Generating Ideas

My writing goal is generating ideas. I already have a few strategies but i need about 2 more. Any ideas?

Burning Up

He was supposedly dead. Dead as a doornail, some would say. Or so they thought. It turns out he was nearly napping. Not on command or purposely, but nevertheless he was not dead. However, he was unaware of this. Ralph Donaldson was in a coma, but everyone thought he was dead. Unfortunately, he had arranged for cremation after death, and this may be the one time he regrets having loyal family and friends, as for they intended to bring out his will.
He was lying peacefully in a satin interior mahogany coffin. It had intricately carved angels with pedals, truly quite remarkably designed. It was intended to bring him peace in the afterlife, however, it would bring him pain in the current life. It would be the spot of his death. He would be burned alive in his own coffin.
He awoke, and once he got his mind about him, he was shocked. He could barely hear what the people around him were saying but. All he heard was muffled voices. However, he did make out his wife’s sweet soft voice muttering something involving him being a great supporter. Then he heard her cry, much to his dismay. The cry, unlike her voice, was loud, violent, and unpleasant.
“I am not dead! I am here, in the coffin! Unlatch the door and open it up! I am alive!” As he yelled, as loud as he could, it began to become hot. A single drop of sweat trickled down his temple. It became hotter and hotter, like an inferno. Flames came through the wood and inside the coffin. It burned the pearl colored, satin lining. He pushed upward, trying to escape, but it was no use. There was no way he was getting out of this. His clothes were now on fire, which then spread to his flesh. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and as quick as a flash, it was over.

Soft Feathers Fall

I will fly away.
My heart will escape from the steel cages, the misguided thoughts, the unforgiving glares, the fake talking.
My ears wont hear the snide remarks, the snippy answers.
My eyes wont see the hostile backs, the quickly closed doors.
My mouth wont grace the angry masses with its words.
My mind wont comprehend the anxious glances, the tense tones.
I will fly away.
I will break free.
I will find a life free of this madness.

Remember Me With Joy and Happiness

I just stood there waiting. Waiting for a sign that everything was going to alright. Waiting for everything, waiting for anything. I tried to hold my tears back at wait I had just heard minutes before. The worst news anyone can think of. The news that you dread to hear. The words make you want to curl up in a ball and cry, the words that make the world seem like it is spinning right before your eyes, the words that you don't ever want to believe. "LET ME SEE HIM!" I screamed.
"No, you can't, its too late. " My mom said as she tried to hug me. I pushed her arms away
"NO NO NO NO NO! ITS NOT TOO LATE! HE WILL BE BACK! HE WILL!" I screamed back at her as I was bawling.
"Just calm down." My mom said in a soothing voice. "We are all still in shock from the horrid event." Mom began to shred tears again as they began to crawl down her cheeks. I stormed out of the room furious at myself.
"WHY HIM! WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE TO CHANGE WHAT HAPPENED! WHY HIM! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME! WHY HIM!" I yelled to the heavens
"Its okay, just calm down. I'm here with you, right here right now, but not for much longer." A soft voice said.
"Who said tha...." I said until I turned around and saw who it was. It was him. He was standing there right in front of me. "But, but your ... and how?" My voice stuttered.
"Well this is just my spirit, but hey I'm here, but not forever. And by the way, you couldn't have done anything to safe me. If you were there he would have just killed you too." He said. I started to cry as hard as I could making my face look like the Pacific Ocean.
"Don't remember with pain and sorrow. Remember me with joy and happiness. Don't think about the event that killed me, think of the events that we shared smiles together." He said an then he disappeared. He was gone, gone forever. He, who was my brother, was gone forever, but will never leave my heart.

Hi my writting goal is having more dialouge in my story. Can anybody help me out for different stratagies on how to do this?

thanks, rockelle

clinchers

i need some strategies for clinchers. so far i have asking a question and restating the thesis in different words. does anyone have anything else?

Leads

My writing goal is leads. I need some strategies. The only ones I know is to ask a question and start off in the middle of a scene so the reader can ask questions. Is there anymore?

One more strike...

I sit in the corner
cowering, hiding my face
from your hideous yells

"Stop!"
My scream was not heard
Through the sounds of broken glass
And shattered memories
Like a fight between a cat and a dog
I never knew if it would end

"Please, you`ll regret this!"
They knew how I felt
As if they were in my mind
Interrupting my thoughts
With their own regards

"Please! Stop!"
I didn`t know any better
It`s been going for only minutes
But it feels like a decade
The tragic words
The crash and clangs of glass
Now finally, the car door slamming

"Not again..."
Rushing up to the window
The crystal stained with chips and cracks
Showed it had been witness
to our last moments together
It had felt the pain of two hearts
Once together
Now apart

Lost

I struggle,
to understand the world,
and the ways of the people who inhabit it.
I can't even come to fathom,
the actions of the ones,
who are either,
to insecure for their own good,
or who just don't understand,
the meaning inside themselves.
They didn't all act that way,
the way they do now.
Infact,
many can't even come to the realization,
of their own actions preformed.
But they can't stop,
because once they have begun,
its a part of them,
that won't leave,
even to escape for a breath of fresh air.
I believe,
that only some will see clearly,
if the tables happen to turn,
or if they experience something,
even greater than their minds could imagine.
And for the others,
who know they won't and can't change,
are just lost.

Leads

Does any one have any good stratigies for generating a good lead? The only stratigies I have are asking a question and using specific sensory images.

Unknown

There is a certain cross road between emotional feeling and physical feeling. For some unknown reason we humans are cursed and blessed to experience physical emotions within our fictional hearts planted deep within us.

No words can describe what is sometimes felt. Packed snugly under the folds of your soul your unidentified self starts to tug on the strings, spread into the corners, push against the wall. It is alien for you to react in a way unrecognizable by your own brain, almost frightening that there are layers of you that you have yet to reach under.But it can also be exhilarating.

So why? Why are you forced to deal with the very real part of your boiling blood as it pumps its way through the veins of your unproven soul? I'll tell you the truth, I don't know.

Individual Writing Goals

Students who are trying to work on their individual writing goals should be utilizing the writing blog as a place to look for feedback as well as advice on their goals. This is a place to talk about different strategies you have found and used etc...be an active blog contributor!!!!

Grammar Tips

This week's grammar packet focuses on one strategy to help you VARY SENTENCE STRUCTURE. Varying sentence structure is important because it makes your sentences more interesting to read. It breaks up the monotony of the constant Noun/Verb/Object format. It can also help you add length to short sentences etc.

The specific strategy you are working with is utilizing opening adjectives and delayed adjectives. These create interest because in the case of the opening adjective, we are accustomed to reading a sentence that starts with a subject...by giving us an adjective first, we are pleasantly surprised.
Jon ran across the room. PLAIN
With hands raised in triumph, Jon ran across the room. STRONG.

Delayed adjectives add interest because we expect to have modifiers right before the words they modify....the red scooter, the broken chair.

By putting the adjective afterwards, you can freshen up the order of things and create interest.
example....the scooter, rusted and broken

If anyone has qestions, comments, examples of this strategy in action, feel free to post them here.

Injury

Your team steps out onto the court
While you sit their…grieved
The Doc said you weren’t healthy enough
To play the game you love
So while your team is on the court
You try and wipe your tears on the bench
Saying life isn’t fair
Saying you should be out there
Not here
And you may pray all you want
The Doc’s answer ain’t changing
You’ll still be on that bench tomorrow
And you’ll still have that useless leg
So all you can do is watch
And hope that maybe your prayers will work
That you maybe on that court tomorrow
Instead of sitting on the bench with sorrow

File Fiasco

You never know,
where it came from,
many possibilities

A forest in Colorado,
or just a branch in NY,
many possibilities

But think of,
the waste of a tree,
just for one unforgivable,
written late on Sunday night,
that won't be used again

Could end back in the same starting area,
after its been wasted,
but its still part of a quagmire

Just think of the work that had to be done,
to get that piece of paper in your printer,
but all you do is cause a quagmire

There is always a use for something,
paper shouldn't be discarded,

Do not cause a quagmire

Warn Me (PLEASE!)

Bang! Boom! "This is a tornado warning!"

I wish I heard all of that, but the truth is; I didn't . . .

Furniture is being thrown, sheds are tipping over and full trees are collapsing. Where am I? Again, I would like to say that I am safe in my basement with no chance of danger . . . but I am actually laying down in my room, music blasting in my ears, falling asleep. I am completely unaware that my town is about to get totally destroyed because the biggest storm in U.S. history is about to roll in; TODAY! RIGHT . . . NOW!

The Terrible Two

Crashing and thrashing around the corner like a typhoon, the mop-like thing came at me. Right on its tail came a hulking tyrannosaurs of a dog. The sound of nails sctratching for traction on the hard wood floor were a warning siren to my ears. I felt like I was stuck in glue as i tried to put my arms in front of my face. The mop's eyes seemed to be glinting with the cruel message, too late! I saw her legs compress then spring up into an accelerated leap. All thirty pounds of her came crashing down on me, causing binders and pencils and all sorts of important papers that I would have to turn in agian anyway, to crack and crumble like delicate fallen leaves between the fingers of child. Before I could shove the mop off and stop the stabbing pain of a pencil in one side and my Lang Arts binders attempting to close on my head, there was another hundred pounds on top of me. The two monsters were snapping and growling and I was the injured victim that got the brunt of it. With a shove and a grunt I unearthed myself from the snarling dogs and began to check if I was whole. The terrible two paid me no mind, they just kept playing and nipping while I ranted my anger and disapproval at being used as a fighting ground. This what I have to live with, my mother's tyrannosaurs Piggy, and my fiesty mop, Mayday. Together they were more feracious than two girls fighting over the last two-for-one shirt.

I miss..

I miss…

The old days;

The nights you two would come in my room and tuck me in at night

&

we would sing together.

I miss the day I took my first steps

&

my sisters were there to cheer me on,

I miss the day I jumped off the bus

&

saw my baby in Lauren’s arms.

I miss the day that we were actually friends

&

we would have fun togther.

I especially miss the day when you told us you loved us

&

we were the best thing that happened to you.

I miss those days,

&

I want them back.

Feedback and commentary

I love that so many people are leaving feedback for their peers. I have two concerns though:

1. People are repeating the exact same comments that have been made by previous commenters. Just like in Socratic Outer Circles...once a comment is made, it doesn't need to be repeated.
2. No one is leaving any critical thoughts, questions etc. Also there is no advice on how to make the piece better. We need to use the blog as a place to get good critical feedback to make our writing better. Don't worry, you will not hurt anyone's feelings as long as your intentions are to help them make their poem/story/essay/thought the best that it can be.

opposites attract

Sean R.

     opposites attract

I walk alone. Not literally, im not that kid who is completely to themselves, but im alone. Me friends arent like me, ignoring all the problems of the world, because their too caught up in their  perfect little world. I live a life of cold lonliness, home isnt fun, school isn't much better. Home is suupposed to be a safe place to be yourself, but i can't even be myself there. I'm trying to please my never-pleased parents, but..... they are never pleased!!! Sometimes i wonder, what the hell am i doing here, is the world better off without me? and sometimes i think it is. This doesn't stop me from waking up every morning with a new mentallity, every day is a fresh start, a new shot at the world. Maybe today will be better. Was it better? No, but maybe the next day will be.

My friends are who i like to hang out with, but their not the best friends anyone could ask for, to tell you the truth. They sometimes make fun of me for no reason, but maybe tommarrow they wont. My friends arent alot alike me, but i guess opposites attract.

Poreclain Faces

Everywhere I go

poreclain faces follow

so beutiful, yet so fragil

painted with delicate care

to hide the painstaking fragments

of their seemingly perfect lives

In the whipped whispered winds

the foundation of imperfections lie
leisurely expanding the cracks of shattered china

threatening these porcelain faces

to freely live

or dutifully die

What is Wrong With You?

What is wrong with you?
Everything you do repulses me.
The way you walk into the classroom with your "swagger"
Your identity is not convincing.
Why don't you just be yourself,
instead of this idiot person that you look like.

You are such a player,
walking around tearing apart girls hearts like they are nothing.
I'm happy I never fell for your stupid act,
but some of my friends weren't so lucky.

Can you please just look in the mirror,
and realize how hideous you look?
Then I might respect you.
But it won't be easy.

This is a poem i have yet to finish, i have the beginning and the end but i need a middle. Tell me what you think it needs so i can find the missing ingredient.

FIRST PART

When eyes reveal their color
the sun drips down my spine.
The road ahead lays black,
but still my sight is blind.

LAST PART

Tomorrow will never come,
for tomorrow is today.
Yet still I may find sight
when tomorrow comes my way.

I Miss You

Another day, another week
Another tear on another cheek
Another spring, and another fall too
But there will never be another you
♥♥

Shattered Glass

Laying there in shattered glass,
shedding tears that never pass.
Near my ears are whispered lies,
of frightful memories that refuse to die…
Skipping in the forest glow,
my heart so cold I wait for snow.
Gently I chant the song,
of where the order may belong.
“The angel will die so the demon shall live
and karma may continue to give”
The metal object violently shimmered in the glow of moonlight.
Slowly, slowly I continue toward the horrific dead of the night.

Skiing

At the top of the mountain,
staring at skiers below.
I start pushing off my poles,
and down the slope I am flying.

Zig- zagging on the fresh powder,
being careful not to fall.
The sharp, whistling wind is punishing my face,
and my finger tips are becoming numb as I am gripping my ski poles.

My thighs start burning at first, like the hot embers from last night's fire,
but quickly building to a raging inferno.
I bounce between the moguls,
with my knees bent.
It seems ad though they are growing in front of me.

Half way down the run now,
the mountain seems like it is going to win.
I am fighting to hold back my fear,
and I am trying not to panic.

I start singing a song to help calm my nerves,
not caring who hears.
I am catching up with my friends,
passing them and spraying them with snow as I roar by.

A few more feet to go,
the slope is flattening out.
I am done.
I am skiing back into the line for the lift,
excited to go again.

His scar on his face told you he seen it all. His build reminded you that a passed ball would never happen and if a ball got loose it was your fault. He didn't care what type of special change-up you threw or about your funky breaking ball. He didn't care you where a playing up and pitching for his team. He just cared that he was catching. He never gives signs so when you got shelled he didn't look bad. Jack knew he was in trouble when he saw his new catcher.

Mr. Smith's Umbrella

Grey as day can be,
with just the right amount of white,
comes the rain
to pause the pain
and bring upon the light.

But there he sits,
all the same.
His park bench in the rain.

And here I sit,
all the same.
Beside my windowpane.

I tap the glass once,
perhaps he will look up.
But one tap will not do,
he remains a statue.

My hand knocks twice.
And his response?
Bleached, wrinkled face,
nothing to replace
the hallow of his eyes.

Three times to tremble the glass
is what it takes to see
that there is also me.

But there is no smile,
there is no wave,
no glance of his eye.
Just a shiver running through,
and what else should I do?

so i rap tap tap tap.
Four
to be sure.
And now his brittle bone
shutter like stone.

"Wake Mr. Smith!
Open your eye!
See there is life
that is still left to die."

I pound to the fifth.
But whats left of this
is a quivering man
who's left to stand
and walk away in the rain
from my windowpane.

Grey as day can be,
with just the right amount of white,
comes the man with the umbrella
who prefers blindness over sight.

Softball, it's not just a sport. To some people, it's about way more than that.
It's about catching that ball that can't be caught.
It's about hitting that ball that no one else can hit.
It's about the bruises and injuries that leave permanent marks on your skin.
It's about those bad calls by the umpire that we just can't control.
It's about getting those big dirt stains on your pants that never wash out.
It's about making mistakes that you know you won't make again.
It's about your team that soon becomes like your family.
It's playing the game you love.

Horvath's Huvercraft (a true story...mostly)

I have recently discovered something I thought so important i should share my newly found intelligence with my fellow classmates. This realization was thrust upon me shortly after i had finished my book review and reading for the night. Crawling under the covers and letting my droopy eyes rest the mistakes of my last book review began to shuffle through my mind. My intentions were to merely recheck in my mind if I had fixed those errors due to my poor display of the ability the marking period before, but thanks to my late night reading i was too exhausted to dwell on it long.

Now i must tell you, in the past i have been known to posses the talent of sometimes dreaming events that have already, or intend, to happen. This dream, however, was a bit different.

It was the end of the day in homeroom and our well known language arts teacher, Mr.Horvath, came up to me and asked if I needed help with my book review. Now, as you know i was worried I would not be able to improve this piece, so I agreed to this. Surprisingly though, instead of taking the paper from my hand he turned to the window, opened it all the way, and pushed out the screen to let the chill of November slip in. He then took a set of keys from his pocket and stepped out the window.

I am aware that a normal human being would plunge to his death at this point, but, Horvath being very unordinary, seemed to be walking on air. I was then astonished to find that he clicked a button that seemed to be for his car, and opposed to hearing the beep of doors unlocking I witnessed a large floating object appear. Yes, you guessed it, a hovercraft.

When awaking from this dream the memory flooded back to me and this is were my ultimate realization hit me. Horvath is not human. What? Do you suppose me crazy? Well think what you want but it all makes perfect sense. There is an invisible hovercraft siting afloat right outside his window and don't try and tell me different. I know what I'm saying is true, for what kind of human being can have such superior knowledge, be so astoundingly humble? The answer is none, for Horvath is not human but something completely unique.

Murtha

Suddenly, something grasps my throat. I cannot breathe. I jolt upward thrashing and gasping for air. Then, my breath returns. Everything is normal.

It is mid-fall and the air is crisp. I sit in math class thinking about the night before. It must have been a dream because that’s always how the movies end. “Bethany?” Mrs. Williams says while tapping a pen on my desk. “Yes?” I answer. “This is the last time I’m going to remind you to pay attention in class. The next time it will be a detention,” she says sternly. She goes back to teaching and I go right back to daydreaming.

I jump as the bell rings signaling the end of the day. I throw my books in my bag and bolt to my bus. I quickly finish my homework with time to spare. Then the bus jerks to a stop and I drag my feet through my yard to my old victorian house. “Hey mom, I say, giving her a hug. “Hi Honey, how was school?” she asks. “Good,” I call down flatly as I run upstairs and survey my small room. Nothing unusual, I hope I am imagining what happened last night.

A few hours pass slowly and I have a late dinner with my mom. She divorced a few years back. I haven’t spoken to or about my dad since. My mom really hates talking about it.

It is late and we finally finished dinner, so I slowly trudge upstairs to get ready for bed. It is Friday and I can stay up, but I don’t particularly feel like it. I brush my teeth, pull down my covers, and hop into bed. My mom pops in and kisses me goodnight. “Do you feel OK?” she asked. “Yeah, I’m just tired,” I reply adding in a fake yawn. Hoping for some protection, I snuggled into my warm blankets. I lie there awake for many hours thinking. When I finally drift to sleep, I am awakened for a second time. This time it is in a different way though.

“Bethany!” said a deep, grumbling voice. “Bethany” it repeats. Then I hear a high pitched scream and nails scraping my wall. Sitting straight up in bed with the covers close to my chin, I franticly look around the room, and tense up. My pupils dilate to adjust to the dark room. “Who are you?” I quiver. I lick my lips, scrunch up my face, and wait. No reply.

The next day things are even stranger. My mom is acting weird and all of a sudden we have a dog. “A dog?” I question my mom. “Yes, sweetie, he showed up at the door this morning and seems to be a stray,” she said.

I shove a piece of toast with some butter on my plate. Then I watch TV for an hour or so, get dressed, and brush my teeth. Just to get away for a while I scramble outside, run down my backyard, and venture into the woods. There is a path but I never really follow it. The leaves

crunch under my feet with every step. The sky is blue with big, white, puffy clouds. The warmth of the sun hits my skin as I walk. Traveling farther into the woods, I look up, and notice the warm sun is fading quickly.

After a while of walking I decide to turn back. I have never been this far out before. The sky darkens again and raindrops start splattering the ground. I start running. The rain falls harder and my feet beet the ground faster. I start gasping for air, clutch my throat, and feel my body hit the ground. The clutch on my throat recedes. I’m now face to face with a headstone. Moss droops over the gray, dull, porous surface. I look around and realized I am in an open grave. The earth under me is damp and soft. The body is gone. The ancient headstone reads...

Murtha Garner

1716-1798

R.I.P.

Not sure what to think I get up and start sprinting, but I only get a few feet when my body is frozen. An invisible force is holding me in place. Straining my arms and legs I try to fight it without prevail. Letters scrawl out in front of me in scraggily writing.

“Long ago my body was taken from me.

I cannot rest peacefully until I get it back.

Beneath your room my corpse lies.

When you find it, bury it in the open grave.

But beware, if you break any part of my brittle bones,

I will never be able to go to eternal rest.

I fly forward; I’m free. Scared and panting, I realize this is reality not some stupid nightmare. My adrenalin kicks in and I dash home faster than ever. I grab the crowbar from my shed, slow my breath, and look around. My mom and the dog are nowhere in sight. I shuffle up to my room, squat down on my hands and knees, and fit the crowbar between a gap in the floor. I’m shaking uncontrollably, fumbling with the tool, and asking myself...”Should I do it?”

million dollar walls

In the dudgeons of my mind
Lurks the wayward notion
Of glory and fame
But most of all
To see my art
On those million dollar walls
Then reality comes to give me a kick
And i settle into these cruel facts

Plastic Zombie

I was thinking about what Horvath said today about devils advocate and how we could question if being individual would be good or bad and I thought "well what if you were part of the society/in crowed but were still yourself?" And then I realized that's what people do all the time, but is it really them? You walk around everyday pretending to be the same thing, interest flowing in the exact same direction, and eventually that is what you are. Not truly pretending, for pretending takes imagination and imagination takes effort. But once they fall into routine it is no longer a thinking proses, it is second nature, it is part of you without being yours.

And now i ask myself, is this actually bad? To be a living zombie, plastic and fake, but to not know? You think your happy, no matter if your trying to be part of a crowed or deliberately trying not to be, this is what you have been striving for and made it!

Only you haven't made it, you just think they do.

You may be living an ignorant bliss in the dark, forgetting that this isn't what you like only what you want , or you may be sadly standing alone in the chill of truth, but i find it is simplest to live in between. Accept what it is that you are, because you are not individual for individuality is not unique, and you are not a perfect rounded shape, you are only what you allow yourself to be , not what you want yourself to be. In this way i think you give yourself the most amount of space to just be.

My Game...

"It's ten o'clock, time for bed!" yelled Jack's Dad from the top of the staircase.
"Alright, whatever," Jack mumbled as he ambled up to his room. He did what he normally did every Friday evening, go up to bed, wait for his Father to go to bed, then secretly flipped on the television and turn the volume down so low, he had to lean in to hear it, just incase dad decides to get a "Midnight-Snack". However, tonight was different. Tonight Jack was exhausted. So, he shut off the T.V. and closed his eyes.   
        "Is he awake? "
"I don't think so, not yet."
"Should we wake him up?"
"No, shhh, I think he's waking up"
A couple moments later Jack slowly creaked open his eyes and saw a blur of what looked like two egg-headed idiots, but as the blur cleared he could easily see two sickly green men with wrinkly, leathery skin, four black buldging eyes and long mouths with excited grins on their faces.
"He's awake."
"I know."
Jack screamed and tried to get off the strange, jell-O feeling bench, but his arms and legs were strapped down with the strange material. He looked up and saw a bright white light, and next to it the two men with what looked like a large drill with a green laser, aiming right between his eyes. Jack couldn't believe it was over, goodbye life, Dad, school, and the new Call of Duty: Black Ops video game that was coming out the next day. No, I must get Black Ops. There is no way these stupid aliens can take away something that valuable to me! Jack broke out the strange chains with so much effort, his body was shaking.
"No, I Must Get Black Ops!" Screamed Jack with rage as he tried to find a way out of the room.
"Jack, wake up, Jack, hello?" said one of the aliens.
And with that Jack opened his eyes from his horrible nightmare and leaped out of bed, relieved that it was all a dream, and more importantly, it was the release date of Call of Duty: Black Ops.
"Come on Jack, get dressed, were going to Gamestop" said his Father, grinning as he started to pull and rip at his own face until revealing he was another one of those ugly aliens.
Jack screamed in horror and realized what the aliens wanted, Call of Duty: Black Ops.

My pupppy

Hannahmup,

I miss you so much it’s insane.

Everyday I walk up the driveway & to the stairs to the deck;

I would see your garden & rememeber that day we put you down.

It was probably the worst day ever.

Every time Dad teaches Marlow a new trick & one that you did perfect;

I would start to tear.

I miss having a dog,

that would sleep by my side at night.

I can’t believe it has almost been 3 months.

I miss you & I can’t

get a dog better then you.

R.I.P.

& I love you

Sing

The question echoed in my head, a bell strike that corresponded with the thu-thump of my heart. Would you destroy something perfect in order to make it beautiful?
It is a hard fact that perfect did not always equal beautiful. Sometimes beauty is in the imperfections, the little mishaps. People think that they have beauty down to a math, where they can calculate the perfect dimensions of a face, and those dimensions would make it beautiful. Perfect is fitting the exact need for the purpose, but beauty will serve better than perfect will.
I lived in a "perfect" world. no one wanted for anything, no one needed anything, no one had to worry. Everyone had all they needed, and never felt the need to reach for more. No one was selfish or stole, because what could you covet when you had everything you would ever need?
I wasn't happy with this. I wanted something to aspire to. I wanted to know I could make myself great.
My dream came in a little package, wrapped with a big, burgundy bow. It sat patiently on the porch, like a dog waiting to be let in. I plopped it on our perfect mahogany table and with a quick snap of my wrist, undid the perfect bow. The tidy rose wrapping rested on the table. I cut the box apart and inside was only a single envelope. The elegant envelope was a easy champagne color with accents of blush. The movement to sever the ribbon at the back of envelope was like the crack of a dry, dry twig, long dead and only held together by the deathly organisms eating it. I pulled out the refined and cultured looking letter and began to read.
my heart stopped at that moment, and wouldn't start again until my revolution began.

"Carla! Are you done packing yet?" Carla Parker’s mom yelled up the stairs. “Yep. I’m coming down now.” she yelled back. Actually Carla was lying on her bed, looking up at her faded white ceiling. She hadn’t event started packing yet. In fact all Carla could think about was her dad. He was in Iraq right now, fighting in the war. And Carla is staying with her grandma in some island off Florida. The island is as beautiful as a rose petal of course, but unless you are a visitor to someone living and breathing there, you’re not allowed. And to be able to live and breathe there then you have to be at least 70 or older and filthy rich. Carla’s mom’s call interrupted her thoughts. “Get down here! I have to take you to the airport!” Carla jumped up and threw all her belongings into the 3 suitcases her mom purchased for the trip. Before she left she took one last look in the mirror.
She didn’t exactly like what she saw. Too bad she couldn’t do anything about it.

Carla went downstairs to see her mom at the front door in her coat. “Come on, let’s get this over with”, Carla said relentlessly. Her mom frowned. “I’m counting on you Carla, to take care of your grandmother.” said Carla’s mom. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever,” Carla replied sourly. “Don’t be fresh.” That was probably her mom’s favorite saying. Carla ran outside to the forest green Hummer that was parked awkwardly in the rock driveway. Carla jumped into the passenger seat. When what seemed like forever, Carla’s mom finally climbed into the car. She slowly put the key into the ignition and started the car. She drove to the airport.
“Come here sweetie! Give grandma a hug. I’ve been counting the minutes until you got here.” Carla’s ancient grandmother gushed. “Hey grandma.” she replied half-heartedly. “Come, come. How was the flight?” She asked. Carla’s grandma was sort of a jabber mouth. “Well, I realize you haven’t been here for a while so I’ll give you a tour.” she said slowly. “O.K.” Carla’s grandma gave her a very boring tour and then, she made Carla get into a bathing suit and try the crystal clear window of water outside her door. The water was warm and pretty. When Carla was as wrinkled as a prune, she decided to head back inside when she saw a couple walking on the beach. But it wasn’t your usual couple. They were both about 16, Carla’s age, but the girl was wearing high heels and a suit, (not usual beach attire.) And the man was wearing a black suit, dress shoes, a white shirt, a red tie, his hair slicked back and a Bluetooth on his right ear. Carla guess they could be coming home from work, but there are two things wrong with that. One, they should have gone home to change before coming to the beach and two, they are definitely not 70 or older.
The next day Carla was back on the beach and so was the couple. Carla get up enough nerve to go over and talk to them. “Hi” she said politely. “Hello” they said simultaneously in a robotic tone. “Are you a new addition to this beautiful island?” they asked. “Ummmm, sort of…” Carla replied to the weird question. “What do you mean sort of?” the woman asked. “Well I come here sometimes but I live in San Francisco.” Carla answered. “What is San Francisco?” Ok, something must be wrong with these people. They must be living under a rock. Carla doesn’t reply because she am thinks it might be a joke. Carla changes the subject. “So what are your names?” she asks awkwardly. But before they could answer, there was a flash of light and all I could see was black.

More Than A Haunted House

It Rises and It Kills

He sat there at age 14 making his first big mistake; the first mistake that would affect someone else’s life forever. It was mine, his daughters. He took the neatly wrapped death and placed it in his mouth. He lights it. He smokes, for no reason, with no intention of future harm, just ‘living in the moment’. More like killing the future; his future and mine.
I sat there at age 13 making my first big impact, a good one at that. It affected those around me, the ones I hold so dear. Mine and my fathers. I took his neatly wrapped death and placed it in the garbage. I talk, for lots of reasons, to save him and save our future. You could say ‘Mind set on the path ahead’. This was one of my many attempts to save our future; his future and mine.
We sat in the kitchen and I talked for minutes, then hours. His tricky lawyer talk and new change of subject wouldn’t get him out of this one, not this time. This was not going to be another try fail experiment of his; this was going to be it. He had turned 50 and enough was enough, he wasn’t the young foolish kid he once was. He knew the harm and the risks and I was done. This was my last try and I feared even quitting now wouldn’t save him.
“It’s me or the cigarettes, I can’t look at you, I can’t talk to you knowing that your lungs could crumble at any second” It’s all I could manage for right now.
I know those words still echo through him as he lies on the hospital bed, not including “I told you so”. No treatment worked and as the cancer spread from his lungs to his heart the doctor’s estimate of 2 weeks seemed to soak into me like a sponge. The wedding isle in that white church would never feel our shaking feet pounding against it. My little girl’s cries would never feel his thick warm arms to settle the pain. Christmas morning would never hear the moans we all exchanged as he made us wait to see our presents. Life from now would be a gaping hole; nothing would fill this void in me.
As he woke up from his 2nd nap of the day I hoped for him to talk, that for some reason today he would be able to speak and I wouldn’t have to face the fact that I have no remembrance of our last conversation we ever had. Maybe there was still a little fight left in this golfer, maybe this skinny and fragile 62 year old could spend one day with me. He could provide me with something a little more special then our nightly arguments in the kitchen or on the car ride to school, something more than the silent treatment that had filled my years at young 13. But that did not happen and I was forced to sit there speechless next to him, holding his hand as he thought about the mistakes he made in his past. Maybe regretting them or maybe even blaming me that I gave up on him a month after he turned 50. Either way he was leaving me and my ultimatum suddenly became clear to me, he had chosen the nicotine filled cigarettes. I guess they had always won all along. The thing that rises and kills had just become the champion as the monitors flickered in the gloomy hospital room.
A week or so after the nurses had rushed in I could be found at a cemetery wanting to hold my father’s hand. Wanting to crawl inside my 4 year old body and run into his welcoming leg as he jokingly tried to pull me off. I wanted to take off the black dress and change into my USC football gear and watch the game with him. I wanted to dance with him in the kitchen to the Christmas music coming from the family room. I wanted to be anywhere but the place I was now. I wanted to be with my dad and I wanted that to last forever. The only wish I’d ask for for the rest of my life, that the thing that rises and kills would have never won.

The ocean

i dive into the dark blue

as my head goes under i feel the cold water on my face

i push off the mushy bottom until it looks like i am looking at the sun through a window

only its not clear

and i can see shades of red yellow and orange

they all mix together into a blurry ball

i feel like i could stay in this moment of time forever

and never come up

but when i can stay under the water no longer

i come up gasping for breathe

Imagination

Darkness, it encases me and suffocates me. Tingling shivers radiate drown my spine as I wrap my spaghetti arms around my stiff legs and my golden hair which is splattered with crimson liquid sticks to the back of my neck. “Always dark,” I chant quietly, “always dark…” Slowly the aged door creaks open, a faint light spills into the moist freezer. Hardly breathing I don’t move a muscle. “Why?” he asks sternly. “It’s dark here, why is it so dark?” I question. Strong, sturdy, and enforcing the silver steeled-toed boots stomp closer toward my fragile body, cowardly I hide, I curl into a protective ball, purple and blue excruciatingly painful bruises appear upon my pale skin as soon as the brutal beating starts. Before I even know it I’m bleeding uncontrollably, shaking, and weeping for mercy. Shapes begin to blur into random blobs of colors; navy blue, forest green, scarlet red, colors; actual colors. Shouts turn into silent murmuring being carried across a vast universe. I’m in heaven; I think I’m in heaven.
A numbing sensation overwhelms my limbs. And I’m no longer in the wonderful heaven just moments ago. Tears sting my eyes as a sob, “Because you love me.” Immediately the beating stops as he bends his creaky knees to look me in the eyes. I twitch as his warm hand presses against my icy chin to reposition my face to look at him. “And?” he asks patiently. The thumping in my chest increases dramatically as I realize that this game doesn’t end until the stronger one wins. This person thinks he has me like another one of his pawns. Defenseless, naive, and dumb, but he’s never played with me before. While taking a slow deep breath, “And I,” I answer, “I hate you.”
…
“Soft kitty warm kitty little ball of fur, happy kitty sleepy kitty purr, purr, purr,” I softly sing myself to sleep. No nightmare can ever be as bad as this messed up reality. No darkness can be as dark as it is now. My voice becomes raspy and desert dry as I try to dose off, try to forget the aching emptiness that my stomach holds, and I try to forget that once I had a heart where now, a void sits engulfing any emotions I have left. All through the night I continue to sing, “Soft Kitty,” while gazing at the flurries of color that seem to pass in my eye. Color is the last bit of reality I still hold, and even that seems to be fading quickly, into darkness, toward my enemy. My gray, thunder cloud eyes begin to droop slowing into a trace of dreams.
Thunder claps immediately as the sky splits down with the electric light. Rain pours down my drenched shirt as I run for dear life. Everything is my tormentor, I think; I’m never safe, never. Everything is a viscous weapon bent on destroying me, all except my kidnapper. He stands there watching as my imagination destroys me, defeats me, becomes me. Leaves morph into deadly sharpened butcher knives hanging precariously overhead as the terrifying creatures chase me to finally face it, my worst fear. It’s right in front of me, yet unfocused due to the mass destruction surrounding me. And as if reading my damaged mind he states, “Because it’s dark, it shall come for you.”
Hyperventilating I take I triple, no quadruple check that I’m alive and, well… just alive. Bitter tears race across my bruised face as the ancient door opens once again. Slightly shaking I close my eyes and block him out, out of sight out of mind right? Unfortunately, I was wrong. He crouches lower to whisper into my ear, “You know you’re sexy when you’re scared.” He inches closer toward my cracked lips and plants his puffy, healthy lips roughly on mine. It must be Friday; he always plays his games on Fridays. As always, I let him use me, because if I don’t, I will be refused the liquid and the slimy fish-like mush for multiple days. Long fat finger glide down my neck toward my… if I don’t look it would have never happened I remind myself. While rounding my hips he becomes more forceful, expecting me to play along now. My ice hands reach his belt, stretching around his waist to inspect every last aspect of him. What’s this?
...
My gray eyes spring open; I’m seven again, rushing hastily downstairs to discover the Christmas surprises awaiting me from the beloved Santa. I’m twelve kissing the poster of Leonardo DiCaprio hanging on the wall. I’m two trying to sneak a cookie on top of the cabinet. I’m thirteen weeping on my bed because my boyfriend dumped me in a text. I’m nine climbing to the tippy top of the Oak tree in my backyard, and succeed. I was so naïve, so innocent and unaware of the evils in the world. Gracefully I wield the metal object in my shaky hands now, barely able to swipe it. “Goodbye,” I whisper, switching the weapon point toward me and I don’t hesitant when I pull the trigger.
…
Falling, falling, toward the sky; no more in the mercy… of my imagination.

The Calling

I was supposed to meet him at our special spot in the woods. The spot were we hung out as kids and meet up at every night. With the dead garden of flowers and the weeping angel. I felt that if i didnt meet him every night my heart would explode with disappointment in myself, so what if he was a little....different? I asked myself, he was still my best friend. As i walked through the woods I finally came to the twisted tree where i used to koke that one day the headess horseman would come out of the tree and cut off his head. He was always afraid of Sleepy Hollow when we were kids and the tree looked exactly like the one in the movie but a little smaller. "whewwhew" went the strong wind as it snapped me back to the present. I knew i had to keep moving, he was waiting for me. As i came past the sad, sorrowful, sickening tree i saw the bridge come into view. It was illuminated by the bright Christmas lights we hung up as kids because the bridge looked deserted and dead, man we had no idea. In the dark night they reminded me of the twinkling stars that i left behind as i was walking here. The old rickety bridge moaned as I walked very slowly and carefully across it because I was afraid one of the boards would give out. But as always I crossed the bridge safely. I looked up at the sky to thank God that nothing bad happened and as i was looking up at the sky i saw fog covering the full moon as if the fog was protecting it from a secret or something dangerous. Why couldnt I have that fog around me, protecting me? Well that was weird i thought as I walked the few steps to our secret spot. As I looked at the beautiful angel and the dead flowers surrounding the cobblestone square and benches my heart stopped. There he was, standing in the middle of all this waiting for me and only me. He turned around and stared at me even though i didnt make a sound. "Hi" I said composing myself. "Hey" he said just standing there. His eyes were as black as the moonless night sky over our secret place. I took a step towards him, but then i saw right through his white body to the weeping angel. My name is Scarlette, I am 17 years old from Massachussetts and i could talk to the dead. The reason why I called he twisted tree a sad, sorrowful, sickening tree was because 10 years age Bleu died there at the age of 7. We were running up to the tree but he slipped on a wet leaf from the rain the night before. He died right there at that tree in front of my eyes. But somehow he is standing in front of me and i am the only one that could see him.

The door slams in my face as I tried to calmly close it myself. Woopsies... I thought to myself. Guess it was closed too hard. I hardly remembered what had happened that whole night. I know I followed Julie to a Halloween party, but I never knew I`d feel so... loopy. I know I tried the punch, and after one glass her brother kept making me drink more, threatening to tell that I was there if I didn`t. Walking through the darkened rooms made me wonder why everything looked so weird. The floor seemed to be slipping from under my feet, the walls moving back and forth, at times looking like they`d close in on me. The pictures on the wall seemed so lopsided, I walked over and tried to readjust it. As I reached toward the wall, it seemed to be moving so far away from me. I kept trying to grab the picture, smacking the wall with every move, until I finally reached the picture. I tried to keep my hand steady as I readjusted it to a somewhat straight position. I suddenly realised I should tell my mother I was home. I glanced at the clock; the big hand was on the nine, the little on the four.It`s only 9:20! Mom should be awake now! I tried to steady myself as I walked up the stairs to find my parents bedroom. The walls seemed to be spinning around my head, the stairs falling as I stepped on them. I held with the death grip on the railing, trying not to fall down where the stairs were disappearing.I knocked on her bedroom door, and opened it, only to find her gone.

“Mom? I home! I home!” I shouted through the darkened hallway. I couldn`t imagine where she`d have gone; After all, I wasn`t gone that long. I now glanced at the electric clock in the kitchen; 4:23am. Uh oh... I`m kinda tired I thought to myself as I forgot about mom and walked into my bedroom. I collapsed on my bed, trying replay the events of the night in my head.

“I guess I`ll tell Julie ask her tomorrow” I mumbled as I finally fell asleep...

Thank You Red Bouncy Ball

Just a couple hours ago I was kidnapped. I was walking just around the block to my friends house. I was bouncing my favorite red ball down the cracked curb that stood infront of me. Suddenly the ball hit an edge on the sidewalk and went sprawling into the road. I chased after the ball forgetting to look both ways. Once I recieve the ball I look up to find a car racing towards me. I jump to the side without thinking and pray I won't get hit. At that moment I would have rather gotten hit by the car. Instead a man about 6 feet stood above me, scars running from his left ear to the bottom right corner of his chin. He wore a black overcoat and light, navy jeans. His hands were the size of baseball mits and his dark eyes glarred into mine until I realized I needed to go. But he didn't like that idea. I tried to crawl away but his hands grasped my waist and swung me forward facing him again. In one lift I was over his shoulder with my feet dangling infront of his head. I kicked and punched and screamed but no one knew what was going on. He ran us into a white van and blindfolded my eyes while my arms, legs and mouth were wrapped up in ducktape. There were 2 other men in the van. The smaller one had tattoos running up and down his arm and had long, greasy hair that folded behind his ears. The bigger one had glasses with one of the lenses cracked and a ripped, white T-shirt that seemed to be never washed. Both were looking all about me, I cried, terrified of what was going to happen next. Then the van stopped. The bigger man dragged me by my blonde pigtails and onto the black and white gravel. He picked me up and carried me inside. Cobwebs covered every inch of window on the porch and lanterns swung with the sway of the wind. It was nighttime by now. I couldn't see a thing outside or where we were. The man holding me brought me to a closet- sized room and dropped me, hard. My back cracked against concrete. Pain shot up and rang throughout my spine. They laughed. I fell alsleep. About 4 hours later it must have been 2 in the morning. There wasn't a sound made. I got up then felt all the pain in my back spring into action. I had to forget about that, for now I needed to get out. I creeked my door open, waiting every second to open another centimeter of the door. Not a sound. In the hallway 3 doors stood on the left, all them closed shut. I assumed that the men were in each one so I carefully walked on by hopefully not making a peep. When I reached the other side of the hall I heard footsteps coming from ahead. Suddenly the man who had taken me was right beside me. My heart stopped and I immediately turned around to run back. Too late for that. The man went to his jean pocket, lifted a gun, aimed and shot. My lifeless body descended to the ground below me.

The brightness of the sun awoke me. My eyes glued shut and wouldn't open. Finally they recieved the sight of an old, wooden room that wasn't mine. My thoughts were confused. Where was I? How'd I get here? Hello? I elevated my hand to run my fingers through my hair when i noticed the color of my skin had changed. It was tranparent. Not a thing blocked my view when my hand was raised infront of my eyes. This couldn't be. Then, right as I looked to the left of me I saw a body. A body of an 9 year old girl. A body who's chest had taken a bullet. A body who had 2 tiny, little blonde pigtails. That body was mine. I was dead.

"Where......... did it ......... go" Carl manged to gasp out in between breath. "I dont know Eric whispered. For a moment Carl and Eric felt, but that all ended when the beast rampaged out of the bushes behind them like an unstoppable freight train. "RUN" Eric screeched only to see his bestfriend get snatched up by the beast, get thrown in like a baseball into a nearby tree, and watch his lifeless body drop to the ground. Time seemed to freeze and Eric finally was able to get a good look at the nasty creature. It had dark brown hair covering its whole body, black slime oozing out between its jagged teeth, and it had four muscular arms with two finger on the end of each that kept opening and closing. what scared thomas the most though was that the creature seemed to have no eye just fuzzy tenticles draping from its forehead wiggling back and forth towards every sound made in the woods. Eric then new that the beast saw through hearing. Eric furious over what happened to his friend knew what he had to do and with that he charged towards the beast.

Think Before You Kill

The bullet ripped through his flesh, pierced through his internal organs, and came out his back. Surely, he was dead. Julio packed up his things and left. His full name was Julio Castillo. He was a Venezuelan hit man. He was a short, frisky, human being, but was also tough, tended to go against the grain, and stubborn. That is exactly what he was there, stubborn. He killed the man without permission from the boss. The boss was a selfish, Italian man named Roberto Corsi. He didn’t scare Julio, though.
Julio returned to his sketchy, forty dollar hotel room to find Branimir, his partner, sitting in the nauseating reclining chair in the corner looking disappointed and impatient. Branimir Ottoman was a tall, broad shouldered, deep voiced Bulgarian, who was quite the opposite of Julio. He was loyal, and although physically strong, he was mentally weak.
“Well?” asked Branimir in his deep, monotone voice.
“Well what?” replied Julio with a bit of an attitude.
“Did you do it?” asked Branimir.
“What do you think? Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just thought that after I told you the consequences you might change your mind.”
“Listen to me. No one will ever make me change my mind. Never, about anything or anything.”, Julio said, changing his tone from annoyed to angry. He smiled and shook his head and muttered, “You know, your inferiority complex is fully justified.” Branimir lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head in confusion, as he didn’t have the keenest of minds.
Later that night, while Julio went out for a walk, Roberto called.
“Hello?” asked Branimir.
“It is Roberto. Listen, I heard about Julio’s mental lapse. I’m not just going to ignore it and turn the other cheek. I want you to kill him. His head is getting to big. He is starting to rebel.”
“He is my partner. I can’t just…”
“Shut up!” interrupted Roberto. “Did I ask you to debate? No. I asked you to blow his head off. So do it, or else.” He hung up.
Branimir normally did what he was told, without any questions, but this time he did exactly what the boss told him not to do. He debated. Julio was his partner. They had been through it together, through thick and thin, as they say. He couldn’t kill him, no matter how big of a bonehead he was. However, he couldn’t disobey the boss. If you disobey the boss, you are a dead man walking. Now he had a headache. He hated thinking. This situation brought up something in Branimir’s head. He now realized he didn’t want to be a hit man anymore. He wanted to have a wife, kids, and a normal, everyday job. What was he doing with his life? Killing people for money is a job for terrible people. Was he a terrible person? No, he knew that and everyone else knew that. He was a good person. This job was tearing him apart. He punched at the wall in frustration. Again, he threw his fist at the wall. And again. And again. After the fourth punch he realized that punching, crying, and complaining wouldn’t fix anything. He would have to resign. He was positive that Julio would understand.
Julio returned later that night to, once again, find Branimir sitting in that putrid chair. He had his gun in hand, but it wasn’t pointed toward him. It was lying on his lap, looking harmless.
“What are you still doing up?” asked Julio.
“I have business to attend to.”
“What business?”
“My own.” replied Branimir in an attitude. “I need to resign.”
“Listen, nobody retires. You never leave this business, never.” screamed Julio. “You know too much. How am I supposed know that you aren’t going to leave us, snitch on us to the police, and laugh at us as they are walking us to jail.”
“You will just have to trust me.”
“No, that is the first rule of this job, Trust nobody. I’m sorry Branimir.” Julio pulled out his gun and put his bullet through his partner’s aorta, to be sure to kill him. His blood poured out of his artery like water out of an elephant’s trunk. He packed up the dead body in a luggage cart and put a tomato sauce can near the blood. He hurried to pack up when he spotted a note out of the corner of his eye. It read:
I’m sorry, but I couldn’t admit it to you. I felt too ashamed to say it out loud. The reason I left and quit is because Roberto wanted me to kill you. You were my best friend and I couldn’t take it. Hopefully you will understand.
From,
Branimir
Guilt rushed upon him. It felt as if someone just hit him in the stomach with a baseball bat. He grabbed his gun and pointed it to his temple. He got ready to fire, but he couldn’t pull it.
Looking back on that day he still wishes he pulled that trigger. The saying, better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, was false. It stank to have lost his friend that understood him like Branimir. He grabbed his gun and, this time, he pulled the trigger.

An End

The black rift is a condescending eye above the feeble earth. It is the embodiment of hopelessness, the enemy that cannot be fought. It swiftly pulls up dust, dirt, and sand in a raging tornado, uproots trees and buildings like a hand picks a berry, and rips mountains off the face of the earth. Oceans become backwards waterfalls; plate tectonics are peeled off the earth like an onion, and the tiny, spinning ball stops for a moment, before being sucked into the ever-hungry mouth. Everything known to humanity is ended. Fast food restaurants, pie recipes, classic novels, and iguanas no longer exist.  Everything we had worked for, budgeted, or grow, all gone. Everything humans thought was incredible on earth no longer exists.  The universe with life one tiny island is now just a desolate, empty space, where rocks crash into each other stars burn out, and pressure and heat fluctuate. With no observers, there is no big or small, forever can happen in an instant, and nothing means anything.   

Remember When?

Remember when you were little and your parents asked you what you wanted to be when you were older and your answer was "a teacher, or a professional athlete, or a musician," or maybe it was that you wanted to be in the military. And sometimes we dont realize what it takes to be in the military. Choosing to be in the military means deciding to give up and normal life and live under an uncontrolled, undecided life, not knowing if each day is your last. So each year on Veterans Day lets look at the flag and thank all the people that have givin up their lives so we could have better ones.
♥♥♥

Seasons

The seasons of the year

repeating everytime

Spring is almost here

blowing its sweet winds near

The seasons of the year

Summer is the best

laughing in the grass

not taking a quiz or test

The seasons of the year

Fall starts school again

a new year, a new start

driving me insane

The seasons of the year

Winter really blows

strong winds that are cold

whirling around as if dancing in the snow

The seasons of the year

repeating every time

there is no way to stop them

going on like a chime

Saccharin Saturated Air

I fairly enjoy breathing. I do not enjoy people breathing near me. I do not enjoy people near me at all. Or small rooms. I especially do not enjoy people breathing, near me, in a small room. This is sometimes a problem. Like right now.

My partner insists on sitting in the bean bag chairs in the corner of the room despite the lack of air flow and heat radiating off the black corduroy material. She leans forward, “Soooo,” she begins. I imagine a million O’s all lined up as she continues to draw it out, when I’m hit with the patch of sickening moisture that is her breathe. It rolls across my face and hangs in the air in front of me carrying the stench of her gum. It’s bubble-gum flavored, consisting of sugar and nothing else. She continues talking, stopping once in a while to get a few obnoxious chews in, completely unaware of the saccharin saturated gusts of air she is blowing at me.

The fan’s hum mocks me in the background, a constant reminder that moving air is just a few yard away, and fresh air is just beyond the wall I’m leaning against. She looks at me expectantly. She must have asked something. The silence was too long. She feels awkward and I quickly hand her the sheet I had filled out and mutter something about her looking over it or comparing our answers. She starts to scan it, obviously having trouble deciphering my messy handwriting, but I don’t offer help. I lean up against the wall again with my eyes closed. I take in deep breathes of the air that lacks her gum particles before she talks again. I imagine I’m already on the other side of the wall, taking in air even better than this. I actually find comfort in the soft bean bag material I detested a few minutes ago.

Suddenly, there is a loud continuous screech. My eyes snap open, and I jump in my seat. The calm in the classroom is immediately broken and kids start chattering and get up from their seats all around the room. The teacher rambles off blunt commands. “Quiet down! Get into a line! You’ve all done this before it’s not that hard!” I quickly register what is happening. This is a fire drill. We are going outside. We are getting fresh air. My prayers are answered.

I swiftly rise from my spot surprised to realize I am annoyed at having to move from my comfortable chair, yet the promise of real oxygen motivates me. I join in the middle of the single file line that reminds me of elementary school. I like the order almost as much as the destination. I almost don’t even mind Suzy, and her hot breathe which is now on the back of my neck.

Because of my peer’s inability to grasp the concept of an organized system, the line we are in is quickly forgotten and I am thrust into a madhouse of bodies stumbling over one another like a stampede.

I can hear people’s laughter; my mind warping it into the jeering cackles of a clown’s. The ceiling felt so close to my head. The walls seem so close, closing in on me, creating a narrow aisle barely wide enough to get, getting narrower now, as I walk on. I am being squeezed into a funnel, pulled towards the exit by gravity. My only obstacle: my classmates.

I can feel the carbon dioxide closing in on me. My lungs shrinking. My muscles tightening. My nails digging deep into my palms. There is almost no air left. I concentrate on taking big gasps, consuming every drop of oxygen. The other students are pushing me from all sides. Getting in the way of my air. I can feel my pace quicken, myself speeding to the door, pushing them out of the way with determination. Running and running and running. But the door is running twice as fast. I can’t catch up. I am wasting air. There isn’t enough time.

I feel my legs go rubbery and my head light, like I am on a trampoline. Then black. Calm. Silence. Soft corduroy against my skin. Like I closed my eyes real tight, but instead of seeing white splotches of light. all I can see is the black spaces in between them. I concentrate on all the space. My mind wanders the black abyss.

the WAR of a life-time

The battle was won the was not.
many were killed, and their blood was spilled.
as thick as syrup it hustled down the hill we call life, they had naught to lose.
their uniform was a red shirt with black-as-night pants and blue steel-toed shoes.
this country was nicknamed the big melting pot,
America, known for its fabled dreams.
the war is raging battles everywhere there are coming to an end.


The war of day is over and its off to the period of night.
the moon is out, the stout problems of day melt away in to the comfort of your home.
those who make it are felicitous that their wagers came out to be for the best.
it's off to sleep see you at day.

Lost

All I remember was the small airplane scraping against the desert sands, then the giant fireball that people must have been able to see for miles. When I climbed out of the wreck, I looked at the pilot who was bleeding and not moving. He was either dead or unconscious. The heat of the fire and the sun combined for an unbearable burning, and the sand glittered in the late afternoon sun. We were deep into the Sahara Desert with nothing but a gallon of water and a few cookies from lunch. I knew if I wanted to survive I'd have to act quickly. There was a lot that could kill me, but no poison from the snakes could kill me faster than the strong summer sun or the below freezing nights. So assuming the pilot was dead, I started to walk in hope of near rescue. I walked for about a mile when the sun went down. It switched from summer to winter in about 20 minutes. With no shelter from the mind-numbing cold, I simply wrapped myself in my thin sweatshirt and laid down hoping to get at least some sleep. When it was finally morning it heated up instantly. Not surprisingly, I got no sleep. I took a couple sips of water and a bite of a cookie and I was off again. About noon I saw my chance to get out: a Jeep in the distance. I went running like a cheetah after its prey. But yelling and waving my arms didn't stop it from driving into the distance. I walked for six more hours when I had no more food and water. I was as tired and sick as could be, and I wasn't able to take another step. I laid there for hours when I felt certain I was going to die. Then I heard the blades of a helicopter coming in my direction. When it finally landed next to me, I passed out.

By,

Tyler Schiumo

Jumped

Jeffrey Gruber
Language Arts Period 2
September 29, 2010
Essay
Jumped

What, where am I? Who are you? Why am I here? There was an answer, but I wasn’t so sure what the exact answer was. I heard something like you got jumped. Now all I could hear was beeping and people yelling at each other. Then it was gone.
12 Hours before- I was walking around New York City. I was out to find a grocery store with a good selection of milk so I could have my cereal. My family and I had just moved from Connecticut into an apartment building because my dad had gotten a new job here in the city. It was a about 4:00 pm on Saturday afternoon. It was pretty chilly since it was December 20th and there were a lot of tourist in the city since the tree was up. Also it is close to Christmas. I was getting really cold so I started to gallop like a horse down 22nd street toward the grocery store ACME. This wasn’t like the biggest store in the U.S, but it did the job for the local area. I went in and went to the refrigerated section to grab the milk then leave, but when I went to pay the milk pounced off the counter but I caught it before it hit the ground. I was a cat catching its prey.
After getting the milk I walked out of the store and saw these two suspicious and stupid looking older teenagers standing there talking to each other while staring at me. So I started to walk and not think about them. I walked toward 23rd street which ends up connecting with 25th street where my apartment is located. I saw the 2 boys move so I started to book down 23rd street when I stopped. I didn’t stop myself it was the boys. I asked, “What do you want?” “I don’t have anything, just leave me alone” I said. “We just wanted to play with you a little bit.” POW!! I felt a rush of pain go to my face.” Slicc, that was the last thing I felt was the knife that went into both of my legs. It hurt so much that it was hell.
What, where am I? Who are you? Why am I here? There was an answer but I didn’t hear it very clearly, but what I did hear is that I got jumped. After I heard that there was a bunch of beeping and yelling. Then 30 seconds later it was gone.
I woke up to bright lights. I was very dizzy and my legs were killing me. The room was filled with my whole family which would be my Mom, Dad and my sister Sarah. They were all crowded around me. After about 4 to 5 more hours of sleep I got up and went home. My mom told me, “Next time you go with dad understand”. “Yes mom” I said.

I Am King

The sun glistened like the clean gold in the room. The empty room I may add. The room was practically empty besides the throne the king sat on and a few gold statues of himself and the queen. There was an eerie silence in the room as if I have lost my hearing. I couldn’t understand why I was here, all I knew was I had to take over the throne and let nothing stop me.
The king stands up, removing his cloak and revealing a sword only a king would be worthy to hold. I stood there amazed and wondering where he could have gotten that from. He takes it out of his sheath and it hisses, almost like it was mocking me to attack.
I take out my own, worthless sword, dull as a slither of grass. I charge forward and scream at the king, challenging him to a game of life or death.
He stands up, accepting my challenge and casually starts walking toward me, while at the same time looking like a killer.
Our swords meet and I hear a clang as they clash. Then another as our swords meat for a second time. I dodge the third attack and thrust my dull sword toward his royal body. Weapon meats flesh and the king fall’s to the ground and screams out in pain. I ignore the pitiful cries for help and slide the sword out of him. I then victoriously finish him with one more thrust toward his heart. It lands with a sickening crunch and I know I have won.
I pick up the crown by the now dead body and place it on my head. It seems a little too big, but I figure I’ll grow into it eventually. I strut out the door of the castle with a cheerful smirk on my face. I have won, I am king.

Grand Slam

Slam! I shut the refrigerator. I was making myself a cheese sandwich for my semi-final baseball game. I grabbed my itouch and hopped into the car with my mom, dad, and brother Billy. It was a 6:00pm game in New Haven, CT. It was a very cold night. It was 54 degrees outside. I always eat a cheese sandwich before each game. We were playing the undefeated Technique Tigers from Bridgeport,CT. They were throwing their ace pitcher Matt Vazano.
Crack! I was taking my warm-up swings and I was on fire tonight. I am starting in left field and batting 3rd. We were throwing our best pitcher TJ Lanza. It was just about game time. Play Ball! Yelled the umpire. We have four umpires for the semi-final game. We were the home team. So we were in the field first and it was a quick three strikeouts to start the game. TJ had his best stuff.
There were two outs and I stepped up to bat. I struck out on three straight fast balls. The next inning had gotten worse. I made two errors in the field. Now I was really mad. I didn’t bat again until the bottom of the fourth. That didn’t matter though because I struck out again. I was mad and sad on my way back to the dugout. I slammed my helmet on the ground, and part of it cracked.
I walked out to the field for the start of the fifth. We were losing 6-0. I knew I had to do something but didn’t know what. That didn’t help because I made three more errors. I am just sad that I’m playing terribly and I am not helping my team. My Coach pulled me aside and said keep your head up kid. So I stepped to the plate, we were catching up to them. It was 6-4 we were still losing though. The bases were loaded and I was ready to do something good for my team. I cranked a double off the fence on the first pitch thrown. I brought in three runs and gave my team the lead. I would score that inning as well. I was so excited I finally did something good. I smiled and sprinted out onto the field to start the sixth inning.
Though the top of the sixth didn’t turn out well, we went into the inning winning 8-6. After the long inning was over it was 10-8 and the bottom of the sixth was our final chance to win. The first two batters struck out. Then the next two got on. Our number two batter was up and he walked on four pitches. Now the bases are loaded two outs bottom of the last inning. I stepped into the box. I was so nervous I was shaking. The first pitch was a ball. So they called in a new pitcher and he was better than the first pitcher. It was Jordan Vazano. He threw as hard as a bullet fired out of a gun. My coach said to me, go up there and try your best. The next pitch was straight heat for a strike. Then a ball followed. The count was in my favor 2-1. The next pitch was well over my head. I thought it was ball three. It wasn`t though. The umpire called it for strike two. I was so mad at that call. My coach was too. My coach got into the umps face and started yelling at him. That wasn’t too smart because my coach got ejected from the game and the one after that. Now I was really mad and I had to do something. So the next pitch was right down the middle and I took the biggest and hardest swing I ever took. DING! The ball jumped off of my bat. It went soaring into the streets for a walk-off grand slam! I was so happy I was jumping up and down as I rounded the bases. I couldn’t stop smiling. My teammates crowded home plate. They jumped on me and hugged me. We had won and I made it happen. The final score was 12-10.
I was so happy after the game I was speechless. I couldn’t stop smiling. My mom made the best dinner that night for the big win. I was ecstatic. My team lost in the championship to Team Mattingly 10-0. Now I will always remember my first home run.