September Writers Are Here!!

You're sure to fall for one of these great featured pieces.  Get it?  Fall?  I got a million of 'em.  

Seriously, go read!

 

 Remember:
All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this month.  Everyone is required to comment on at least three different pieces of writing.  You must post the comment here on the blog (below the post is the "comments" link to click) AND cut and paste your comments, complete with dates and times, on to a Word document and turn it in to me by the due date.  You must do both to get credit for comments this month.

Remember, comments must be positive, supportive, constructive, and SPECIFIC.  No "Good Job!" comments, unless you follow that with specific things you thought were done well in the piece.  Show them you actually took the time to read and enjoy their work!

"Mr Harmly Moe or: How He Learned To Stop Worrying and Get the Optical Surgery" by Charles P

     Mr. Harmly Moe sat on a doctor’s exam table, uncomfortably shifting from buttock to buttock to avoid coaxing the wax paper beneath him to crinkle. He failed, and at each halted breath the paper made him that much more self-conscious. Staring at Dr. Rose’s back, he stroked his overweight albatross mustache and tapped his nondescript knee. While both men were miles apart spiritually, they shared a sort of universal adult disappointment, enforced by the piling on of years too short and/or too long.

            “So... how are you feeling, Harmly?” the doctor muttered. In a blandly offended voice, the patient retorted. “Please, please. Call me Mr. Harmly Moe. And I’m afraid it’s rather serious, Dr. Rose. This health issue is drastically hurting my work. As you know, I’m a high school principal.” The paper on the bench ignited Jiffy Pop as he awkwardly adjusted. Rose ogled his clipboard, which shot a glance back at him, as effortlessly disinterested as he. Harmly wished for justification in the form of a medical doctor guessing the problem by himself, but Rose was mentally perfecting his putter technique in his head. The Harmly Moe would have to take charge.

            “Doc, here is my blunder. I’m afraid it’s with my eyes, it’s… when I look at the students at the school I work at, I see kids.” Rose dropped his stunned clipboard onto the slate tiles. The ball in his head sheathed itself in the sand bunker. The doctor bared the pearls in his mouth and cried, “We need to take you to the ER right away!”

Below countless flickering fluorescents, Harmly sat on a cold table inside an operating theater, waiting for the surgeon to arrive. Metallic doors blasted open, and a man in a paper mask materialized before him. The sound of students scribbling elasticized between the walls. The surgeon rubbed his latex hand against Harmly’s cheek while dictating in an almost missable Strangelove accent. “You should have had this done long before! But don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” He retrieved a syringe with one hand and a scalpel with the other, and held them above Harmly’s cornea. “This won’t hurt a bit, just hold still.” The needle brazenly elbowed into his eye, expecting to catch someone in the act of viewing pornographic material.

The next day, Mr. Harmly Moe stood proudly at the front of his office with hands on his hips, watching every figure chase by. It was lunchtime now, and the usual inane tasks carried on accordingly. Each zoomed past his peripheral, running, shouting, cursing. “Not too fast,” he chuckled, in a Beverly Hillbillies y’all come back now ya’ hear style of corny bucktooth hospitality. In the voids that the students occupied, he could see the fruits of the procedure. The school’s pupils were now distorted in Mr. Harmly Moe’s. Five digit numbers drifting in midair were all that he could register. Rubbing his palms together, Harmly exclaimed, “Now I can finally work.”

"Drive thru Disasters" by Evelin C

"Hello welcome to Wendy's!"

"That'll be $7.30."

"Thank you have a good day!"

I've been working at Wendy's for about 3 months now and the food service business is full of both disgusting and hilarious scenes.  Throughout the time I've spent working there by far the most interesting things have occurred through the drive thru and now I have a chance to tell you all about them.

Now customers can be very difficult and sometimes you want to curse at them which will guarantee you looking for another job. Some customers have a hard time listening to our suggestions and that ends up bad for only one of us, the worker. It was the weekend and I was on drive thru duty, this man orders a bunch of drinks so I put them all in a four cup carrier which was very heavy may I add. As I prepare to hand the man his drinks, I notice that he only has one hand out and I warn him, "Sir these drinks are very heavy you might want to use both hands." But he assures me he's fine so as I hand him his drink carrier, smash goes all the drinks on the floor. The frustration that I had in the moment was unbelievable, because guess who had to clean up the drinks and make the customer new ones! Me.

Sometimes some of the customers that driven through drive thru make you question how did these customers get there license. Once this women was driving up the window to pay but as she was getting closer I noticed that her car wasn't stopping and every moment her car got closer to the wall, "Ma'am you're going to hit the wa.." and bang the front of her car met with the wall. I couldn't believe how oblivious she was to what had just happened. I stood there dumbfounded and finally spit out the words,"You just ran into the wall!", and she looks at the wall and then looks back and me and with a smile all she said was "Oops", as if that was a regular thing for her just to be hitting walls with her car.  

Now I'm going to be honest and say there are moments when the workers at Wendy's can mess up your orders. But we take full responsibility and always fix our mistakes. But there are also rare occasions when there's nothing we can do to make a customer happy. About a week ago this older man pulls up to our speaker system connected to the ordering menu outside and starts ranting and yelling  at my manager about how his whole order was wrong specifically he said, "I ordered three jumbo jacks, and a couple orders of curly fries!" My manager then realized this man had bought food from Jack in the Box across the street of our facility and had mistaken himself the location. She tried multiple times telling him, "Sir Jack in the Box is across the street", but he just wouldn't listen claiming he was at Jack in the Box. Till finally my manager said "This is Wendy's sir", does he look up and realizes he's at the wrong store.

Working at a fast food place is not always easy work but the moments you have while working can really bring forth joy and great stories to share in the future.

"September Writing" by Gabriel B

An event that has given me meaning or rather much has  given me a greater knowledge about safety was actually something that had happened recently. I know I have told this story countless of times but this time I shall put it in writing to not forget any details and to put it in the past now.

     The day was actually last year 2013 on September 23rd, this happened rather early in the day, I'd say about 7:30am. Before I started driving to school I used to ride my bike from Sierra ave all the way to school and back everyday. Today was different from the other days as I had gone earlier than I would usually leave the house. My usual biking time I would make going to school would be around 20-25 mins as I would go through the bike trail that brings me close to the school. This long travel time would become long and boring so to make the time go by faster I would wear headphones and listen to music. Right around the stretch between Cherry and Beech ave I met up with a regular biker I talk to. From here I took one headphone off to have a friendly conversation with him and this continued on for a good while until we got to where the bike trail met up with Baseline ave. from there we stopped in order for the crosswalk to give us the right of way. Once the light had turned green for the crosswalk, there was a car who blocked the crosswalk so I had signaled him to go forward rather than waiting for us to cross. Once the car had cleared the crosswalk I began to cross; the next thing I knew…  I was in the ambulance. I was over reacting as I could not remember what had happened for me to be here. I truly believed that this was a dream or some might say a nightmare. The paramedics who were with me in the ambulance were asking questions such as,

“What’s your name?”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Do you know your parent’s Phone number?”

Maybe these questions were just to make sure I hadn’t gotten amnesia or to keep me from falling unconscious again. But to the last question I was able to recite the number back to them even in my condition. I then asked them what happened, to which they responded,

“You were just involved in an accident”

I replied, “What kind?”

“You were just hit by a car”

I was very astonished by that statement I slowly drifted back into unconsciousness again. When I had woken up again I was at Arrowhead regional hospital (as I was told), being prepared for an MRI. They had been telling me over and over again that it was a miracle that I hadn’t been killed in that accident as I wasn’t wearing a helmet in during the hit.

"The Time I Almost Set a World Record" by Jason G

            So, around this time last year, I had done something that science has deemed “too dangerous to attempt and too difficult to prove.” Many currently reading this probably will not allow themselves to believe my story; but I know the truth….

            We begin in the fall of 2013. Students at Etiwanda High School are nearing the final month of the first semester and can hardly wait for winter break. Both hard and hardly working juniors and seniors were exceptionally eager to escape the hullabaloo of the public school system and immerse themselves in full holiday spirit. Christmas, Hanukah, and Kwanzaa were within the students’ sights, and to equally match the excitement brought about by holiday conventions were the majestic mountains of school work. Is it just me or do the amount of essays, projects, and exams seem to increase every single time we near a major holiday? I swear this happens all the time! Call me crazy, but I don’t enjoy spending my holidays working, especially if the work interferes with the time I set aside for family.

            Anyway, I had never received the gift of time management, so I needed all the time I could use. I was a procrastinating sloth whenever it came to matters of school and unfortunately, this year would prove to be no different. I had just finished a tedious World History project and thought I was in the clear. Midway through my sigh of relief (really it was more of a yawn), a friend, who had the same classes as me, gave a warning message about the impending pile of work my teachers were about to assign.

            I think that’s how it started. It began with me working to complete these assignments and only sleeping four to five hours a night. Then it progressed to three to four hours, then two to three, then hour long power naps. Finally I began a life-altering journey. One which has given me a new found love for my mattress and pillows. 

            I don’t have insomnia nor have I ever been diagnosed with FFI, I was just really busy. To be honest, the first two weeks I went without sleep were hardly noticeable, as I had spent the majority of my sophomore year going nights without sleep, but not nearly for as long as I had currently been doing. Weeks three and four went by rather seamless also. Again, to me it was normal. I thought nothing of it at the time because I was incredibly preoccupied with school, work and sports. I began to write logs of how I was feeling, both mentally and physically, just in case.

The final twelve days began to kill me, literally. I couldn’t run in soccer anymore, I was coughing up blood and vomiting during the fitness portions of practice. This sleep deprivation also led to me gaining 10 pounds which really helped reach my “peak fitness” for sports. During football, I couldn’t find a way to manage the flow of my own drool. I must have looked insane in full football attire with a lost look in my eye and saliva pouring from the side of my mouth. My concentration and focus were entirely absent in the classroom. Nose bleeds and severe chest pains were a common thing now. In my own work outs, I’d nearly pass out when preparing to tie my Nike’s. When bending over to reach the lace of my shoe, my entire body would topple over. It would take my 30 minutes to physically put my clothes on because of my, now, defeated motor skills. I couldn’t even remember simplest tasks at my job. For some reason my muscles were always sore and my skin was turning a nasty shade of yellow and my face became increasingly pale. No sleep also led to my immune system started to suck, so I got sick more often. I believe I missed one or two full weeks of school because I was ill. My grades would never fully recover. After the fifth week, the sun rise seemed to lose its charm and beauty. Each time I watched it come up, I grew bitter and hateful because it ment that there was a new day to be dealt with. All of these things fueled my anxiety and depression.

Happiness seemed remote, and it was my fault. Perhaps inconformity and even recklessness was in the design of this zeitgeist. The only things providing me with a minimal amount of comfort were the music plugged into my brain every night (usually Hans Zimmer) along with the wisdom and philosophies of vlogger Ze Frank. I must have replayed “An Invocation for Beginnings” at least a thousand times.

 Both my parents and co-workers thought I was heavily using some type of drug, but I knew better. I actually ruptured and re- ruptured veins in both eyeballs. That was the nastiest part of it all. The mirror showed demon eyes and I was disgusted with myself. I’m just thankful that they popped on a Friday, that way, I had the whole weekend to heal them up before showing my face again on Monday. If my eyes hadn’t healed yet, I walked around campus with my head down and avoided conversation at all cost. I was ashamed. They’re actually still somewhat bloodshot and glossy, even to this day.

“Why am I doing this to myself? This isn’t fun at all. I’m smarter than this” I thought, “at least I hope I am.”

Finals had come and gone and I finally went home to sleep for the first time in 40 days. I decided to do some research on world records. The official record for consecutive hours without sleep is around 264. I shattered that mark threefold. To my dismay, some photographer in Los Angeles claims he holds the record with 968 hours as of 2010. Guinness won’t recognize him because the stunt must be documented but is too risky to be proven. Either way, I’m just happy I got some sleep.

"Who was Justin?" by Hector S

            Justin was a sixteen year old kid living a “normal” life in Chicago. He was well known among his groups of friends at school. On this gloomy, dark day, each of these groups had prepared a eulogy to share the memorable moments they had with Justin. One group of friends knew him as “Justin, the lady’s man”. He would have a different girlfriend a week according to his friends. His cousins would always tell me that he was a man whore. Another group of his friends knew him as “Justin, the smartest kid in school”. Justin would tell this group that he had a 4.1 GPA and how he received a 2200 on the SAT. The last group I talked to knew him as “Justin, the hero”. His friends were admired by Justin because he had told them that he was in the Fire Explorer program and that he would save people from fires. Who was Justin? As his father, I have not figured out who Justin really was. At home he was a quiet teen who would spend hours in his room talking to himself. It seemed normal to me after I saw an episode about teens on Oprah. From the report cards I received, he was a 3.0 student and his SAT score…well he never took it. He would always claim that he couldn’t get girls because he was shy and was scared to speak to them. The last time I checked, he was never in the Fire Explorers. Who was Justin? This is a question that I will never be able to answer. All I knew was that my son couldn’t handle the pressure of living a “normal” life.

"Mr. Brightside" by Jacob V

It was a small, boring town. It was a house upon a hill. It was an old man in his chair.

 The old man gazed out in the distance with a worn out frown on his face. The same frown had been on his face since 1975. His grass was dead, and his house was rotting. Boy, how he hated life. A noise in the driveway caught his attention. A milkman walked up and gave the old man a smile and waved. Boy, how he hated the milkman.

“Howdy-doo!” the milkman said with peculiar enthusiasm. “Here’s your delivery for the week. My oh my, it’s just golly good weather we’re having!” The old man glared and raised his middle finger. The milkman chuckled. “Betcha-by-golly-wow you sure are the best kidder in town!”

“You know, Ed,” the old man started saying, “maybe if you KNEW how to take a damn hint, your wife would KNOW how to be faithful!” The milkman looked puzzled.

“Gee-wiz you really are the best kidder! My old lady does love the Lord!” (Unbeknownst to the milkman, his wife had actually in fact, had multiple affairs).

“Say, I gotta get goin’ but I’ll sure as helicopters be back next week!” He walked down the driveway. All the while, Mr. O’neill just went back to his gazing.

After being startled by the sound of the milk truck engine, the old man looked up. “What a damn fool.” The smell of laundry blew down the street as the summer breeze picked up. Mr. O’Neil looked up the street and saw a woman on a mission. She was heading his way and was at the foot of his driveway.

“Good afternoon sir! I’m with the American Cancer Society, and I am looking for donations for cancer research so we can find a cure!” She gave him a million dollar smile and leaned her head to the right.

He shot daggers into her eyes. “What the hell have cancer people ever done for me?”

She looked startled. “Well it’s not so much what they’ve done for you but-”

“You can take that clipboard and shove it up your a** for all I care!” He stood up and pointed at her. “Now go on and scram!”

“Well you sir are just plain mean. Why can’t you just be a decent person?” She powerwalked back up the street in tears.

He went back to the usual gazing at nothing. In actuality, he was a Vietnam veteran who never got over the trauma and he bottled it all up and just blew up on everyone he came in contact with. His only lover had died giving birth to a daughter that ran away with a felon. He sat back down in his chair and fell right through it.

Liberatingly, he laughed.                                                        

It was a dry brittle laugh. It was a sunny day. It was a man smiling.

After years of bitterness and anger, he knew he was going to be okay.  

           

"Field of Memories" By Nick H

    Every summer, me and my eight best friends, Danny, Jimmy, Alex, Zach, Steve, Brad, Erik, and Jake, would go out to the field everyday and play baseball. Every year, the same thing happened. At about six in the morning, I would wake up, grab my glove, and head over to the field. After spending 6 hours or so at the field, we go home, go to sleep, and do the same thing the next morning. Well, our system got messed up in the summer of 1972.
    That year, a new girl named Angelina moved into our neighborhood. I think I can speak for all the guys when I say she is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Her hair was perfect, her face was perfect, she was a Christian, and she played softball. What more can you ask for in a girl? We all knew that one of us had to ask her out and that one of us had to be Brad. He has the looks, the muscle, and the smile. We knew he was gonna ask out Angelina and he was gonna do it soon.
    One day during our regular playing routine, Danny told us that Britney Martinez said that Angelina was gonna come over and watch us play. When we heard the news, we just about peed our pants in excitement. After about twenty minutes, Alex saw Angelina and her friends walking towards the field. “She’s coming!” Alex screamed. We all freaked out and started running around like little girls. As she reached the fence, Brad decided he would try to impress Angelina. So, he walked up to the pitchers mound and got ready to strike out Steve. No one has ever struck out Steve. Ever.
    Everybody was watching Brad and thinking to ourselves, “What an idiot!” Eric winds up for the pitch. He throws the ball as fast and as straight as he can. The ball is about to cross home plate. SMACK! Steve hits a line drive right towards Brad’s face. The girls gasped in fear. Brad falls to the ground in pain while we all run over to him. As he is lying on the ground, Angelina runs onto the field and sits next to Brad. I distinctly remember her saying, “Oh my god! Are you ok?” Brad looked into Angelina’s eyes and smiled. She smiled back. All of us guys backed off because we knew it was about to get crazy. Brad sat up with his head on his bruised forehead and held Angelina’s hand. Then, he kissed her! I still can’t believe he kissed her. Later that week, they became a couple and they did everything together; going to the movies, practicing baseball, doing homework, you name it. About 30 or so years later, they got married and had a couple of kids. Oh, I think they even did a couple of movies or something. Anyways, I will never forget the Summer of ’72 on the Field of Memories.

" A Tragic Turn Of Event" by Sukhmeen G

                                    

One sunny day, Tyler and his family decided to take a vacation to a small town in Sunshine Drive. They rented a luxurious cabin in the outskirts of town surrounded by woods and nature. Sunshine drive offered many activities, such as carnivals, hiking, horse back riding and many other adventurous outdoor activities. On a gloomy day, Tyler decided to go hiking with his little brother, Dylan. They packed snacks, water, and other essentials for the hike and dressed accordingly to the gloomy weather. Starting their hike at six a.m., Tyler and Dylan were refreshed by the peaceful aroma the woods emitted. Tyler and Dylan went to the hiking center and got their supplies out. They raced up the hill and suddenly Dylan tripped and fell and scraped his knee. Tyler looked back and heard his brother crying he ran to his brother and helped him up. Dylan started crying and made a big scene and everyone around them raced up to Dylan and helped him up. Tyler was worried and didn’t know what to do and didn’t even have a cell phone with him to call his parents. So Tyler asked one of the people if he can use their phone.

Tyler immediately called his parents and told them that Dylan had got hurt during the hiking trip. Tyler looked back at his brother and noticed a significant amount of blood weeping down his knee. Dylan was unconscious and had to be rushed to the hospital. When the ambulance came Dylan was escorted to the ER. When Tyler and his family had arrived to the hospital, the doctor told them that Dylan has had a brain injury for the last four months. Tyler was so shocked and overwhelmed about his brother and asked the doctor if he was going to be fine, the doctor responded saying he has traumatic brain injury and was critical and could lead to prolonged coma in the future, and the doctor said he needed surgery right away.  Tyler and his family waited patiently to see Dylan after his surgery, when the doctor told them that you can see Dylan now Tyler rushed into the room and hugged his brother really tight and said “Thank god your alright I thought you were in a coma for a second.” Tyler stared at his brother waiting for a response.

Tyler started to scream and shout and yelled, “Dylan wake up”, Dylan did not respond and Tyler started to cry and the doctors immediately rushed into the room and informed the parents that Dylan had passed away due to his massive brain injury. The mother and father were in shock and looked at Dylan and starting to cry and kept repeating, “Dylan wake up”, “Please honey, wake up”. Tyler was standing on the side of the bed looking at Dylan, traumatized and could not believe that his best friend, younger brother Dylan had passed away.

This vacation for Tyler and his family will always be their unspeakable moment in life.

"Football" by Noah M

            One day there was a boy who was at football practice his name is John he didn’t play in any of the games but he hoped he would. So at practice that day the starting running back was running as another kid hit his leg. The starting running back was hurt as he laid on the floor with a broken leg. So after that occurred practice ended and John was going to get a chance in a couple of days to play in Sundays game. Sunday came around as John was as prepared as he could ever be. When the game started the first play John got the ball and ran it for a 50 yard touchdown. Later in that game he would score two more touchdowns. But as John was scoring touchdowns so was the other team. The score ended up being 21 to 21 with 5 seconds on the board with the ball on the 5 yard lane. Johns team had the ball everyone knew he was getting it as the quarterback said “hike” the play began. John got the ball and ran as there was a defensive player waiting to tackle him at the 2 yard line. John leaned his shoulder into the defensive player as they made contact. John had crossed the line and scored a touchdown as he won the game for his team.

"Regrets" By Justin P

  I remember that day. It was the beginning of spring during a bright, early morning.  I had opened my eyes and as they had adjusted to the rays of sunlight peering through the cracks of my window I saw her. The most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  A warm and welcoming smile, glistening eyes that always made me melt on the inside, and a wearily spoken “good morning” in a tone that made me have the biggest grin in the entire world. As I gazed upon the beauty of the most wonderful creature to have ever existed, I knew that this was one thing that I wouldn’t mind never changing. She was one of the few things in the world that was worth living for. We chose to stay in the bed for a few minutes and just talk about a wonderful life we would spend together. It was around that time when the doors had burst open.

  It was my girlfriend. I had hoped that she wouldn’t know about this. She, too, was the kind of girl that was great to have, but I just couldn’t decide between the two. She was kind, sweet hearted, and very beautiful, too. She, also, was something in this world worth living for. Although the look on her face had made my heart sank. As gentle as she was she was as angry as people can get. She cursed out at us repeatedly saying that she knew all along about this and asking why I would do such a thing. I tried my best to defuse the situation, but she had stormed off at that point. The other girl had also started going into a panic over what just happened. I hadn’t told her about my girlfriend, too. She just grabbed her stuff and left my house, never to be seen again.

  After a few days of drinking and a couple of bad nights, I had decided to go apologize to my girlfriend in hopes of restoring our relationship. Once I had made sure I was sober enough I drove over to her place. I rang the doorbell a few times, but there was no answer. I tried to call her but she wouldn’t answer my calls. I asked her neighbors where she might be and what they told me I couldn’t believe. It turns out that she died in a car accident due to drunk driving. I had lost the most important thing in the world and I didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

"The Message" by Isaiah J

Dear Comrade,

You have been compromised. Yes you, the average Joe, sitting in your cookie cutter cubicle. Now read every word of this letter carefully. Everything you watch, hear, or read is encoded with a message. Whether you are watching Saturday morning cartoons or the five o’clock news you are being exposed to coded messages. Imagine everything you are or will become is determined by the movie you watched, the song you heard, or the novel you were assigned to read. The movie, the song, and the novel are all forms of media, but are also tools to shape your every being. All the information you receive from the media is stored in your brain, whether you realize it or not you are a victim of the code. That information slowly but surely seeps out the crevices of your brain and assumes control. How exactly, is unknown. However, those of us who have become aware, now realize that is the beauty of the code. The code uses a combination of sounds, lights, and keywords to implant the messages. These coded messages influence our dreams and create our nightmares. Our dreams become our goals in life that we hope to achieve. Goals that we were destined to have. You are nothing but a mere puppet. That chill going down your spine, is the defense mechanism of the code trying to turn you away from the truth. It senses you are becoming self aware. Now we must proceed very carefully. Everyone you know or meet is now a threat to your very being. If you want to survive to learn more about the truth, follow these instructions. First there is a box under your desk with a prepaid phone in it, this will be our primary line of communication but do not use it until you finish reading; secondly cut all ties with your family and friends, you must become a ghost; thirdly quit your job at the firm, it is under heavy surveillance; lastly speak to no one of this and maybe you will live long enough to see the revolution.  One more thing, you should go to the little boy’s room since you probably soiled yourself. Man, I cannot imagine the look on your face right now. That serves you right for switching my power point during the conference last month. Happy April fool’s day jerk!

Sincerely,

David from Accounting

"A Tale On Getting What You Want" by Damairis L

     I was not even 5 yet when I learned this special skill that surpasses all others. My grandma
works at this restaurant and she has since she was 21 and I’m not sure why because she gets
paid under minimum wage since it’s such a small business and she leaves at 9 in the morning
and gets back at 9 at night AT THE EARLIEST and only gets Sundays off to play Mahjong with
her sisters. What she does is she fries food: fish, vegetables, shoes if you give it to her I’m sure
and she’ll make it taste good too. So I’m pretty sure I was sitting there, probably wearing light-up
shoes, probably eating fried cucumbers as well (like every Average Joe is found doing at some
time in the day) and my grandma lifts up that part of the counter that basically separates the
workers from the customers and starts heading towards the door. I look towards the door and
outside is a Chinese women with a heavy looking,black trash bag who’s walking past the
restaurant. Next thing I know, my grandma is yelling at her in Chinese and I have never known
Chinese because my mom is Vietnamese and my dad is Chinese so they speak English to each
other. The only Chinese I know at this point and will know at any point of my life is “fanque” which
means “tomato” because first of all, I always turned red when I cried and this occurred so often
that my family had me exorcised and secondly, because I mean my name’s “Damairis” and not
even people who only speak English get that down so my immigrant relatives must’ve given up
at some time. I swear, my Chinese side laid down some cement in their backyard and I was
there but I didn’t know how to spell yet so someone tried to spell it for me and to this day, it says
“Domeris”. So my grandma is yelling at this Chinese women and the Chinese women is yelling
back so I was thinking that they were fighting, this, this definitely sounded like they were kicking
each other in the groin with syllables if anything. The Chinese lady walks in after the war is over
and my grandma comes over to me and says, “Choose one” and the lady opens her trash bag
for me and I look in and I had never seen so many stuffed animals together at one time outside of
a Toys R Us. After seeing this 8th Wonder of the World and deciding on a beautiful pig that I
named Mr. Piggy, I forgot almost entirely about their fight until last year when I realized that they
were just having a normal conversation in Chinese. Chinese is just an abnormally loud language.
However, on a subconscious level I remembered this moment because I realized that if you yell
at someone, you’ll get what you want and this was my philosophy and way of life during my
entire childhood. If I wasn't already hell for my parents before, I was after that. Then my twin
sisters were born and put up a better performance than me and took all my stuffed animals.

"Pregnant Women are Smug" by Marian Hollinquest

(Author’s note: This is based on the song “Pregnant Women and Smug” performed by
Garfunkel and Oates)
     I sat in the garden in the backyard of one of my acquaintance’s home. It was blanketed
with a beautiful, bright green, pseudo-looking lawn of grass. The perimeter of the house was
fostered by an army of long pots, planted with the most surrealistic daisies you would have ever
seen. I am sitting alone at the table on the slightly dirtied plastic lawn chair at her baby shower.
Most of these women I have never even seen before, and I don’t care much to talk to them. I’ve
known her for years, she was one of my closest friends at one point, but time went on, she just
annoys me to the, James Hunter’s “Breaking Point”. Instead of just sitting out here alone like
Lennie, I made my way over to talk to the bell of the ball. I delayed over by the side, waiting for
her friends to move over; their faces resembled tomatoes, red and round, gushing about the
women as if she were a puppy, showering her with gifts and advice as their cankles danced
gracefully around the strap of their heels. They eventually cleared the way, making my once
close friend accessible to me. Not sure of what to converse about, I haphazardly began it about
the baby.

“So, what do you want the baby to be?” She smiled sweetly at me. I think I already
know the answer. “Oh, it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s healthy.” Wow, really? Because it’s not
like those two things are related at all. I mean, it’s not like one or the other! I cannot contain
myself for the day that a mother says ‘I don’t care if it is braindead, limbless, and-‘ God Forbid,
‘has a penis.’ I swear to high heaven you only speak in clichés now. This little world you are
enjoying is making you really annoying. I bid her goodbye, as I could not take any more of her
B.S. The loneliness acquainted with being alone at a party for moms has not eluded me like any
child the mother forces to go. I soon found the patience to speak with another women, who
also happened to be expecting. Not the great converser I am, I ask about the baby once again,
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Oh we know, but we’re not telling.” She coyly answered.
“What are you going to name it?”
“Oh we know, but we’re not telling.” I raise my brow.
“Whose the father?”
“Oh we know, but we are not telling.”
B***,  I really don’t care. I don’t know if you noticed, but I
was only being polite, because now you have no life. Don’t these women see? I am only twenty-five
and they are supposed to be too! The holy and bloody affliction between my legs still
remains consistent, though I do miss more periods than William Faulkner (and I admit that this
joke was not of my own), and I see no celebration for that, do I?! I may go to the bar once in a
while, and tell a man ‘Hey bae, I get more metaphysical than f**** John Donne.’, but I do not
throw myself into matrimony and curse myself for my upcoming middle-aged years. I wish I
could regress back to my younger years, when I could go to church and not have to get more
confessional that Sylvia Plath, but what’s done is done, and at least I am not as done as these
girls. These women may be giving birth, but it does not give them the right to refer to
themselves as ‘mother earth’. As I retake my seat, I can proudly say:
Pregnant women are smug.

Welcome Back!! August Featured Writers Are Here!!

It's a smallish crop of writers this month (August is always for the brave!) but that just means we can give them that much more support!

All Students:  Be sure to read the entries for this month.  Everyone is required to comment on at least three different pieces of writing.  You must post the comment here on the blog (below the post is the "comments" link to click) AND cut and paste your comments, complete with dates and times, on to a Word document and turn it in to me by the due date.  You must do both to get credit for comments this month.

Remember, comments must be positive, supportive, constructive, and SPECIFIC.  No "Good Job!" comments, unless you follow that with specific things you thought were done well in the piece.  Show them you actually took the time to read and enjoy their work! 

Now go read! :)

"A Testament of a Loving Father" by Ambriell H.

May 21st, 1991

Everyday, I hit him a little harder. Yeah, I know he’s only threeyearsold, but he needs to get stronger. My wife doesn't say anything, well, because I only beat him when she’s away. My boy doesn’t even try to hit me back, and, goddamn, does that make me angry, so I hit him even harder. Yesterday, I asked my son what he wanted to be when he grew up and he replied with, “A westler, daddy, you know, like the ones we see fighting on the TV.” I want my son to accomplish his dream. I don’t want him to end up like his old man. I just... I love my son so much.

September 1st, 2001

I haven’t seen my son in two months, but it feels like decades have passed. My boy is thirteen and I can’t teach him how to be a man. My wife, well exwife, caught me hitting him five years back and left me that same day. That bitch even took all my visitation rights away. She was always so selfish, but she did always deserve more than I ever gave her. But, oh God, a part of me is missing without my little “westler” around. I was just trying to teach him how to defend himself, but I guess I couldn’t teach him to protect himself from “the monster” the court decided I was. I didn’t want him to end up like his old man. I just... I love my son so much.

January 17th, 2012

Every Sunday, I invite all my friends over to watch the big fight because I am “the party guy”. Well, my friends are beer and cigarettes, so they live at my house. When the fight starts revving up, I’m fine. I have my friends close and my feet up. That only lasts for a little while though because when the fighters come out my eyes begin to well with tears and I start hyperventilating. He is so grown up. My sweet, little “westler” isn’t really little anymore. And, goddamn, he wins every fight he’s in. The determination in his eyes is nothing compared to his components and it shows when he has the champion’s belt around his waist. Yet, I can still see my threeyearold boy fighting against my fists and screaming for his mother to come home. That will always haunt me. When they left, it was really hard to wake up and not want to kill myself. But, man, nothing compares to the heartache I feel when my son, on live TV, announces, “When I want to win, I just imagine my dad's face on my opponent. I hope that bastard rots in hell.” I am a grown man with white growing from my scalp and I cannot stop crying. I am so grateful he didn’t end up like his old man. I just... I wish my son knew that I love him so goddamned much.

"Hanging by a Thread" by Deja H.

It’s beautiful how the sky’s blueness seems pure and innocent. So clear not a cloud in sight. The laughter of children, birds and butterflies fill the sky with excitement. Flowers’ blossoming as the warm summer breeze sweeps away its pollen. As the sun shines it gives a new vibrant feeling. It gave me a wholesome feeling but who am I to say it’s perfect. Everybody’s summer experiences are different than the next person. Some say it’s beautiful and enjoyable. Others say it brings back the memories of the fatal tragedy that once happened.

Unfortunately, I am one of those people who do not enjoy summer. Sometimes  I wonder what life would be like with my sister here. Thing weren’t the same after Micah died. It seems our happiness died with her. My mom never smiles or speaks to anybody anymore. The police claim she went into a Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. She mostly sits in the room looking through Micah’s baby pictures. My dad became an alcoholic and left us miserable while he went out every night. Sometimes I wonder if they ever considered my feelings. After all she was my twin sister. Strangely I always wondered how it felt to be kidnapped. Every night I close my eyes and imagine myself in Micah’s position. Then I would say my prayers asking god for forgiveness.

I often began to think her death was my fault. This would have never happened if I didn’t skip school. Maybe if it was both of us she would have had a better chance to make it out alive. The guilt ate me alive after she was pronounced. I told the police we got in an argument and she stormed off to a dirt trail. The tension began to rise as the police told us her remains were never found. Is she alive? Is the kidnapper holding her for hostage? If she returns will my lie begin to unravel? The thought of my parent’s heart breaking even more became too much to bare. I decided to handle the situation as best as possible. I grabbed a step stool and a rope. I tied the rope around my neck and hung it on the balcony. Then I slowly let the breeze push me off the ledge.

"The Black Crayon" by Cassandra A.

       There was a couple who just got married and they were looking to move into a house. They had their hopes set to move into one particular neighborhood but the houses were too expensive. The couple were about to move into an apartment instead of a house but they found a cheap house in the neighborhood of their dreams so they bought the house right away. While moving in the couple didn’t see anything suspicious beside the black crayon that the husband found periodically. He decided to keep it a secret so that he didn’t sound crazy to his wife. He didn’t see the crayon for a week so he discarded ever seeing the crayon at all. One day while coming home from work he saw it again. The husband decided to tell his wife about it. When he told her about the crayon her face grew pale. The wife told her husband that every day since they moved in, she always found a black crayon in the same spot, at the end of the hallway. While hearing what happened the husband decides to inspect the end of the hallway. While inspecting he found a wall that looked a little odd so he decided to peel the wallpaper off. When all the wallpaper was off he found a little door boarded up. Curious, the husband decided to try and open the door. His wife was very concerned. She told him, “don’t open it, it was boarded up for a reason“, but he didn’t listen. 

When he opened the door a gust of cold air rushed out and the husband thought he heard, “Get out,” but he quickly brushed it off. The room was very dark and cold which was a bit peculiar because it was the middle of summer and there was no air conditioner in the room. Once the husband was inside, his wife quickly rushed to his side. They were trying to look for a light switch but couldn’t find it. When they finally found the light switch, the wife turned it on. What they find would scare them for the rest of their lives. They found words written on the walls in black crayon and the words looked like they were written by a child, “mommy, I’m sorry, let me out.” “Mommy, he’s watching, let me out.” “He’s closer; I know it, let me out.” “MO….” The fourth sentence was cut off and there was a black line going from the “o” to the floor and in the corner written in red writing it simply said, “Your next”.

"Understanding the Cliche" by Chloë M.

I grasped hands that I knew so well in between my shaking palms. I used to love the way glass glistened in sunlight, but under hospital lights, covering eyes that used to comfort me… now it seemed only to mock me. The room seemed to grow weary of it’s walls, and every other person faded away. And suddenly, I started to scream. I felt every heartbeat in the room stop in shock and confusion.

“It should’ve been me! It should’ve been me! Anybody else!” I shouted to the ceiling, hot tears streaming down my face. Familiar hands gripped my shoulders.

“Baby girl, stop. It’s done. It’s done.”

I turned to look at my mother with an expression that could slice steel.

“No. Cancer doesn’t get to decide how many years I get to have a father. That’s not fair, mom. Not when there are people who rape, and kill, and steal who are perfectly healthy.”

She looked down at me softly. It was the first time I had ever seen any kind of softness in her. Any vulnerability. She stepped back, and everybody left the room. I turned back to the body below me and interlaced my fingers with his one last time.
“Remember when you used to sing me to sleep, daddy?” I choked out, kissing him once on the forehead, on each cheek, and on the chin.

“Now you’re loved around the world. Goodnight.” And softly, I began to sing the only thing that pushed away the night terrors, the shakes, the monsters under the bed.

“Christopher Robin and I walked alone under branches lit up by the moon, Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore As our days disappeared all too soon-

“Miss Elise?”

A tiny voice pierced through my morning flashback.  I looked down to see the most beautiful child. Blue butterfly eyes, and a smile that could melt diamond, complete with three missing teeth. Her name was Arabella. I had spent the morning pouring over her files, preparing for her IEP meeting later on today with her caseworker. She had a small circular scar on her left collarbone where her mother had burned a cigarette into her skin. A classroom aid had recently discovered twelve more on her stomach and thighs. Her case files also noted that her biological father was jailed, and her mother as well, soon after authorities had discovered Arabella and her three siblings locked in a closet for two days with bruises covering their bodies.

“MISS ELISE.” She repeated a bit louder. I smiled and looked down.

“Yes Belly?”

“What song were you singing?”

I hadn’t realized that I was singing aloud.

“It was a lullaby that my daddy used to sing to me to scare away nightmares.”

Her baby blues widened. “Was he a good daddy?’

I chuckled and gave her a hug. “A very, very good daddy. And I am so lucky to have been loved.”

She smiled like she understood. “ Can I have goldfish now?”

"Only Faded Memories" by Katheryn V.

"Jump!"  I heard my arrogant yet daring cousin Dryad yell. Her icy blue eyes gazed into my dark green ones from across the menacing rocky cliff that stood between us and the active waves. Her short blonde hair covered her fragile, and pale face as a huge gust of wind blew through, at least my long red hair was tied up in a ponytail, the tips of my hair tickled the back of my neck. I looked down at the cruel, roaring blue waves as they knocked against the rocky edges of the cliff. It smelled of disgusting salt and fish.  I stuffed my pale hands into my dark purple hoodie and let out a shaky breath as I felt the tension compress my lungs and heighten my fear. The fear ran through my veins and my heart was beating faster than humming birds wings when they fly. Dryad rolled her hands on the inside of her yellow sweater and rolled her eyes.

"Chicken!" She yelled with that intimidating but girly voice. I stare at the cold fog that appeared every time I let a breath escape from my cherry gloss filled lips.

"It's freezing! I don't feel like doing it anymore!" I yelled to her as she stood on a rock near the cliff. I was almost afraid she was going to fall. She tilted her head to the side and kept gazing at me. She wasn't going to stop until I jumped. Why did I agree to do this? That question won't be answered at this point. I told myself, not to let fear control.

"Any day now Skylar!" She yelled once again only adding on to my stress. I stomped my foot onto the ground as I took my hoodie off and left it on the rock nearby. I fixed my black tank top and took off my purple Vans to reveal my black and white checkered socks. I rubbed my frozen hands together one last time before I jumped into my avoidable yet inevitable fate. It was a long way down. Once I felt my body rise off the ground, everything occurred in slow motion until I felt my body splash into the freezing water. I emerged from the water and looked up at the cliff, I started to cheer until a massive wave pulled me in to the rocks. I struggled and pushed against the hard waves, but it was no use. Before I could even blink I felt my head smash against the pointy, deadly rocks at the bottom of the cliff. After that I don't recall a thing. Until I woke up. I wasn't in a hospital. I was in the middle of a forest. Confused, hurt, lost, and unable to remember a thing. Not even my name. Not a single memory ran through my brain. Did I have a home? Family? Who was I? Did it ever really matter in the first place? Soon everything faded away. Faded into nothing. Nothing but lost memories.