"You Know…?" by Anthony H

You know that feeling you get when you’re really into someone?

You know, the butterflies that last for weeks, sleep being the one thing that can make them go away, if you’re lucky enough to get any sleep?

You know, when your heart will probably give out by next week from how fast it has been beating?

You know, that feeling of wanting to throw up and poop your pants at the same time when you see, hear, or even think about them? (I mean that in the best way possible.)

You know, when you don’t think about anyone else; just them, all…the…time?

You know, when you get a text and hope to God for their name to light up your screen, but it never does?

You know, when you put your music on shuffle, and coincidentally, all of the love songs decide play, one after another?

You know, the constant breath-smelling and hair-fixing before every time you see them?

You know, when you rehearse in your head what you’re going to say to them, because you’re so nervous that you might stumble on your words, or forget what to say?

You know, that moment when you realize you’re totally screwed, because it’s like you’re a completely different person?

Oh, you don’t? Yeah, *pssssh* me neither, that’s stupid.

“Beyond Infinity” by Kristin S.

It has been about five days since I awoke in this hell hole and I have yet to see a single soul. For some reason I don’t feel tired or even hungry. I do not have the faintest idea of how I got here nor do I have any recollection of who I am. For God sakes I can’t even remember my own name! From this weird space suit I am wearing I am assuming I am, or was an astronaut. The only thing I know for sure is that I was on a mission of some sort. Although I cannot remember what it was I am sure it was something of great importance. Now none of that matters anymore because I am never going to escape this place. I have no idea who my captors are or what they want with me. Maybe there are other life forms in this universe and they have kidnapped me. Oh God! What if they are going to probe me or worse, what if they already have. Maybe it is not amnesia I’m experiencing. What if they stole my memories! No. I need to get a hold of myself. I will not go insane and I will not give up on finding a way out.

            I have searched every inch of this boxed prison and I even tried breaking the glass but it is useless. What was that? I am not sure if I am hearing the voices of children or if I have already gone crazy. “Hello, can anyone hear me”!  Why is no one responding to me? Suddenly I feel the ground shaking and my boxed prison seems to be lifted. I come face to face with a giant who utters the words “Look mommy it’s Buzz”.

“Noticed or Heard, You Decide” by Kathryn B

                Being noticed and being heard are two completely different things. To be quite honest with you, I would much rather be heard than noticed. Noticing someone is done by looking at one’s outer shell, their appearance. Not even breaking the surface of what makes a human to be. But being heard, that’s when someone listens. Not only to what you have to say but what you feel, your opinions, and they way that you view things.

                                They care if you are heard.

                This is something not all people are able to have in their lifetime, it’s simply luck… or is it fate? I don’t know, this still makes no sense to me. But it is the most fulfilling thing to be able to be surrounded by people who care… people who hear you.

                But what happens when you are told that you are cared about by so many people, but yet it is as if they still would be unable to hear you even if you screamed it through a megaphone. How does this make sense? When someone cares about you, they listen. They are able to hear you without you even saying a word. It is all empty words, exactly like empty promises.

                Empty words that are the exact same thing as empty promises. And these empty words will be what eventually lead to the demise of an empty person. Now I want you to say hello to that person.

                                It is the one writing this… Hello, I am empty. How are you?

Spooky Reads are Here!

It's your October writers, and many of them are ready to scare you good!  Have fun 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!

"When You Think About It" by Angel R

When you think about it, now a day, people are so fake. The question “How are you doing today?” has become such a casual saying. Sometimes I wonder if people actually care about my day or just want to fill in empty space in a conversation. Also, when listening to people talk to their parents, all I hear is the little brat talking back to their parent. Now don’t get me wrong I’m not some saint that fell from the sky, but I’m not a little brat either. I like to think I’m at the happy medium between saint and brat. But I know the difference between respect and being rude.

As mentioned before there is no perfect child; however I give credit to those who at least attempt or show some sort of effort into being that perfect child. I like to think baby steps are the way to go. So every year, since the beginning of sophomore year, I attempt to be the better person, although I usually never am. This year I try to be gentlemen as much as I can. Call me old fashioned but I still think guys should hold the door open for women and always walk on the left side of the sidewalk.

But anyways, if you haven’t figured it out by now, this piece is probably going to be one long rant about life and/or a description of what I believe in. Cause when you think about it, life is just one dreaded math equation that ends with “no solution.” Even the slightest step you take as to understanding life, sets you one step farther then you were before. However, in today’s society teens think they got life all figured out. They say they are going to graduate High School, move out of state, finish college, and live in Malibu with there family for the rest of their lives.  I don’t know about you but I tend to think about all the little things and make a big deal out of them. Maybe I over think about everything but not getting everything paid is my biggest fear. At this point you probably think I’m and anti-social little kid who is never going to grow up and your probably right. But I have eyes set on big things, which I never like to mention cause I’m afraid of humiliating myself if I don’t do what I had planned.

Well I think I’ve ranted ling enough to the point where I put you to sleep, so Ill just end it here. In conclusion, possibly what I’m trying to convey from this mess I call a writing piece, is don’t be fake.

"Plain" by Diana P

I woke up as usual, in my plain room, with its plain walls and my plain single bed. I stood up and put on my plain clothes and plain shoes. I’m sure some say that a life as plain as mine is boring, but I like it; I think its soothing. But anyway, I proceeded to begin with my daily tasks. Brushing my hair is one of the little things I enjoy doing. All the girls always compliment me on my long, black hair; they say they’re envious of it. One girl even tried ripping it directly off my head, I don’t know why she did that, everyone knows you can’t take someone else’s hair. We’re not allowed to see each other anymore… But I don’t like thinking about that, I like thinking about good things, like last night. Last night was a good night for me. I knitted for five hours and I didn’t even mess up once. I like knitting. For the past few days I’ve been working on a scarf; I think it must be at least fifty feet long by now! My Martha says someone named “Grandma” taught me how to knit, but I don’t remember very much. Everyone here has a Martha, except my friend 00892B says her Martha’s name is Lisa, which is weird. Martha says I have to be good or else bad things will happen… At first, I didn’t believe her, but a long time ago, when I first got here I think I was asking a lot of questions and Martha was getting mad at me. She called someone and a man came and gave me this special juice and put me in a special jacket.  But I don’t like thinking about that, I like thinking about good things and even though my life is plain, I like it here. The screaming doesn’t bother me anymore and I’m warming up to my new name, 98306A.

“The New Kid” by Christian B

 

There was this new kid that went to our school; man he was such a loser. He almost tried out for sports once. It’s a good thing I was there to tell him not to; I told him he would only get himself hurt, and drag the team down. Later he thought it was a good idea to speak outta place during class and actually have the nerve to raise his hand and try to answer a question. So I made sure he knew the truth, that no one cared what he had to say, to just do everyone a favor and shut up. I did a lot for him, like making sure he didn’t go to any parties; just in case he thought he was actually invited. Or actually have the nerve to ask the girl of his dreams to the dance; he had to be told that he would never have a chance. He finally thanked me one day, that new kid. I came to school one day and found caution tape plastered onto the front gates. As I pushed through the crowd I saw people sobbing, teachers and police men had the expression of unbelief on their faces. I saw that new kid lying on the ground. Blood leaked from his mouth, in the puddle of blood was a message written in crimson. It spelled “Thank you ________, thanks for everything”.

(Tell me… does your name belong in that blank?)            

"Your Dark Soul " By Cristina S

Do you ever get that feeling that you don’t want to exist anymore? You wonder if anyone would care if you left this world, you wonder if your existence even matters to anyone. If the person you love the most leaves this world, you want to leave too. I’ve felt this hollow feeling in my chest ever since he left me. Not leave me in a romantic sense, but in a…death way, you can say.

I’m not really sure if he actually did die, to be honest. Hell, I’m not even sure if he was ever alive. Ever since I was young, I’ve had these weird hallucinations, but none were as real as him. I couldn’t touch him, and he couldn’t touch me, but somehow, I heard this voice in my head, and I knew it was his. I named him Kuro, which means black in Japanese. He reminded me of the nights that were pitch black and soundless, the type of darkness that obscures your sight to the point where you can’t even see your own hand in front of your face.

Despite his dark name, Kuro was anything besides dark in appearance and personality. Pale, with silver hair and yellow eyes, and a smile that could light up anyone’s day. Not that anyone but me could see him, but if they could…damn. In a way, I wished people besides me could have seen him, just so that the world knew that the perfect guy every girl and even some guys would have killed for was mine. At the same time I was glad no one could see him. That perfection was meant for me and me alone.

I can feel the tears in my eyes again.  Nobody could quite understand how much my ‘invisible friend’ meant to me, and no one ever would. Especially now that Kuro is gone; everyone just sees me becoming snappish and depressed and a crybaby… I don’t even know how he disappeared!   I just woke up one morning, opened my eyes and expected him to be right in front of my face like he always was when I awoke.  But he wasn’t there. He never reappeared.

The feeling of hollowness just grows the more I think about it, and my tears are falling like the freaking Niagara Falls. I drag myself over to my bathroom mirror and grimace once I see how much of a disaster I look. If I were to describe it, you’d probably scream. Let’s just say that I look like the epitome of a dead man. I feel like it too.

There is an abrupt presence behind me, and a warm arm wrapped around my waist. I tense, but something was different with this touch. It feels…safe. I do a half turn and my eyes widened. It was Kuro, real and alive.

“Come away with me, Taro. You do want to stay with me, don’t you?” Kuro says, a hand extended towards my person and his yellow eyes shining.

“Forever,” I nod, and then I see nothing but the darkness I described earlier. I was right in naming him Kuro.

"Beware Terror" by Katheryn V

      The black ominous door creaks open and the frightened couple step inside not knowing what to expect. The small girl holds onto her partners jacket for dear life as the hallway is filled with dark shadows and menacing statues. On the outside he is calm and collected when internally he is screaming and frantically running around like a scared little boy who just saw Chucky for the first time. A green pale hand reaches out slowly with suspense as the couple hears recorded screams and yells throughout the hallway. The hand grabs them and they both let out a shrill. The hand goes back as the couple recollects themselves and carry on. What they didn't expect was the end. One final door. One says "death" the other "torture." They gave each other a confused glance and proceeded unsure to the door reading "death". Too bad they didn't realize their mistake before they stepped inside. Once they did darkness engulfed the room... Only a small light shimmered but it flickered. They couple distracted by the flickering late had yet to realize the monster waiting to sneak up on them. After staring at the lights flicker the hairy beast jumps out and both scream so high pitched it might have broken glass. The beast returned to its original position and the couple starts to breathe heavily in fear. They rush through the rest of the room, holding onto each other, hoping the nightmare will end. Yet they could not find a way to exit this mysterious "death" room. The girl starts to panic and the boy starts to breathe heavier than normal.
"Where's the exit?!" She exclaimed her soft yet fear filled voice shrilled. She tries to look at him with frightened light green eyes and he tries looks back with confused black eyes, but unable due to the dark abyssal room.
"I don't know," he answered. She felt a chill travel down her spine slowly and she tensed up.
"Was that you?" She asked, her voice breaking.
"Me what?" He replied, unsure where she was. Her hand had let go of his jacket and now they were both walking aimlessly around the room. Jokes on him. She knew everything that was occurring. She knew what was going to happen. He fears the house when he should fear her. They finally come across a lit hallway and he sighs in relief and looks at his girl.
"Light! We must be halfway there," he said with a giddy smile. While she just tilts her head and looks at him.
"Oh this is only the beginning," she said and wide devilish smile appears on her face. He looks at her in terror and she runs towards him... Then black.

She flutters her eyes open and glances around. She's still in bed with her guy. He is sound asleep and lazily snoring. She gazes at him and lies her head back down on the pillow. The smile appears on her face again.
"It was only a dream," she said with disappointment, "for now." Then her eyes go pitch black.

"What Are You Searching for, Anyways?" by Ivan R

            This place is a hell to me. I hate it here. “Honey, aren’t you hungry? Why aren’t you eating?” What a deplorable woman. Sitting at this dinner table with this new family, with “Mom” and “Dad”, feels like I am being mocked. Here I am given the sensation that I am in a dollhouse. Blond Barbie, with a perfectly trimmed pink dress, is sitting on the opposite side of the table from my own figure. At the head of the table is Ken, a man with a strong jawline and a sculpted chest. Both have perfect white smiles painted on their perfectly symmetric faces. There is no reason to be that happy all the time. Pain and resentment are the only effects of those dazzling smiles. All around are decorations; oven, TV, couch, and even video games. Distracting for a time, yes, but they never replace what is lost. Everything plastic, everything fake. When will Mommy pick me up from this place and take me home? When will Dad call me outside to play catch again? In the back of my mind I knew they were never coming back, but refused to accept it. One dreadful month has already crept on by since the day my beloved parents chose the cold, clammy hands of Anubis, Yama, and the Shinigami over mine. These hands which were so full of warmth and life at that time were left empty that day with nothing to call their own. These beautiful creatures that cared for me and loved me were snatched away in an instant. Why did they have to leave? The police said the crash killed them instantly, as if that would make me feel any better. Idiots. That isn’t something you should tell a 13 year old. My wandering mind snapped back to the dinner table. “How was school today, son?” It sucked Ken, thanks for asking. I vehemently refused to answer any of their inquiries and resolved myself as to not make any eye contact with the strangers. The tiny trees on my plate were my only friend at the moment. My only amusement was pushing the dark green objects back and forth on the plate. “May I be excused?” The first commentary the pseudo couple has heard from me all afternoon. Mom looks up, stunned, and responds with “S-sure thing dear, just put your plate in the sink and I’ll take care of it.” I didn’t take a second look back as I bolted up the stairs. My room wasn’t my destination: it was theirs. I rummaged through the drawers looking for my ticket out of this place. Damn, they hid money like politicians. I increased my pace in search for the green 1 way. I froze. “What is this?” I asked shakily out loud, apparently to the ghost in the room. How could Ken and Barbie have baby photos including all three of us?  My real parents are dead. Right?

"As This Heart Decays" by Mahlon H

"Treat her like a queen." Words from my mother that I've tried to follow ever since I got over that cootie faze that all little boys followed. Growing up falling for this girl, that girl, any girl that would remember my name. "How gullible, do you ever think?" This would always happen because an introvert like myself won't be comfortable if they're complimented about anything, as if it were some sick joke. Kind of humorous if you ask me, but that whole faze would pass.

           

           As the years past, I slowly began to dig a ditch that expands into the dark abyss of anxiety and fear that will soon consume me.

Intermediate level with half thought feelings towards the opposite sex. "Do I even think?" Course not, don't think just do, be yourself while wearing a mask. They don't like the real me so be something different. Copy others, cheat on those tests, lie about your grades, lie about it all, lock away the me that I once knew, as if I even need him anymore. Look at this knew me, so strong (not), so smart (don't make me laugh), and I heard that one girl likes me (lies all lies).

          

               Now as my old self falls into this dark hole of despair, I won't acknowledge it, I'll let it bleed, ignore it's screams, let it rot. I don't need that sack of failure anymore.

High Level now with an understanding of the opposite sex. And I think now, I contemplate what I believed what was reality and what is love in the past. The old me is gasping for air, I can hear it's cry, I thought I got rid of that thing. Obviously I won't understand love anytime soon, but I fear I never will. I was with a couple of girls throughout the years, they were alright, for a short time they filled the void that I so foolishly created within myself for all this time, but something is wrong. I'm regaining my consciousness, I'm not the same, I've hurt those who have passed me by, I've ignored others, but most importantly, I've ignored myself.

          My old self has reached out in a desperate attempt to grasp reality. To regain control. As it rises from the abyss,   it's misshapen and torn, in pain, but denies assistance. This depressing, horrific entity is me, the years have not been kind at all.

At the last brink of High level, "before it becomes real", my old self and the new me have merged, by becoming this person that is cold and wretched. "What have you learned?" That I am comfortable with who I am. I no longer need love, no longer seek guidance through others, I want to be alone to embrace the hardships of reality all alone. "Won't you be cold?" Of course, what's so wrong with that? I've grown fond of the piercing cold, as if it were actually warm to me. "But now that you've accepted yourself, won't you want to express yourself towards others?" Only if they pursue me for who I am. I refuse to wear my heart on my sleeve, especially as it leaves such an odor of failure and pain. I will wait for as long as it takes. "Then you won't be needing me anymore?"

                                                                 I never needed you

"Sarcasm Hurts " by Jaena F.

            Sarcasm.  We have all dealt with sarcasm before, whether it came from an individual to even yourself contributing to your own sarcasm.  According to the English dictionary, sarcasm is a sharply ironical taunt, to me; it is more like a heaping bowl of thinly veiled insults disguised as humor.  Sure, there is nothing wrong with teases and jokes in life and that it has the value of making life even fun and exciting but when does it come to the point in where you might be actually hurting the person’s feelings? To me personally, I have had my share of the cruel beatings of sarcasm and was always the girl to not really distinguish how to practice sarcasm. I never understood the reason why sarcasm makes one seem superior to their own intelligence and how people are actually proud of being sarcastic. It always leaves me dumbfounded at times in where people topple themselves on to another thinking of “glorious” new comebacks targeting the individual’s weak point. But of course, one shall have the thought of questioning who am I to even have the audacity to spit and belittle the wondrous world of sarcasm and the splendor it has brought upon to the lives of others yet, this is why I am here to explain why sarcasm hurts.

First things first, you’re not the “realest” if you use sarcasm on people who are sensitive to such comments.  As one would say “sarcasm is the lowest form of wit” and people who use sarcasm are usually insecure that they need to hurt other people in order to feel good about themselves is strongly related to one thing that we students are well aware of; bullying.  Bullying, thankfully, has been lessened due to the support from people all around that have a voice to declare that bullying is not okay. But what about sarcasm? Doesn’t sarcasm have the same values at least and in some, maybe the same intentions? Of course sarcasm isn’t bullying, and I as a student am not calling sarcastic people “bullies” but is there really a certain limit in where one word can hurt a person to a certain extent? If we hide such words under humorous structure, is it considered socially acceptable? Or is the declaration of the blatant error of oneself really triumphing to the heart and soul? So does sarcasm really hurt people? It hurts me to see that my point of view may not even be agreed to some readers behind the screen, but a sense of joy and accomplishment will overthrow all the negativity knowing that I can help someone out there who may have went or are going through with constant sarcasm from sarcastic people by giving my opinion on this topic.

            Maybe you are wondering why I have the words sarcasm in bold. When a person spills out a comment to another, who in that time did not know how to react, this has already put them down. Walking to class thinking of that remark, regretting to say what they wanted or needed to say, constantly belittling them that they are stupid, weak, and a big wuss puss for not replying with another low sneer. Sarcasm gets stuck into people and that words do matter and that they can have a big impact. When I put those words on bold you were basically in the mind of a victim of sarcasm. Wherever they went and whatever they did they couldn’t fully function to their full potential just because of that one thinly veiled insult and what they could have done to topple you off. And that is where it really hurts.

"October Writing" by Nehemiah B

My heart was racing as I heard the floor creak with each step the man took. As he got closer, I could hear the axe dragging across the wooden floors. "I'm going to find you.", said the deep demonic voice. It's crazy how fast my day turned from great, to the makings of a horror story.
     It had been a great Friday, I aced my math test and finally talked to my future wife for the first time at the football game. After the game, as I was approaching my car, a cold hand grasped my arm. I nearly jumped out of my skin, just to realize it was my friend Trent. "Hey bro can I get a ride home with you?" I said okay, after all he did live up the street from me.
     When we reached Trent's house he invited me in, but I declined. He looked at me for a while and said "All right bro, but be safe 'cus I got a bad feeling about something. Keep your eyes on the road!" Just to mess with him I peeled out as I drove off. The ride home was a nice one, Pandora was playing pretty good music. Then my favorite song came on, so naturally I turned up my stereo so that everyone within a half mile could enjoy my music, and then it cut off. I looked at my phone to see my father calling, but I wasn't going to talk on the phone while driving so I let it go to voicemail and turned my stereo back up.
     I parked my car on the street in front of my house. As I shut off the engine I got a strange feeling, like someone was watching me, so I rushed to get to the door. When I reached the porch I noticed the front door was already open. I cautiously approached the open door and pushed it open as a blood curdling scream rang out from the other room. I sprinted as fast I could just to see that a slasher film was playing. Relieved, I walked into the kitchen and greeted my father. After answering a few questions about the game I excused myself so I could get into the shower. I turned on my music while I waited for the shower to heat up. As a strange feeling grew inside of me, I gazed into the mirror and saw a man right outside of my door! I looked behind me to see no one there. Still bothered by what I had just seen, I got into the shower and tried to calm myself down. While rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I heard a loud bang but dismissed it as something that fell in the other room.
     I shut the shower off and started to dry myself off. When I was dry, I turned off my music off and walked into my room and got dressed. Then I decided to go hang out with my dad in his room. I walked across the upstairs hall to his room. As I opened the door, I stepped in a warm liquid and looked up to see my fathers headless body slumped lifelessly in the corner. The next thing I knew, I was picking myself up off the floor. I turned around to see a monster of a man, wielding an axe, looking at me with a twisted smile. Instinct took over as I took two explosive steps toward him and lowered a shoulder into his stomach, which sent him over the banister and caused a sickening thud. Before I knew it I had hid in my closet and began praying. My heart was racing as i heard the floor creak with each step the man took. As he got closer, I could hear the axe dragging across the wooden floors. "I'm going to find you.", said the deep demonic voice.