Page 5 - Labyrinth--Surfacing Like Salmon-2019-2020

Letter From the Editors Ahoy, Reader! Individually cloistered, but not conquered, we bring you the eighth edition of Labyrinth, Stagg High School’s literary magazine. Although digitized, this compilation remains, as ever, a grouping of miscellania from student authors and artists. Inspired and awed by the steadfast tenacity of salmon (as well as their festive, carotenoid-pigmented pink flesh), we decided to commemorate them with this year’s theme: Surfacing Like Salmon. Most salmon are anadromous, meaning that they are hatched in fresh water, migrate to the ocean, and finally return to fresh water once more to bring forth the new generation—and promptly die. It’s self-explanatory, we hope, that we encourage many characteristics of these fish, excluding their life span. It would be obvious to say that salmon “are a reminder that perseverance will get us through any opposing rapids,” or that “like salmon, you can survive whether the water is sweet or briny,” or even that “salmon remind us to get our daily dose of omega-3 fatty acids to help our brains during distance learning.” But although we wish you more sisu, survival, and sashimi than there is salt in the sea, we urge you to flash your flippers during these turbulent times and proceed as any self-valuing member of the family Salmonidae would: with flair and flamboyance, leaps and fishy pirouettes silhouetted against a torrential deluge. “Salmon” is derived from salmo, which comes from salire, Latin for “to leap.” Dance through the storm (stay inside if there’s lightning), and allow your mind to not wander, but waltz with our artistries and imaginings. We appreciate you and your brains—after all, they have led you here, to be further inspired—and you are what keeps us vaulting enthusiastically through tides and endless toil, with the unyielding effort of Atlantic salmon. Many thanks to the students who have divulged their secret writings, profound ramblings, and sublime artwork, not only to us, but to Labyrinth’s readership. Your work is the beacon of a lighthouse in an otherwise Stygian void, and we are honored to be trusted (more or less) to be the lighthouse keepers. We’d like to thank all of the Lit Maggots for their effort in producing this modified output, and for battling Adobe InDesign like the true Greek gods and goddesses we suspect they are. Thank you especially to those who swam a little deeper than the rest during the COVID-19 pandemic: impromptu Quarantine Crew, and Ms. Kazlauskas (and the cat that entertained us via Zoom, though perhaps only the fishy topic was interesting). This magazine is replete with sufferings and hopes, discouraging throes and shining moments of laughter. It’s all part of this saline solution called life, reminiscent of tears and jellyfish-infested waters. You might feel like you are drowning at first, and that even in freshwater the rapids are out to get you. However, we promise that the ocean only has an approximate average salinity of 3.5%, and that currents have been overcome before. Swim like the salmon, and surface as well. We’ve all heard sink or swim, but we urge you to evolve. Grow some gills and join our parade of leaping salmon. Turn the page, and hurry along, lest the fishmonger catch you first. Gasping for air but metamorphosing quickly and efficiently, Labyrinth’s Lit Mag Team 4