TheNationalist

January 30, 2013

Student Literary MagazineRoosevelt High School

southeasttech.edu605.367.6040Sioux Falls, SD

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of today’shottest degrees!

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R visit campus!FRIDAY FYIVISITATION DAYSFebruary 1March 1

The Nationalist proudly presents the 3rd annual....

Student Literary MagazineA collection of

poetry, prose & artwork created by students at RHS

All effort has been made to publish these unjuried submissions in original form without changes or editing.

“One person’s crazyness is another person’s reality.” -Tim Burton

Jenice Rubright, 12

Victoria Muchow, 12

Catherine Stamato, 10 Megan Loger, 11

COVER: Drawing by Raenie Delgehausen, 11

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WakeboardingThe water was calmThe boat was runningThe parents were roaringAs I put on my bindingsI began to get nervousI started to look aroundI yelled at the driverAs I began my first runI did my first jumpI landed it perfectlyAnd after the day was doneI came in wonderingWho was the one recording?

Courtney LaVallie, 11

Marissa Schwartz, 11

Kristin White, 12

Courtney LaVallie, 11

Jonathan Clark, 10

It was a dark world, the broken bird’s world. I suppose in some ways one could call it light, she went to school, made a few friends, and lived “normally”. She lived in a cage though, her wings were clipped. Her throat, heart and soul were covered in chains, binding her painfully to the woman who had bore her. It pained her, the chains, the fact that as she got older she realized, this is my life there’s no return from this my soul is so filthy. When she got older she also realized she could not sing nor fly. Having a voice before this revelation had been of little importance to her, but now she knew people with wonderful voices, voices that rang with clarity and truth, voices that rang with love and affection, voices that rang clear with joy and happiness, and she was drawn to the voices. Sometimes, she’d imitate those voices, trying them out and finding them thin and pale in comparison to the beautiful vibrant things she heard. It pained her most though, when she learned that she could not fly. She had been watching her friends fly for years flitting from one place to another joyful and happy, free of re-straints and the bloody pain that tore her apart. She got to fly sometimes, with the help of her friends and of course the per-mission of that woman. She loved it, she loved it the minute she had it, it was…was liberating! To be able to choose what to do and where to go was such a freedom, such a luxury!The bird reveled in the sensation the feeling and her friends watched from the sides smiling, thrilled their friend could find such passion. The broken bird had passion enough that was true; as she got older the bird couldn’t bare it anymore! She had to be free! She argued more and more with the woman and was screeched at and shouted at and her soul and heart were batter to and fro like a volley ball is batted around the court.

Slowly though, the bird realized she was a coward, she couldn’t face her de-mons, no matter what happened, it was Stockholm’s syndrome and in the end it stole her life. The broken bird one day, on her way to meet her friends, thought life would be nice if it just stopped, and so she stepped out into the busy street. She was killed instantly by a Yukon going 45mph. It shattered most of her bones, and as she lay dying in the street she saw one of her friends above her. “Don’t be sad.” The bird whispered, as her friend wept above her. “I am fi-nally free! I don’t want to leave you but I must. Forgive me. Remember though, I am free, and one day, a long time from now, you’ll join me in my freedom.” And with that the broken bird died, a faint smile gracing her face, her best friend

sobbing next to her.Many years passed, and the best friend was now old, sur-rounded by her grandchildren, and the pictures on the wall were from everywhere, because after the broken bird had died, the friend had felt she must live for them both.So she had, and now as she lay sleeping the broken bird came to her in a dream and whispered “Come, my friend, it is now time. Come join me in my freedom, and thank you. Thank you for living for me.” So the friend smiled and reached up to grab her friend’s hand and the two walked happily into the darkness, passing the days with happiness and no cages, no clipped wings, and no misery.

Britney Thorns, 11

Courtney LaVallie,11

Marissa Schwartz, 11

Marissa Schwartz, 11 5

Untitled

“The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.” - J.M. Barrie

Promises Hard To Keep I stared at him in disbelief; it couldn’t be true, there was no way it could be. His grey eyes bore into my dark blue ones, begging for me to speak. But I was too shocked to form words. Wyatt Zane Stone, my best friend, just informed me that he had cancer. How was I supposed to react to that? Was I supposed to pretend everything was all right? Or break down in front of everybody at the Santa Monica Pier? People were walking by us, laughing and smiling. They talked joyously about the roller coaster or how they won this game or that. Some were walking slowly and others were running. But none of them knew what was happening right under their noses. None of them knew that this seemingly normal boy was dying. They just saw a very tall, skinny boy with windblown, dark brown hair. But if they looked closer they would be able to see how his soft grey eyes sparkled, but not with as much life as they used to. They didn’t know him, and they never would. “Noah? Noelle?” His slight English accent penetrated my thoughts. “Please say something, Noelle.” I still did not respond. I rested my pale hands on the wooden railing of The Pier. The sun was setting towards my left, casting an orange and pink glow across the murky green water of the Pacific Ocean. My fiery red hair blew into my face as a breeze brushed past us. “Noelle Symphony Evans, please say something,” Wyatt stood behind me, his hands on the railing beside mine. “Please,” His voice cracked. I quickly spun around to face him as the word left his mouth. His eyes were watering slightly and he looked so weak. I gathered the tall boy into my arms; he didn’t deserve this. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt,” Tears started weaving their way down my face, “I’m so, so, so sorry.” And still, the people of The Pier marched on. If they did not know us, we were not their problem, not their scar to heal. If they ignored us, we were just another part of the background, nowhere near relevant to what was happening in their life at that moment. If the people faked ignorance, they would not have to ask us why tears were running down our faces. They would not have to pretend to care. The remaining sunlight glinted off of the thin, silver chain of Wyatt’s ever-present necklace. If I were to pull back slightly, I would be able to see his elegantly carved initials on the circular pendant. On the inside of the pendant, there was another engrav-ing and a small photo. The engraving read “Nothing Without My Friends” and on the other half of the pendant was a picture of the two of us. It was not a fancy picture, but one taken from a photo booth. It was a “spur of the moment” kind of deal, something that happened regularly around Wyatt. He had given me no choice in the matter and had dragged me into the small box. We were both smiling wide in the photograph; his arm wrapped tightly around my shoulders. My head was slightly tilted toward the left, and the glint in my eye seemed playful. His eyes were focused on me instead of the camera, his hair crazy from run-ning so quickly. It was taken about seven months prior, in October. Back then we had no idea that Wyatt was well on his way to dying. We were just two careless teenagers hoping to have some fun. The sun had set by now, but the lights of The Pier were too bright for us to see the stars. “Come on, love,” Wyatt gently tugged at my hand. “Let’s get you home before your mum grounds you for being out too late.” “Okay,” I whispered, following closely behind. At that moment, I never wanted to let go of Wyatt’s hand. It was the solid proof that he was still there. The slight warmth radiating off of his palm told me that his heart was still beating, his lungs still breathing. With a pang of hurt I realized that, one day, I would take his hand and it would be cold. There would be no more proof of life. He would be gone.

Jessica Cabral, 12

Riley Johnson, 10

Courtney LaVallie, 11

Andrew DeJong, 12

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Jorge Leyva, 12

Emaan Soliman, 11

Sydney Kreutzmann, 11

Sydney Kreutzmann, 11

Amber Runick, 11

“Home is where the heart is.” - Pliny the Elder

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” - Robert Frost

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Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;Home-keeping hearts are happiest,For those that wander they know not whereAre full of trouble and full of care; To stay at home is best. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

High School Love There she stood, alone in the corner, perhaps the most beautiful woman at this dance. I nervously took a few steps toward her then stopped. I couldn’t do it. I tried talking to her in pre-calc. No luck. AP English didn’t work out so well either. Both times I nervously laughed, and ran away. She’s been in all my classes, from 1st grade up to the present 10th grade. I watched her turn from an ugly duckling into a beautiful, graceful swan. I pushed my big, horned rimmed glasses up my nose farther, and took a shot of my inhaler. Steeling my nerves I darted across the dance floor, weaving in and out of the mass of thronging people, past the giant speakers blasting Katy Perry’s Firework, and stood next to her. “Hey Romeo.” She wheezed, and blew her nose. “Uh…uh…uh…” I mumbled, and looked at my feet, my palms sweating. “Did you get number 27 on the math assignment?” She blew her nose again, and squirted nasal spray into each nostril. “Yeah!” I almost shouted. “Could you maybe explain it to me sometime? I’m kinda confused.” She looked at me with those big, blue eyes, and her silver braces glinting in the dim lighting. Never have I seen someone so beautiful. “Yeah, actually, let me go get my backpack, and I’ll show you. Be right back Juliet.” I darted away before she could say another musical word.

8

I once again dove into the horde of eager dancers, this time grinding to the beat of Lady Gaga’s Poker Face. I scuttled under the bleachers, and grabbed my backpack. Then, I straightened my red-and-white polka dotted bowtie, took another shot of my inhaler, and danced my way back to the beautiful Juliet. When I got back, she was putting her blonde hair into two pigtails with red ribbons. “Romeo!” She squealed. “I didn’t expect you back so soon!” “Sorry.” I blushed and looked down at my feet again.

“Still want help with that math problem?” “Yup. I even got my own calculator!” She reached into a pocket of her white dress, and pulled out a graphing calculator. “No way! That’s the newest model! I’m so jealous! Can I hold it?” I smiled, flashing my braces in a cheesy grin.“Yup. But only if I get a dance later.” She smiled back, and I swear the room got brighter. “Ha, sure.” I reached for the calculator, and my fingers brushed hers. I jumped back, and fell onto the dance floor, my glasses flying off, and landing

at her feet. “My glasses! I can’t see without them!” I wailed miserably. “Here you go.” She handed them to me shyly. I took a deep shot of my inhaler, and took my glasses back. She sprayed more spray into her nose. “How about that dance?” She laughed and grabbed my hand. Her hands were as sweaty as mine, and I felt warmth spread through me. We danced on the outer edge of the horde, people avoiding us like we had the plague. She showed me some dance moves, like the Sprinkler, and The Shopping Cart. She didn’t even laugh when I fell down, which I did lots of times. By the time the last dance came around, we were laughing and working on math in the corner. Each time our hands touched, even briefly, I felt a chill run up and down my spine, and a smile grew across her face. “So what do you do here?” She looked at me through her mascara heavy eyelashes. I explained it to her, and she laughed. “I swear, sometimes I lose my mind.” “That’s okay; I got mine in a jar on my dresser next to my stack of Pokémon cards.” “No way! What cards do you have?” A twinkle in her eye told me she wasn’t kidding. “Well, I have a lot of energy cards, and trainer cards, but I think the jewel of my collection is the holographic Raiku card. They only made around 100 of those I think.” “No way! I have the holographic Lugia!” “Seriously? That’s so cool!” “I know right?” Now for the moment of truth. Do or die. Kill or be killed. Jump or don’t jump. “Do you mind if I give you kiss goodnight?” “Oh my goodness! Are you serious? I’d love it!” I leaned over, and kissed her. Sparks flew, and I knew that it couldn’t get any better then this, or so I thought. “Look! It’s nerd love!” Somebody shouted before they dumped the punch bowl over our heads.Juliet looked at me, laughed and leaned in for another kiss. I didn’t hesitate. Luke Herbert, 11Marissa Schwartz, 11

Makayla Frye, 12

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Another Day, Another LifeI looked at the mirrorTo skin and boneMultiple scarsYou can’t condone

My flesh criesBloody tearsMoaning and growingFor many years

My body screams, “Help me!”But I ignore its pleadsI get weaker and weakerAs my body bleeds

Bruises upon my bodyFrom toe to foreheadI stand very oddlyFrom my dangers ahead

I ran and I ranWith sweat beads on my faceAs fast as I canWithout loosing haste

My feet acheYelping in painA pain forced to intakeNothing I can strain

My legs leadWhile my sight blurryI kept goingRunning in a hurry

Nothing on my backBut the clothes I wearCan’t go backEven if I swear

It’s too late nowI fall hardLimp on the groundFrom that single, glass shard

Baylee Kleinhans, 9

Can we indemnify ourselves if we don’t face what we’re against? - Rise Against

Sommer Burgess, 10

Taryn Harvey, 10

Brock Kortan, 10

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not beome a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” - Friedrich Nietzche

The Next World War This is a warone not fought with gunsWords as bitter as bulletsSilences crackling like canon fireShe's the voiceOf sanityOf reasonOf the millions meant for the earsOf the insaneOf the one who won’t listenOf the ones who don’t want to hear herBoth are too stubborn to listen to each otherThe war rages.Each new alliance breaks old friendshipsBorders change for the worstHer words unheard;His fists flying yet attacking the innocent.Her prophecies coming trueTrusted by no one, trusting nobody,He’s stumblingOne foot out the doorHis mind clouded by silent threatsHers numbed by worryThey watch him from afarEach of their glares saying the same thingThat they’d all be thereThat’s what they told him.So where is the one stepping out to lend a hand?This war isn’t overThe bullets forever whizzing pastThe canons never endingHer prophecies coming trueTrusted by no one, trusting nobody,He's stumblingOne foot out the doorHis mind clouded by silent threatsHers numbed by worryThey watch him from afarEach of their glares saying the same thingThat they'd all be thereThat’s what they told him.So where is the one stepping out to lend a hand?This war isn't overThe bullets forever whizzing pastThe canons never ending Katrine Sjovold, 11

Zachary H

inrichs, 12D

erek Palmer, 12

Catherine Stam

ato, 10

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“Life isn’t divided into genres. It’s a horrifying, romantic, tragic, comical, science-fiction detective novel.” - Alan Moore

11

Who am I? Who am I to you?When you look for meWhich person are you looking for?When I look at you, I don't see the same person either

It's like looking at millions of mirrorsWhich one is the real one?How many mirrors am I goingTo have to break before I find you again?I could walk away, leaving the last mirror I know your behindI could walk, the piles of broken glass sur-rounding that last mirrorSilent they sit, with reflected memories bounding off the broken shardsI'd leave it all, and you, behind

I look back again, We both don't know which person we are looking atIt's not the one we want to see

Neither of us about to change for the otherSo in opposite directions we walkTaking off masks, Tearing down mirrorsTurning mistakes into changesTelling ourselves this is right

After what we went throughWe thought we could make itBut here I stand.Forced to choose.

We don't know who we are to each otherWith one with her mind on the pastWith one with his mind on the futureThere is no happy endingWhere they figure outWho they are to you.

The Sea is emotion incarante. It loves, hates and weeps. It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No mat-ter what you say about it, there is always that which you can’t. - Christopher Paolini

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind. - Dr. Seuss

Erin Griebel, 12

Hannah Anderson, 10

Katrine Sjovold, 11

Death is inevitable. People die every day, but thou-sands are born every day. What happens when someone dies just hours after being given life? When I was 13, my parents decided that they wanted to expand our family of five - my parents, my sisters and I- by adopting another child. This was nothing new to me, my parents had been talking about adoption off and on again for a couple years, but this time, they took it one step further. A high school senior that my mom worked with was pregnant and was going in to the army, as was her boyfriend. Neither Rachel nor Joey could keep the baby, so they talked about adoption. A few months into the adoption process, we found out that the baby had Trisomy 13, a genetic disorder when the thirteenth chromosome splits into three instead of two. Trisomy 13 causes many defects: cleft lips, clenched hands, small head or eyes. It can also cause severe brain damage and the baby can be born with heart problems. When Rachel found out about her son, my soon-to-be-brother, she was given the option of abortion. She chose to carry the baby to term despite the risks, and we chose to continue with the adoption. The next few months were hard, having to deal with home studies and doctors. We were told by doctors that he prob-ably wouldn’t live long. Up to a year, maybe. We were told to prepare ourselves for that. So, we did. We didn’t want to, but we did. Two days into my eighth grade year, my mom got a call from Rachel at about seven in the morning saying that they induced her and that we’d have a baby within the next few hours. Instead of going to school, we sat in the wait-ing room at Sanford waiting to hear the news about Elijah. Finally, someone came out and told us that he was alive and breathing on his own. My younger sister Julia and I were al-lowed to go into the hospital room and hold him. We got to spend two hours with my baby brother. Two short hours before his heart gave out, forcing him to stop breathing. But, those two hours were two hours I’ll never forget. The next few days were filled funeral plans and visits from family- both ours and Rachel and Joey’s. People seemed to come from all over to help us mourn the loss of Eli. The funeral was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life. It’s never easy to say goodbye to a loved one, but to say goodbye to a child is one of the most difficult things in the world. For the last three years, I’ve woke up every morn-ing and had to remember the fact that my brother isn’t here. I spend the day thinking about what Eli would be doing. By now, he’d be walking, talking, doing all of the things three year olds would do. I think about how my brother will never get the chance to do any of those things. He will never walk,

talk, sing, jump, dance, run. He will never go to school. He will never go to college or get married. He will never get to do any of the things that kids are supposed to do. My brother will never get in trouble, never get grounded. My parents will never have to deal with him missing curfew. I will never have my baby brother back. I never realized how much those little things mean, until they can’t be done. Birthdays, for example, are supposed to be a time to celebrate. The birthday child gets presents, cakes. The first birthday, however, is a milestone. All of the relatives get together to watch the child open presents and stuff his/her face full of cake and get messy for the first time. It’s the start of many traditions. The family gathers in one room to watch the birthday child blow out their candles. On my brother’s first birthday, we had cake. We tried to celebrate. But it’s hard to celebrate the birth of someone who never got to live. My parents took my sisters and I to visit Eli’s grave. Rachel’s parents had bought him flowers, a balloon and a few toy cars to put on top of it. It’s hard to be happy when you’re still not over what happened. I don’t really tell people about my brother anymore. Not because I’m ashamed of him, but because they don’t understand. They can’t seem to grasp how I can miss someone that I barely knew. They don’t understand why I miss him if “he wasn’t really my brother.” Elijah may not be a “blood rel-ative” but he is my brother. Rachel’s pregnancy and his death affected my family just as much as it did hers. My parents not only invested financially, but emotionally as well. How can I not miss him? Am I just supposed to forget? Like it didn’t matter? How am I to forget someone who has affected every part of my life since? Everything I do is for Eli. I do every-thing with the mindset that “if he’d be here, he’d be proud of me.” Because I hope he would be.

Courtney Miller, 11

Courtney LaVallie, 11 Dah Reh, 10

Lee Meh, 12

“It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”

-Tyler Durden

Inevitable

12

VoidDarkness does not existIt is not a “thing”You cannot see itYou cannot feel it.

Light does existIt is a “thing”You can see itYou can feel it and its energy by heat.

Physics tell usLight moves in particles and wavesA mix.

Light is tangibleBut you can’t really hold itIn your hand

However, Darkness is not tangibleYou cannot see it or feel itYou can’t hold it in your handIt doesn’t move in any way.

Light can vanquish,Actually fill the void of Darkness.

Because Darkness, you see, is nothing.

Darkness is only the absence of Light.

Ryker Olson, 12

Victoria Muchow, 12

Anh Do, 10

Jessalyn Holsing, 12

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.” - Robert Frost

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September 29th, 2012: I knew it would come, this day, this moment, these spoken words. I play songs, scenes to movies, anything I can remember, in my head, distractions to keep out this truth, but the words cut through: “And Charlie, I don't know what you've thought about. I know when you were little you liked to write stories, and then last year you told me you were thinking about being some kind of teacher or something. But you know, that's not what you could do best. Maybe you could be an engineer, or an architect,” his eyes glisten with the opportunities. “You've always been good at science and math, and with that kind of job you could afford to go to a better school and provide for a family one day. And hell,” he says, smiling at me, as if entertaining the foolish ambitions of a child, “maybe you could play in a community orchestra or write for the church newsletter or something like that. That would give you the fulfillment you're looking for.” His hopeful heart, his convicted voice: they disgust me. With every word, every awkward pause and sincere syl-lable, my anger grows deeper. Within every aspect of my life, this man has only ever found disappointment. Within this pair earnest eyes I have found only sorrow and regret. And it appears that now, even though he does not know me, he knows what is best for me, and even my deepest desires have failed him. “In this economy, you can't afford to take risks with your career choice. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that there'll always be more patients, and there'll always be more buildings. There'll always be some jobs that will just, well, they'll just never go away. And being a doctor is a good pro-fession. And you know what? In a job like that, you'd never have to worry about grocery or gas prices, and your kids could play any sport they want to.” His voice ends, as if he's hit a secret, hidden chord of guilt, of shame. “I wish I could have done that for you, you know? If I could do it all over I would've become a doctor or, or something like that, just for you, son.” All these words, too, set forth fire within me. All but the last: son. Though uttered in a whisper, it trembles in my ears, striking terror and turmoil within my quivering heart. This one word defeats me. I no longer meet his honest eyes. All my life he has given all he knew to. Money, mem-ories, both love in his own way. Who am I to oppose this man's deepest convictions? Who am I to ignore my father's deepest regrets? He continues on for a while, reassuring me that he has only my well-being in mind, that he only protests because he cares. “You've been given so many gifts, Jonathan, it'd be a shame to waste them, don't you think? Don't you think that just being a writer would be cheating the world? I don't know. Don't you think it would be such a waste of all you're capable of?”

I want to tell him he's wrong. I want to tell him that I never cared about the money he made, I never care about what he could buy me. I want to tell him that I would rather have played catch with my father than with my little league team. I want to tell him that being anything but a writer would cheat the world of what I am capable of. I want to tell him that the most powerful works I've ever written were of him, and that all the words I've ever written, all the words he's never read, were for him. I want to tell him that they were written to please, written with secret aspirations to show him that I am worthy of more than disappointment, worthy of perhaps, one day, his praise. “You're right Dad, it'd be a waste.” And as these words leave my lips, I betray myself. I betray myself not because of all my father has given me, but because of the one thing he has not: his pride. And this is why I'd rather share my heaviest hopes and fears with hundreds of my closest peers than with the man to whom they truly pertain, why I'd rather live a sheltered lie than risk the loss of a son's greatest prize, his father's pride. “Good, son, I always knew you would wise up.” I thirst for my father's hand to find mine, for the void that has for so long fought between us to finally collapse, for him to realize the sacrifice I've made for him, the crime I’ve committed, the name I've denied. But he never does.Tomorrow: “How was your day?” He asks, commencing our trite dinner conversation, forever stained with feigned interest from either side. “Good. Yours?” I stare at him over two cold plates of chicken and half-fried rice. I see the deep ridges, the sum of all the regrets and sorrows seen thus far, etched one by one, tear by tear, sin by sin, into his face. I see tired eyes caked with worry, an empty stare once corrupted with false hope, but corrupted now only with fear. I see a man, broken, debili-tated, alone. A man who went out into a world to provide for

a family he would never know, a man who resigned himself to a pur-pose that was never all his own. A man who wants his son's fate to be his own. “No.” I say. He looks up, startled. “I don't want to be a doc-tor or an architect, or anything. I want to do what I'm here for. I want to write.” “You're a fool,” he says after a minute, staring down at his food. “You'll starve.” “Probably.” “It's just not right, someone like you, you'll never be able to forgive yourself if you do it.” “I'll never be able to live with myself if I don't.” “Son...” “I'm sorry, father. But your pride is not worth your fate.”

Jonathan Susemihl, 12

By Charlie

Jessy Harbert, 1214

Until You Came AlongI am the windIn a hurricane

Always mad or sadNever calming downUntil you came along

You calmed meShooing away my fears

When you came along I was tired and recklessNever had a peaceful moment

But you stopped it allFor the first time I was happy

I could do things I never dreamed of Like I could scale a wall with easeAnd forget my worries

But this only happenedAfter you appeared in my life

Thanks to youI can be free

“A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think i too have known autumn too long” - E.E. Cummings

“Who’s been painting my roses red? Who’s been painting my roses red? Who dares to paint the vulgar paint The royal flower bed For painting my roses red Someone will lose his head” - Queen Of Hearts

Sydney Evans, 11

Sydney Evans, 11

Mackenzie Solberg, 12

Ashley Zimmer, 10

Kristina Ivanov, 11

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Gildman CreedyKnown for my decadent parties,And lavish guests with their eloquent dress,I lived a rich man’s life,While ruling the poor men in the village,Everything from the river to the forests were mine,That is, until one night when people made merry,And my house was ablaze with life and laughter,That Hell kindly stopped by with a smile.With my house in ruins and my lands foreclosed,I joined the riff and the raff, the poor and destitute,Doomed to the slow death of the common man blues,My friends abandoned me, the common folk excluded me,So I lived alone, and I died aloneIn a gutter choked with what I really was,Trash.

Luke Herbert, 11

“I think I’ll dismember the world and then I’ll dance in the wreckage.”

- Neil Gaiman

Jenice Rubright, 12

Jenice Rubright, 12

Erin Griebel, 12

Joshua Newcomb, 10

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Orrin Frieson, 10

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Marissa Schwartz, 11

1101 W 22nd St, Sioux Falls, SD 57105 »(605) 331-5000»usiouxfalls.edu

Upcoming Visit DaysJanuary 21 • March 1 • April 26

Jamaica 2012Mission Trip

Leyva, Jorge............................................7Loger, Megan.........................................3Meh, Lee...............................................12Miller, Courtney...................................12Muchow, Victoria............................3, 13Newcomb, Joshua...............................16Olson, Ryker........................................13Palmer, Derek......................................10Reh, Dah..............................................12Rubright, Jenice...............................3, 16 Runick, Amber......................................7Schwartz, Marissa..................4, 5, 8, 17Sjovold, Katrine............................10, 11Solberg, Mackenzie.............................15Soliman, Emaan....................................7Stamato, Catherine.........................3, 10Susemihl, Jonathan.............................14Thorns, Britney.....................................5White, Kristin........................................4Yaquob-Mohammad, Rihan...............4Zimmer, Ashley..................................15

Anderson, Hannah.............................11Burgess, Sommer..................................9Cabral, Jessica.......................................6Clark, Jonathan.....................................4DeJong, Andrew...................................6Delgehausen, Raenie............................1Do, Anh...............................................13Evans, Sydney.....................................15Frieson, Orrin.....................................16Frye, Makayla........................................8Griebel, Erin................................11, 16Harbert, Jessy......................................14Harvey, Taryn.......................................9Herbert, Luke.................................8, 16Hinrichs, Zachary...............................10Holsing, Jessalyn.................................13Ivanov, Kristina..................................15Johnson, Riley.......................................6Kleinhans, Baylee.................................9Kortan, Brock.......................................9Kreutzmann, Sydney...........................7LaVallie, Courtney.................4, 5, 6, 12

CONTRIBUTORS

Compiled by The Nationalist staff

Take the Steps to a Future at Augustana.

Join us for Explore Augustana on February 15 or request an individual visit. Apply at augie.edu/apply. Ninety-seven percent of Augustana students receive scholarships and/or financial aid. File the FAFSA at fafsa.ed.gov and include Augustana’s code, 003458.

Sioux Falls Campus | globeuniversity.edu

Make your college fund ☺

Junior and seniors! Do your finances a favor.

Take (FREE!)* college courses while you’re still in

high school! Call 605-977-0705 today.

» High school scholarships (for those who qualify)

» FREE career-planning sessions

» Day, evening & online classes

*Students are responsible for book and lab fees.

Be Great. Start Here.

SOUTH DAKOTA STATE UNIVERSITY Brookings, SD1-800-952-3541 or (605) 688-4121 | SDSU.Admissions@sdstate.eduSDSTATE.EDU

WWW.SDSTATE.EDU (Keyword: Junior Day)REGISTER NOW

JUNIOR DAY

2/2/13