"Land of Yogurt" by Justin L

 

There are so many flavors; it’s practically impossible to pick and choose. I stare across to the back wall, where all the machines are lined up. Levers after lever, flavors after flavors; I actually think I might collapse. I cannot conceal the joy that rushes upon me as I walk closer to the machines. Strawberry, plain tart, cheesecake, and mango, these are the flavors that keep me going, the reason why I wake up every morning. Oh Yogurtland. I probably go to Yogurtland at least once a week. The wide variety of flavors makes Yogurtland one of the most unique yogurt places and is the main reason why I enjoy it the most. I will usually go with my friends, but sometimes my friends don’t crave yogurt like I do, which is why I sometimes go by myself.

I pick up a cup and get ready to put as much as I can into it. My only complaint about Yogurtland is that the cups are to SMALL. How am I supposed to fit every beautifully crafter flavor into the tiny cup? Even though I have already tasted every flavor possible and know exactly what I am going to get, I still get the sample cups. Then I go and taste flavors that I have already tried. So at this point my cup is pretty full, and I still have to put toppings on!

Now don’t get me started on the toppings. There are so many toppings; each one perfectly thought of to match a specific flavor of yogurt. The long rows of toppings glare at me, but I am not tempted by them. I can’t possibly get all the candies and chocolate, I need to watch my figure. This is why I stick to cheesecake bites and mochi. I cram as much as I can into my cup, hopping that it will not topple over. I have finally made the perfect creation of yogurt.

Another problem with eating yogurt, I eat it way to fast. I devour the creamy and thick yogurt in a couple of minutes and am left sad staring into my empty cup. At this point I am tempted to get up and get more, but I don’t, so I go home.

I get home and like usual I go straight to the restroom, where I sit on the toilet and release my yogurt.

"Little Girl" by Danielle D

There was a little girl who loved to prance around her grandfather's farm and sully the dress her mother bought her from an expensive store. Every afternoon her grandpa would take her down to the local cafe by the river, and she always had the greatest fun helping grind coffee beans. She loved to run up to the bridge above the river and feel it swing with the slightest touch of her foot (the bridge had been an old enemy she could never face, as it swung on old wires and swayed with the slightest breeze). She loved the rain that swept throughout the rural town and found the pitter patter of drops against the wooden shacks comforting. The clouds and mountains became canvases for her odd imagination.  The little girl loved being in the hands of nature and never tired of her days in mud.

Back in her parents' home in the city, she would pack away images of lush mountains and aromas of the cafe and slip into her neatly ironed uniform, ready for a day of school. At school, the little girl would chat her day away with friends, only ceasing during her teacher's lessons. With her friends, she would stare at the animals kept in the school zoo and tease the evil monkey by making strange faces at it. They’d run around endlessly playing school games without a care for the world.

Years later, the little girl told her friends she will comeback from a trip abroad in a few months and return with candies and Mickey Mouse and princess souvenirs for everyone. They cheered and she gave them hugs.

The candies, souvenirs, and little girl never made their way home. Her parents explained and the girl accepted. She grew up and dreamed of those days by the river. She went to school and went home. Her life became all bout school. She was grateful to her parents for the opportunities and new life. But she becomes stressed and grows resentful. Grades. Grades. GRADES. The girl wondered if that letter defined her (only one acceptable, the rest are forbidden). She grew to resent those letters, but the girl learned and matured. She turned to family, a lasting presence throughout her young life. She was happy and enjoying life. However, sometimes, she saw her childhood friends back in her hometown and she sees they'd grown a lot. They told her of wonderful stories of adventures and she felt jealousy.

The girl wondered. The girl lives her life grateful, but some days, she thinks what if I had never left? She thinks she might be happier. The girl imagines herself prancing through the farm again. She thinks of crossing that bridge and she thinks of that poor monkey. The girl thinks and thinks and when she stops, she feels something in her. But, she is getting old and she accepts and continues on. She is okay, she thinks. She is happy, she thinks.

"The Face of the Company" by Simran B.

Come on in and take a seat Marcus. The board and I had a little chat and we evaluated your work performance over the last 20 years, and well… we all really like you, and we all have grown attached to you as friends, but let’s face it: in this competitive business world, friendships don’t matter. All that matters is the profit our company receives. After a thorough analysis of your work performance, we have decided that it would be profitable if we laid you off, and replace you with someone, or in this case, something more efficient.

Unfortunately, you are, currently as we speak, being replaced with our latest invention DZX-827. Now, I know this is rather shocking that we are having a man like yourself being replaced by a robot, but trust me. You will be astonished at how much money the company will have by the end of just one month!

Do you want to know what makes DZX-827 so special Marcus? Everything. DZX-827 is just a less prone to error version of you. In the numerous trials we have conducted on him, he did exceptionally amazing. In every trial, DZX-827 made no mistake and he assembled prototypes of magnetic eyes at a rapid rate of 400 eyes per minute! Can you believe that? It takes you a whole minute to pull out the microchip from its plastic bag.

Oh, don’t get me started on how productive DZX-827 is. He works non-stop. No need for silly bathroom breaks or lunch breaks. And the best part is that the company won’t have to deal with anymore bullshit excuses such as calling in “sick” or wanting a “vacation.” He doesn’t have a family to “worry” about, and the best part is: he doesn’t have any feelings! All DZX-827 needs is a five minute charge every day, leaving him with 23 hours and 55 minutes to work for us, and to reap in some big bucks for the company.

Now I know that this is hard for you to take in Marcus, but trust me-- this was bound to happen one day. I mean look at you. You are 45 years old! You’re quite too old to work, and it’s not correct for the company to suffer because you aren’t efficient enough to keep up with this rapidly growing world. Your replacement is sleek and sophisticated, and you… well let’s just say that I see apparent signs of aging just screaming at my face.

Anyways, I wish all the best for you to find a new job. Perhaps, instead of a job, I should wish for you to find a nice retirement home, since no one in this society wants inefficient scums...err I mean unproductive workers in their company. Please be sure to hand in your office keys and name tag to the head office when you step out.

"Understanding" by Sara A.

Growing up, you hear stories about people getting sick, you see movies about people losing their hair and having weird machines set up around them. The great thing about being little is that you don’t understand what that all means, you just see it as something that happens to other people. But then you get a little older and you start to understand that those things don’t just happen to the people on the big screens, they happen to everyday people. But here’s the catch of still being little…you have this unwavering belief that your family is completely safe from any kind of sickness. You still don’t fully understand that those things can happen to you and your family.

            Then one day, you come home and see your family sitting around the kitchen table. It’s completely silent and you know something’s wrong. It’s never quiet at the kitchen table unless something is wrong. And even as you are sitting down in the chair that has become your spot over the years, you still don’t understand. You don’t understand the words that are coming out of your idols mouth. Cancer.

 Six letters. One word. And yet you just can’t seem to understand. You think back to all the movies you’ve seen, all the stories you’ve heard and have no choice but to sit there and let the words wash over you. “Surgery,” “Tumors,” “Chemo” “Radiation,”  “Cancer, Cancer, Cancer.”

            You watch the tears slide down your mother’s face; you see the empty look in your father eyes and the hands that hide your sister’s face, knowing that there are tears in her eyes. Finally you look at your idol who is sitting across from you, the way she has every day since you can remember. But you don’t see the tears, instead you see that her chin in raised in defiance. She looks at you and she watches as you take in everyone’s reactions and as the tears start to fall from your own eyes.

She shakes her head and keeps her chin held up high

And you wonder “how the hell can she be so strong?” How is it possible that she is now holding your mother in her arms as your father wraps his arms around the both of them, and yet not a single tear has formed in her eyes.

And there you are, being forced to accept that the worst has happened to your family. Your oldest sister has cancer at the age of 23.

But somehow you still don’t understand.

2 Months Later

It was around 10 o’clock at night when it happened. Her parents were out celebrating their 26^th anniversary and her sister Esme was out with friends. She enjoyed nights like these, when the house was silent and the only noise was that of the soft music she had playing and the laughter that came from the computer screen. It was a tradition to Skype with her sister every Thursday night and this day was no different. The conversation started with the typical “I miss you” and then her eldest sister would began to tell her of the adventures she had that week in the foreign world of Italy. Her idol told her about her trip to the oldest bridge in Europe and how she and her roommates had slept outside of an airport because they missed their flight and didn’t have enough money for a hotel room. And then it was her turn to talk about her week. She went on and on about her birthday that had been two days before and how she loved the gift that she sent her, and they made plans to go out to dinner when her idol returned to celebrate both of their birthdays because they wouldn’t be together when they passed.

            And then without any warnings or signs it happened.

            The blood didn’t start off slowly, but all at once. And then the screaming, she didn’t realize she was screaming until her scream was the only thing she could hear. Her idol was having a seizure on the other side of the world and she had no power to help her. She watched in terror as she fell on her side and the blood poured from her mouth. And no matter how much she screamed it wouldn’t stop. She yelled and yelled for her roommates but as she yelled she knew no one was going hear her because her sister had been talking to her with her earphones plugged in. Someone finally walked in and saw her idol lying across the bed with shaky movements and the blood.  After her roommates found her idol they jumped into action, they did everything that she couldn’t do for her own sister. 3 hours and 42 minutes later, one of the roommates finally saw her crying on the computer screen. She had waited and waited because she needed to know. She needed to see that she was alright. She needed to know that the cancer wasn’t catching up.

            Another hour and 13 minutes pass and she is lying in bed with the silence surrounding her. And she can feel the emptiness that surrounds her heart, but most of all she feels the sense of uselessness that has overtaken her mind. Then the anxiety hit her, and for the first time she welcomed the demon that she fought against, anything to take away the images.

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