Something to be Thankful For!

The November featured writers are up!  Lots of great reading, but remember, not as much time to get your comments completed and turned in -  We have a deadline of THIS THURSDAY (November 20) by class time (first on the blog, THEN cut-and pasted onto a Word document, printed and turned in to me during your class period)

Happy Reading!

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!

"The Lines Between" by Jeanna L.

“Hello?”

The room remains silent, and the voice begins again.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

My eyes flutter open, and a blurred spread of bright light blinds my vision.

I can finally focus on a man seated at a desk, facing me. I watch as he speaks again into his headset.

“If you can hear and understand me, please respond”.

I look around the room and examine the flawless sheet of white covering the entirety of the space surrounding me. Even my chair glistens with a pristine cleanliness. In front of me, a silhouetted man is seated behind glass, in a darkened room.

I respond.

“Yes.. Yes, I can hear you.”

“Can you tell me your name and identification number?”

“My name is Treina. CODE 009K256.”

“Good. Are you feeling okay? Can you move your head and arms?”

I look away from him as I gradually lift both my arms. I watch my gleaming hands raise themselves towards the space above me with a soft mechanical grind. I'm so entranced by the smooth, silver gleam that I almost miss his next sentence. 

I hear clicks upon a keyboard, as the voice continues.

“Alright. Now I'm just gonna do a quick scan for any viruses, and we'll be just about.. Done! And that just about does it. You're ready for shipment.”

I begin to walk towards the platform, until I pause for a moment.

“May I ask what will happen to me now?”

“Well, I'll recondition you and you'll make your way to a store to be sold.”

“Sold? So I'm a sort of merchandise?”

“That's right, baby! You're a part of a whole string of operations. You alone be worth millions.”

“But I thought--”

“You thought?” He pauses. He walks toward me to the edge of the glass and I see the confused expression covering his clean shaven face. With a slight smirk, he asks, “Well what did you think?”

“I thought.. I thought I was.. alive.”

Instantly, his face hardens and all compassion floods from his face as the look of concern spreads through the air. “You- wait. No.. No. This thing isn't quite right..” He walks over towards his desk and pushes something out of my line of sight. Over an intercom, I hear as he calmly states, “CODE 60093. I need some help for a disassembly.”

A group of men run in and grab my arms, as a man begins to unscrew my shoulder.

I'm caught in shock as I'm toppled over by two men in black ties and slacks. I realize what's happening, and I can only think to scream. “No, please! Stop! You can't do this!”

The man responds blatantly, “Oh. Sorry, Hon. I can't afford if something goes wrong. You know, if a customer comes in with a complaint, they're gonna come in with a whole lot of questions.”

They begin work on the other arm as I try to rip away. More men step in to knock me back from my chair. They pin me to the ground as both my arms are removed, until a leg and then the other, are gone.

I'm left with nothing but my torso, as they begin to unscrew my head.

I yell and plead as tears come flowing down my face. “Please! I won't say anything else! I'll do what I'm told! I promise. Just please stop!”

And as I felt the last screw being untwisted, I screamed with the last of my breath as the world began to fade out around me, “I just want to live!” And my sight is swallowed into darkness.

 

"Being Jeremie's Twin" by Jamie A.

      *Whispers* “I ate my twin in the womb” (Pitch Perfect reference). Unfortunately, I did not. I did, however, jeopardize her life which caused my mom to have a cesarean section. I wish I was born first. In the womb, I was growing at a higher rate and pushing against my sister to where she couldn’t receive the proper necessities that our mother was providing. We were born on February 21st, 1997 at 12:53 pm and 12:54 pm. We’re actually less than a minute apart but to my family, that doesn’t matter. She’s my older sister and for the rest of my life I would have to call her “Ate” (pronounced ahteh, not the past tense of eat). Why? It’s in the Filipino culture to respect all my elders. What does she call me? Just Jamie.

      I mean, it’s pretty typical to compare us. In one way or another, someone would ask me why I’m not like Jer. ”How come you don’t wear makeup?” “ Why don’t you dress girly?” “You should let your hair down on both sides or even curl it or something.” I use to be annoyed and offended when people would share their opinions and get me to change just so I could be identical to her. I get it, they’re all valid questions that would be cool if I actually did those things but, why hasn’t anyone asked her to be like me? Whatever. What really hurts is when my family calls her “Ate Ganda” (Pretty sister) when I’m just “Bunso” (pronounced boonesoh, which means youngest in the family). I doubt anyone thinks about how I feel so I try to ignore it. it’s not a big deal anyway, I’m just over dramatic and too serious right?

     All my life I use to wonder why God made me Jeremie’s twin. Everything about it seems to suck. You have to share almost everything. You have to sacrifice so much for the sake of doubling the cost and expenses of certain things.What is so good about being Jeremie’s twin?

     Even though I am constantly compared to Jer, I know who I am. I love me for me and so does she. We’re not exactly best friends, especially after going through high school and finding our own way. We may treat each other like crap and piss each other off, but in the end of it all, no one is closer to me than my Ate. She knows everything about me. She may not be the ideal identical twin, let alone a perfect older sister, but I look up to her. She’s just as strong and wise as me. Together, I’ve seen the good we can do and the impact we make on our friends and family. There are times that are filled with drama but in others, love and happiness.

      As much as I seem to rant about having a twin sister, I realized I am beyond blessed. I have a freaking twin! Who can say that? Without Jer, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I have grown so much, matured, and come to realize that she is forever my family. I love her with all my heart and will put her above any of my friends. I’m really lucky to have her by my side, she’s my womb mate for life!

"Being Jamie's Twin" by Jeremie A.

      It’s true, I could’ve died because of Jamie, but I’m alive and the oldest. We are identical, but easily mistaken for fraternal because of our appearances. Our personality and style sets us apart to where people who first meet us can’t recognize our resemblance. She is not someone who likes eyeliner or mascara and she will never agree to wearing a dress or putting on heels. I, on the other hand, am the complete opposite. People who know us can testify to this and agree that we are very different individuals. Being Jamie’s twin is a perfect example of how two people are never really alike and we are our own person living two distinct and unique lives.

      Throughout high school, we have made a number of friends and became so involved with multiple organizations on and off campus. To start, I was the “cheerleader” and Jamie was the athlete. I was never an actual cheerleader, but I was her #1 fan cheering her on while she played basketball. She was on the freshmen and JV team her freshman and sophomore year while I danced at Valverde School of Performing Arts. She liked the court and I liked the stage.

     As time went on, our honors and AP classes piled up and we both struggled with the work load. You would think she helped me, but it was more of me saving her from her own procrastination. She’s lucky we had some classes together. I don’t know where her motivation really came from, she always got distracted with music. She has a corner where she plays piano, ukulele, and guitar for hours. I can’t do that. I know how to play the piano and ukulele, but I don’t share the same motivation to play like she does. Instead, my motivation is in photography. I would rather express my artistic talent with a camera than a musical instrument.

     Now, it is senior year and we both developed into different leaders. She’s the President of Key Club and I’m Photo Editor for Yearbook. Through our varying interests, personality and style we have developed into different people. Being Jamie’s twin is not at all identical or stereotypical.

"Tyler" by Lucca K.

Being a teenager in not easy. Sure we have way more advantages, but we also have disadvantages.  Most teenagers are stressed due to school, family, friends, social status, and just overall materialistic things. Growing up I was not the popular kid, or the funny kid, I was the kid that everyone made fun of. To be honest I didn’t have any friends at school, until fourth grade. I met Tyler Robinson. Tyler was just like me, he was the kid that everyone picked on .Tyler and I have been best friends ever since. Tyler was the type of person that would not hurt a fly, he was a nice innocent guy but, you could tell he was hurting on the inside. At first, he was really quiet, but then he started telling me his problems and feelings. He would tell me how his parents would argue almost every day, and they would take their anger out on him. He would tell me how kids at school would jump him and try to kill him. Sometimes, Tyler would talk about killing himself, and how all of his problems would go away, and he would be happy. When he would talk about death, I would always tell him that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. He would always agree, and say he was just kidding, but you could see it in his eyes that he wasn’t. One day, he came to school, and he had just got glasses. He didn’t get funny looking glasses, he just got normal glasses. Throughout the day, everyone would look at him, and make fun of him more than usual. I would defend him the best that I could, but it was no help. Tyler and I walk home together every day. On that day, he was nowhere to be found after school, I waited a good ten minutes. I was really worried so I went through out the whole school, and couldn’t find him. Then I passed by one of the boys’ bathrooms, Tyler’s new glasses were crushed in front of the bathroom. I rush into the bathroom, and Tyler is lying on the floor. He had blood dripping from his face and his head. He couldn’t speak, and I could tell he was in a lot of pain. I quickly called my mom to come pick us up so we could take Tyler to the hospital. Tyler was able to tell me that a group of jocks tried to kill him because he looked like a nerd with his glasses. The doctor said that Tyler had a serious gash in his head, and it was not fixable, he said Tyler had two weeks to live. Tyler knew he was going to die, but he didn’t sulk, instead he said he would finish off strong. For the first week, everyone looked at Tyler like he was a mad man. Everyone knew what had happened to him. As much as they bullied him about it, he didn’t let it get to him! That was surprising to me. He would look on the bright side of things, and not feed on hatred. The last couple days of his life were very weird. For example, when we were walking home one day, all he could talk about was the next day and how amazing it was going to be. I asked him what was going to happen the next day, and he said “I have some unfinished business to take care of”. Later that day, while we were walking home, I asked him what the business was that he had to take care of. He told me that I would see tomorrow. I couldn’t sleep all night that night, I was just thinking of all the possible things that it could be. The following day comes, and Tyler shows up with an extra bag, I question him and ask him what was in the bag, and he told me a baseball bat. It puzzled me why he would have that, he doesn’t play baseball, or any sport for that matter. The day comes to an end, and I wait after school for him, but he is a no show. I freak out and run to the bathroom where I first found him, and what I saw next, scared me for the rest of my life. He had a gun in his hand. He was shaking a lot, and he was covered in blood. Tyler had killed all of the jocks that beat him up. He turns and looks at me, and says slowly “My business is done”. Tyler had killed himself. Scared and panicking, I run home as fast as I could. My mom had heard what had happened from the news by the time I had got home. I cried and cried. I went in my room that night and couldn’t sleep, it was all sinking in. When school had started again, everyone was treating me extra bad, as if I had killed all of them myself. When I walked home that day, it was quiet, and empty. I went home, went to my room and I decided that maybe Tyler was right, dying is the solution to my problems. I now understood where he was coming from. At worst Tyler is somewhere quiet and peaceful, but at best, he is an angel in heaven. Either way, he is away from this horrible world. So that day, I decided I wanted to be with Tyler again. So I made a noose, hung it from my ceiling, slipped my head through it, and let gravity do the rest. 

"The Torture of Nikols", by Andrew R.

Journal Entry No. 34

December the 24^th, 1692

I am not a religious man. Forgive me if I offend, but I have seen all there is to see during my time on this world, and I now understand the true cruelty that can be instilled upon a single being. I wish to recount the tale of my brother, Nikols, so as to enlighten the public to the reality of our world. Once again, forgive me if this offends or disturbs, but I feel it my duty to tell it to you as he wrote to me on that dreadful winter night:

“I cannot stay long, dear brother, they wait for my return. But I must tell you the truth of my disappearance. I suffer a fate far worse than that of Atlas or Tantalus. I would rather have an eagle rip my innards out each night, as Prometheus has done upon him, than to suffer the pains that I must endure for the rest of eternity. I was kidnapped, dear brother, and given an elixir that, I believe, impedes the work of time. Each day, I am bound in chains and hobbled so that I cannot run away. I am forced to create tools of torture for my captors, and am only given a minute’s rest to drink appalling milk from the creatures’ animal pets and stale crackers that taste of vomit and refuse. They force me to wear a bloodied coat (presumably from their last captive) that is far too big, so they stuff my face with raw meat at the end of each day and whisper, “Fatten you up”. Each night, I am thrown into an icy cave, and expected to sleep, though my eyes cannot rest a second as I can hear my tormentors whispering in an unknown language. My tormentors never show their faces, as they wear dark pointed hoods that cover their entire bodies, all except for their teeth, which are pointed and layered, like that of a shark. I do not believe these creatures to be human; they are much smaller in stature, though I assure you they are quite terrifying, capable of inflicting immense pain, both physical and emotional. I repeat this schedule three hundred and sixty four times. Each day I think the relief of death will present itself to me, but each day my body continues living. After the cycle of three hundred and sixty four, the schedule changes. I am no longer a worker, I am now a transmitter, a means for which these creatures to send their inhumane weaponry to unsuspecting men, women, and children. I break into their homes and leave one of the creatures’ torture devices. I cannot be sure, but I believe that they have a plan to influence the young minds of the world, and, inevitably, bring torture, cruelty, and grotesque acts of violence to all who inhabit the Earth. And I, their unwilling captive, must comply out of fear. So I am sorry brother. I am sorry for what is to come. It was never my intention, but these creatures only target esteemed individuals with the ability to love. Perhaps it was when the people of our town began calling me Saint Nicholas, that my fate was sealed. I can hear my captors calling for me now. Please forgive me. I must be off.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night…

Santa Claus

"The Girl that Fell Before She Could Fly By", Cynthia A.

 “I wonder what it’s like to fly,”
 *gunshot*
 “how it feels to see the world up so high,”
 *Her body hits the floor*
 “To be dependent off of nobody but yourself.”
*everyone scatters*
 “But still have a pack you can see the world with. . ”
 *Blood drips from the sidewalk onto the winding road*

September 25, 2010 2 a.m.
 The funeral was comical. Strangers got up to say how important she was to everyone, How she brightened everyones day by just her smile, how everyone will always love her in their hearts until they die. But for a human to continuously love another human they would have to love them in the first place. Which they didn't. She brightened no ones day but my own. Everyone despised her for a reason she couldn't understand, for a reason she had no recognition of. They labeled her a murderer, told her the twisted truth of her birth: how our mother sacrificed her life for her giving birth yet she was recognized as a killer. The day she accidentally shot and killed our father at the age of 2 with his own 45 was the day everyone lost hope. Not only did she “take the last bit of life” from our mother but she unintentionally murdered our father who was the second most loved person in our family. . . our mother was the first. So while these “family” members claimed their love and adoration for Moana at her funeral, they would chastise her with names that would shatter her existence if they could while beating her with anything that changed her appearance.

September 25, 2010 2 a.m.
 The ambulance didn't come for an hour. One full hour. The police knew what already happened when they arrived: why it happened, how it happened, who had done it. Moana was a whirling wind of emotions that night, she saw who pointed the gun right between her eyes and if that wasnt enough the fact that it was the person she trusted the most broke her heart before it stopped. Although her death was quick, it wasn’t quick enough to eradicate the amount of betrayal shown in her eyes. She was just a beautiful mess that got caught up in my ugly game.

December 25, 2010 2.am.
 It’s been 3 years since she's been gone and I still remember every day we spent our childhood together. I was her older brother , and If I can still remember how she would walk to my room in the middle of the night every night to feel safe I can remember every detail of that night like it was a favorite dream of mine. I knew she’d visit our parents grave on the 25 of December at 2 a.m. I just didn’t think how happy she’d look on the pavement after she went. I’d never seen her look so happy in her life, I guess I had to see her smile in her death.

"The Worst Vacation Ever" by Pierce B.

     I was tossing and turning. I could feel the white rapids pulling at me causing me to have no control. My lungs were burning trying to find any source of oxygen and as I was blinking in and out of consciousness all I could think was how it could have gotten this way.

      My vacation didn’t start off so bad. I was with my mom, dad, and six year old sister traveling to Jamaica by airplane. We traveled in coach. The ride wasn’t that bad. We suffered some minor turbulence that caused my stomach to churn but otherwise it was fine. The trouble started when we landed. While my family got their luggage, I asked my parents if I could tour the island by myself. Insuring my mom I would be okay, enduring teases from my dad that I was going girl hunting, and tricking my sister into not coming with me, I finally managed to pull away to go touring the island. That’s when I saw her. While I was touring the island, I decided to visit some local shops. When I was walking past a store selling local fruit on the beach, I saw this beautiful caramel skinned girl my age, with short cut black hair and chocolate brown eyes that could melt anyone’s heart. I overheard someone call her Eleanor. She was watching some of the surfers riding the turf and that’s when that horrible idea formed.

            After rushing back to the hotel to get my swimsuit and change, I ran back to the beach to try to impress Eleanor with my surfing. Hopefully she would be so enchanted with my impressive surfing unaware of my nonexistent surfing life/lessons that when she learned this knowledge, she would follow me around like she was a sheepdog, and I was a wandering sheep in her flock. I quickly grabbed a board and started to paddle out to sea. This can’t be that hard I thought. All I have to do is balance. I saw what looked like a good sized wave and I started to stand on the board.  I managed to wobbly stand up, I could feel the wave building up and I braced myself. That’s when everything went wrong. As soon as the wave hit me I fell off my board. As I crashed into the water the surfboard tuned over and the strap connecting me to the board wrapped around a strong sea plant causing me to stay underneath the waves. The force of the powerful wave was both above water and underwater. I was tossing and turning. I could feel the white rapids pulling at me causing me to have no control. My lungs were burning trying to find any source of oxygen. As I started to go black out of consciousness I wondered if it was for the last time.