh line on her face; I could tell she wanted to say something to me, but held back at the water she could see, and I could feel, in the corners of my eyes. 


The car was running, the soft leather interior a warm contrast to the ice outside in our small square yard. All I thought about as the car pulled out and rumbled down our gravel driveway was a warmer day, just a couple months ago, singing in the car as the sun set over the hill and driving down country roads on the way home from a shopping trip downtown. Taylor Swift was blaring through the speakers, in the way that all adults said would ruin our ears, but we hadn’t cared. We were happy, joyous, with our hands lifted through the sunroof, feeling more carefree with every passing mile. I had thought we were going to live on forever, but for her, I suppose she was sick of it all. 


Each barren tree we passed as my dad drove taunted me, just a harsh reminder that this season would always remind me of loss, the person I used to have by my side. The funeral home we pulled up to was an ugly, deteriorating, brick building, steeped in brambles and dead overgrown ivy from the ground to the harsh-angled roof covered in ripped up shingles. I distinctly remember the front room smelled like old shoes and rancid perfumes, the flat carpet a putrid brown-orange floral pattern that even my grandma would’ve hated. My stomach had rolled, almost coming up to my throat at the way it was all suited for grandparents and adults who had lived full lives and been content with leaving, but we weren’t here for someone in their seventies. She wasn’t  -- hadn’t been -- close. Barely a teen, not even a legal adult. 


I could see our old peers were huddled together in sporadic rows, blank space was abundant between each snot green and brown pew, keeping to their own groups, scared to branch out. Each bench had been emptier as that room went back. I could hear the whispers from all different families as they stopped by, gave their condolences at the raised stage up front, just below the red mud-colored casket, and talked about “how sad it is that such a young girl couldn’t be saved from this.” Gave their pity pats on the back and emotionless hugs and empty promises to support the family in any way they could. 

One lady in particular had reached up to Ruth’s mom and said, “she was always a bright young girl, what a shame this happened, at least she’s in a better place.” It made me nauseous. Where else could she be that would be better than by her family’s, her friends’, my side? 


Ruth’s mom had just nodded, her face the deepest scarlet as she turned her back and rubbed at the salt tracks on her cheeks. She took several seconds to breathe deeply before turning back around, her eyes shone, and shoulders rolled back. 


Every family who had walked up to the stage sat down as the service started, their act stopped, faces dried, as the speaker began, and talked about her as if he knew exactly what she had been like, been through. Happy girl, ray of sunshine, brightest student, popular, compassionate, her parents’ shining star. “Top student of her class,” he had said while she was about to be 6 feet below; while I dwelled on every night she called me, 2:53 am, and sobbed about how her grade in one class had dropped one percent, and broke down telling me that no one would love her if she failed this one assignment. 


“I wish I didn’t feel this way all the time,” Ruth had said on one especially horrendous night. “I know my parents love me. They’re so proud, I know, but I can’t help thinking that would change if I stopped. Like, if I just stopped trying all the time. I would give anything to not have to try anymore.” Ruth pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead, as if she could dull the pain she felt so much of. Even though she hid it well that night, I could see her tears from where she was laying on the bed.  


We spent the rest of that night until morning in silence as she cried more. It was the first time I’m sure she thought about ending it. 


All I could think about -- over and over -- was that moment. As everyone at the funeral was stuck on the accomplished student who would have gone on to do great things, I saw the teenage girl who just wanted to feel love; the girl who had been everyone’s “favorite person,” but only when she was at her best. I had seen the posts over her birthday last year, our peers writing “my favorite girl,” “my best friend,” “the best person I know,” as if they could claim to know her beyond her reputation as pretty, nice, and smart. 


But I knew Ruth, the girl who had felt overwhelmed, drowned, in the weight of every one’s expectations and “love.” I knew deep down that they really didn’t care that she was gone, and wouldn’t be back; nobody truly cared that Ruth wouldn’t be back, it just opened up her spot at the top for some girl to sweep in and take it, it was what they had been waiting for, between every fake smile and laugh at her expense, between every shared glance after someone asked to see her finished school work so they could copy it, too. I cared that she decided living wasn’t enough to make up for feeling worthless. I cared that she decided that her best friend wasn’t enough to make her hesitate, for just one second, before going into that bathroom. I cared that she chose leaving over staying -- for me, for her -- for the world, now emptied of her smiles and her laughter. I cared, too much, that she didn’t think I deserved to know what she would do. I cared that I missed her, and loved her, and hated her, and wanted her back at the same time. No one could know how deep that pain went, that there would always be a part of me that resented her for making me feel betrayed, abandoned, by a choice she thought she had to make. Ruth had known how much I loved her, but it hurt to know that she didn’t feel loved enough. 


Throughout this short story, Aria has found a way to touch readers' hearts and get readers to relate to the feeling of losing a best friend or even a loved one. The main character goes through these trials and tribulations of grief regarding losing a best friend and what a person might feel inside when the person who was always there for them, no longer is. Once she sent me this, I knew it had to be included. This short story touches the hearts of many and I knew this was a perfect opportunity for more people to get to read this amazing creation by Aria. 


Poetry

Next, I have a poem written by someone who would like to remain anonymous. They said they would love to have their writing featured, but they didn’t want their name to be mentioned, and I am going to respect that. This is a poem that was written for an assignment; when the author sent it to me, I once again knew I wanted to feature it here in the Student Art Spotlight.


“Me and My Room, I don’t Mind.”

by Anonymous


Honey…

Sweety,

Jane,

Jane Doe!

Jane Lynn Doe!

All my mom's words,

All her. 

I don’t mind.


My mom is the best… 

Sometimes.

She doesn’t like listening to me though.

My dog does.

He’s the only one that listens in my house.

I’m glad he does. 

I don’t mind! 


I like lying in bed with him.

In my room.

At night,

When it’s raining, 

Snoring on the bed,

Clinking of the sand glass with the sea shells dangling in the moonlight, 

In the corner of my room.

It’s raining…

inner peace…

Finally.

I don’t mind


I love my family, 

I do, 


They just don’t like to listen.

I’m glad Max does.

I watch the rain trickle down the rain gutter.

I love the rain.

I always told my mom that I love gloomy days. 

She likes to make fun of me for it but, 

I don’t mind…


Every time it’s gloomy,

In my room specifically, 

I feel happy oddly enough.

I feel at peace.

No screaming,

No yelling,

No anger.

Peace.

It’s even better at night.

Dark,

No one out,

Night drives, 

Time finally by myself.

I don’t mind.


Sort-of…

Sometimes I feel alone.

I’ve been told its ok to feel alone.

The thing is,

I always feel alone.

Even if I’m in a room full of people.

I always feel like this.

I don’t mind…


Anyway, 

Back to what I was saying, 

My room is so cozy,

Perfect temperature, 

My mom thinks it’s cold, 

I like the cold though. 

She likes to say it’s too cold, 

I don’t mind…


I always feel like I’m trying to please my mom, 

I know she only wants me to be safe, 

I know she wants the best for me, 

And I know she wants me to be a better person than she was at my age…

She told me herself. 

I want to love my mom, 

That feels hard a lot of the time… 

I feel drained… 

Not in my room though, 

No one to worry about; 

Nothing to worry about.

I don’t mind.

And I Can’t mind.


It may not make sense to others,

It may not make sense to you.

You might even have to read this,

Over and over,

And that’s ok.

I truly don’t mind.


This person did a phenomenal job of expressing what it is like to live in a house where not everything is always perfect. It gives the perfect insight to some of the things that not everyone knows about. I am glad they let me showcase this piece of writing because to some people out there, they will relate to the feelings the author is expressing all too well. 


Photography

The final piece of art that I am going to showcase this week is a picture that was taken by Kennadi Thiessen. When I asked if she has any artwork she wouldn’t mind me sharing, she sent me this picture.



She took this picture on March 14th of 2024 during spring break. She was at Disney with her family when she saw this scene at one of the parks and knew she had to take a picture. Kennadi has an eye for photography and takes pictures like this all the time. 


Though in this article there were only three people showcased, there are plenty more people in our school who have a creative eye. But if I included everyone, we would be here forever. Whether it be for writing, singing, drawing, or dancing, many people have a creative side and I am glad I got the chance to show what some of us here can do.

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