"The Face" by Dylan M

      It all started on Halloween ive always hated Halloween I mean im 12 but yet it seems so childish. I never dress up so my mom told me to go to the store and get more candy for the kids who dress up. As I was walking there the neighborhood bully said “nice mask” I screamed back in anger its not a mask its my face! I ran home crying and as usual my mom asked where the candy was but before I ran upstairs so fast to my room before she could finish. Once I was done crying I made up my mind I knew what I had to do so I went to the bathroom and cut off my face. As I finished my mom came in and feinted from my face off where it should be. I put on a mask and that was my new face. My mom eventually woke up and saw me in a mask and was happy that I got into the spirit of Halloween. The next day at school I went and in my first class the teacher scolded me and told me to take the mask off and I replied that how do I take off my face? My teacher got so mad that I got sent to see the principle and I was asked to take off the mask I told him its my face but then he took it off me and threw up and almost feinted from seeing my utterly gross face. I was sent back to class and he made the teacher apologize for calling my face a mask at first she argued then she said ok fine. My life was going great with my new face the neighborhood bully came to me one day and said nice mask then he took it off and he got a huge surprise he was so disgusted by my face he stopped bullying and went to church. My face started to help people not just me others too they all thought I was their savior I became famous and people started to worship me so I became the president at the age of 12.

"A Love Song For The Cosmos" by Megan M

 

             When I was little, I believed in everything that movies portrayed was what being a grown up would be like. If you really kissed a frog, he would turn into your prince charming and you would live happily ever after together. My six year old self only thought the worst pain you could ever feel would be scrapping your elbows. I expect that falling in love would be like the movies.

            But I know now, we measure time by the people that come into our lives and leave just as fast. And the thought of love was like the galaxies, even in the darkest spots there are stars you just havent given them enough time.

            And you once told me that I wouldn't be able to fall in love with you because the heart was more of a home and yours has been vacant for too long. I couldn't stand how you thought about yourself. I saw you as the sun but you could only see the darkness and if I could crack open your skull and use magic fairy dust to cover the sadness then maybe we could avoid reality for a day or two.

            You were gone after that. I dont know what happened but you left a note that said “I'll come back when the space you took in my heart is to over powering and then I'll know what love is like. But if it takes me until were 102, i'll call you up and we'll sit in our pajamas and talk about that guy that took too long to love you.''

            But you never made it to 102 or maybe you never even made it past 32.

Our First Featured Pieces are Finally Here!!

It's a small collection to start out the year, but a good one!  I'm excited about this year's selections.  I think you'll all enjoy these! Go read and comment!

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!

"Tangerine" by Sydney V

On a metro bus he scribbled furiously into a notebook. A tall lanky, awkward, young man watched a beautiful woman from afar. She wore a orange tee shirt with writing he couldn't manage to read from as far as he stood. Her hair was tousled into a bun that drooped from the scalp of her head to the nape of her neck. Her hair a dark deep brunette. She looked awfully sad for, what seemed as the looks of such a beautiful day. Unsure if he was willing to risk the embarrassment to come if he would approach such a creature. His mind played out all the possible pity conversations and hypothetical awkward dialogue that they could exchange. So he just sat back in his seat and wrote some more about her. Her beautifully sad face. His awfully tattered, coffee stained, atrocious black composition barely held together held his beautiful lyrics and poetry. On this fresh page he wrote about her, and entitled it “Tangerine” . Midscribble he lost his train of thought. So he looked up to see her once more and she was gone. Frantically searching he saw her walking past the bus window. Headed north. He wrote of many beautiful women before but, there was something special about her beautiful scowl. A voice he would die to hear. He ran out of the metro doors and caught up to her. He stood only a foot behind her, he could hear her crying. He opened his mouth but nothing could come out. Feeling a presence behind her she turned around gawking up at this tall awkward man in a long billed hat. Immediately embarrassed the man turned around and walked away hoping she wouldn't notice. As he tried to make his great escape, the dilapidated book finally gave in. And all the bindings fell loose and the hundreds of rhymes he composed flew out. Contemplating leaving them he turned around without making eye contact he picked up the loose leaf papers. He could still see her Buster Browns in his peripheral vision, he arose seeing her holding the last one. “Did you write this” her raspy voice croaked. “Depends if you like it or not” he replied a little too quickly. She wiped a tear away. Her sad eyes brightened a little. “Uh i even wrote one about you, actually” filing throw the loose papers he found the piece he began that morning. He handed her the piece. As she read her eyes continued to brighten, in correlation his heart began melting. Her eyes darted up after she read 

“Measuring a summer's day, I only finds it slips away to grey, the hours, they bring me pain. Tangerine, Tangerine, Living reflection from a dream” 

“This is far too beautiful to be about me, but you hit a hammer on the head, who are you and what do you want from me?” her raspy voice seduced him. “I just wanted to know why such a beautiful girl looked so sad this early in the morning, on the looks of such a beautiful day. I’ll be leaving now if that would make you smile.” was his reply. “You’re not going anywhere come breakfast is on me” She took him to her shady apartment in the streets of LA. She lacked much inventory, and since she invited him over for breakfast she cooked ramen from a dollar store, a special occasion. He found her house just as beautiful as her. She was metaphorically as well as literally a starving artist. Her raspy voice surely didn't lack talent but she lacked the “wow” factor(she called it.) The man wondered what could she possibly lack? They spent the day and evening together. The man truly believed he had found the girl, the girl he could write endless novels about. She sang his lyrics to him. Until he fell asleep into a deep lucid slumber. In the morning he awoke to an empty bed. He didn’t know if she had a job or not. Knowing he had to hurry and get to his, he scrambled out of the paper thin bed lacking sheets. He wrote his address on a napkin with a “stop by soon” and scurried quick to catch the bus. On the bus ecstatic and crazy in love he felt words combusting within him. He realized he did not have his notebook. He must have left it. Which meant he would see her again! She would bring it back and confess her love to him as well. And he would be happy and maybe the next person who saw her on that bus, would see her smiling. 
He never heard from her again. He waited everyday for the door to ring. 

It wasn’t until a few months later. He turned on his radio to hear a familiar lyric. 

“Measuring a summer's day, I only finds it slips away to grey, the hours, they bring me pain. Tangerine, Tangerine, Living reflection from a dream” 

He was then seduced and taken by the voice. It was her, it was her singing his songs. She finally had the “wow” factor she was once starving to find. He realized this is why she had gave him the time of day. That exact moment her eyes darted up from his page. He hadn’t left his notebook, rather it was stolen. By the love of his life. She used him. She stole his notebook. She claimed lyrics that he’d wrote years ago. His heart ached for her. His integrity yearned to expose her. For now she lived the life of luxury her sadden eyes once wept for. He wanted to claim his work. Not even to claim them but just to see her again. He couldn’t because he loved seeing her smile, her eyes illuminated, her happy. But most of all, he loved listening to her. (( credits to the Led Zeppelin song “Tangerine” that inspired me to write this, go listen to it ))

"What do you want to be?" by Miranda H.

            When I was little, like most young girls I wanted to be a fashion designer, a movie star, a player on the U.S. women’s soccer team, or even a contestant on my favorite singing show. What seemed like my hopes and dreams at such a young age were unfortunately crushed by the reality that I am clumsy and have zero singing ability. As I approach the end of high school and will soon apply to colleges, I have no idea what I want to be or where I would like to go. When approached with the question of “What do you want to be?” my answer consists of a three word “I don’t know.” Most people react by suggesting I should know what I want to be or tell me their hopes to be a future doctor or lawyer. Others tell me I better find something quick before college, and that I should try to make a lot of money.  Why should I compromise who I am just to find a job I hate, but brings home the bucks? My worst fear in life is spending four years at a university to eventually lead me to a job that I dread waking up and going to everyday. I don’t want to have a dull office job, and worry about making money. I love my parents, but they are the cause of this worst fear. They’ve given up what their passionate about just to raise their children and put food on the table. I want to encourage my kids to find a job they truly love, and not to choose wealth over their happiness. I want to be the one that they look up to as a primary example of having a job that I love and will gladly wake up for everyday.

            What do I want to be? I want to be happy. Being happy to me is helping others, being with the person I love, and treating everyday like it’s a new adventure. Happiness shouldn’t be defined as what society perceives as having enough money to go out and buying expensive flashy cars. One role that I know will make me the happiest is becoming a mother and starting my own family in the far future because I do believe parenthood is the greatest way to impact someone else. When I tell people “I don’t know I just want to be happy and hopefully a mom one day,” I’m told that I have low standards and should strive for more. I don’t understand why other young women of my age see being a mother as participating in typical gender roles and doing nothing with your life. I personally think being a mom is one of the most gratifying jobs on this Earth because you form minds and impact souls every day. This answer has gotten me into situations in which people ask why or look at me like I’m a crazy anti-feminist living in the 1950’s, but it’s a job I see myself doing. I do want a career one day, but since I don’t know what that career is going to be I reply with my options that I’m absolutely positive about.

It can be frustrating explaining to questioning family members, friends, and fellow students that I honestly don’t know what I want to be because everyone expects a better answer. Every family event proves to be the ultimate bombardment center for questions about college and life that I have no clue how to answer. I’m only seventeen, I have my whole life to change my mind and decide on a career choice. Who in society said that everyone must know their path and what they want to be right after high school graduation? I don’t know what road or path I’m taking at all. I guess everyone who doesn’t know what they want to be will be chewed apart and spat out in this cruel world. I’ve never understood why life has to be so black and white. At the current moment my life can be described best by a dozen pointing arrows going in every direction. I want to go in the direction that will be the most fulfilling, and make me the most happiest. It’s possible that I may decide in a year from now or maybe even ten years down the road, but for now I want to stay hungry and stay foolish. I want to live my life my way, and discover never-ending possibilities in college. The question shouldn’t be “what do you want to be,” but instead “who do you want to be.” My answer to that question will always be myself.

“Nightmare Within a Nightmare” By Ashley F.

    

            “Ouch.” I woke up rubbing my head on the cold hard ground, scared and confused. “ I don’t remember falling asleep here? Where am I?” I thought to myself. Uncertain to where I was or why I was here, I stand up to find a cuff on my ankle, which was attached to the wall. Struggling, pulling, and fighting to get the cuff off my ankle and a familiar size shadow covers the light over me. “Nick!” I said as if I had never been so excited to see my sisters high school friend before. Not saying a word , he unlocks my cuff and stands there and looks at me for a minute. “Nick please help…” before I could finish , he reaches for my legs and drags me across the concrete, where I bump my head on a cement stair putting me back into a unconscious nightmare.

​Suddenly, I was back in my house sitting on my couch around the people who loved me. Dad, sitting in his faded brown chair that has been in the same spot for as long as I could remember. My sister Jordynn, laughing next to nick just like old times. Timmy, mixing his protein shake ready to hit the gym, for the third time today.  I heard a familiar voice from my right. “Ashley!! Smile!!!” said my best friend  Lauren while raising her slightly cracked iPhone , ready to capture this perfect moment. She lifts her phone at an angle to capture both of us in the picture, she looks recognizable , but me not so much. Within the picture , I see blood dripping  down my forehead. "What ?" I say softly to myself. Then , a familiar pain arises in my head. All at once , everything looks different, everyone disappearing into a black abyss.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I feel every cement stair my body hits as I woke up from my dream feeling as if I was still in a nightmare. I was being pulled into a room of people I just not yet met. Unconsciously opening my eyes , these people looked familiar. "Dad?" I say questioning whether or not that is him. He turns around , and all I see are cuts and bruises from the stairs that lead us into this nightmare. "DADDY!" I scream trying to run toward him, while I see I am restricted to the same chain and cuff that I had see before. Crying , i find myself in the same position, trying to break free of this nightmare. "THEYRE COMING!", Jordynn , who I had not seen in the room, yelled. "Please someone tell me what going on." I yelled, frantically tugging on the chain , feeling as if I were only making it worse.

Four shadows emerged down that set of cement stairs, all dressed in white. Lauren, my best friend. Nick, My sisters friend who had put me in this misery. Tim, my brothers best friend , who ironically share the same name. Last in line , with the door shutting behind her, my own mom. I couldn't put together why they were all just standing there while it was obvious my family and I need serious attention. They all lined up in front of us, while my mom began to say. "We have all brought you here, for our own separate reasons. Each of us has decided to kill one of you." I began to cry. I couldn't imagine what my family and I could have done to deserve this. "What ?" I said softly to myself hoping no one could hear me.

Immediately after I had spoken, each of them had pulls out the weapon of their choice, and proceeded to walk toward us. Lauren walked toward me , holding a gun. I tensed up , contemplating whether our friendship was real or not. She pulled the trigger. CLICK.

Frantically gasping for air and wiping the sweat from my forehead , I checked the clock near my beside table to find that it was 2:00 in the morning. Still heavily breathing , I was relieved to say for what felt like the millionth time since my existence, " Oh thank goodness, it was only a dream."

"Israel to Persia" by Jordyn F.

From across the room she noticed the stare. The stare that was transfixed on her face, inviting her imagination to run away with her yet again. She told herself to never entertain those thoughts. This path she was on was the one she chose. If only he knew! Delilah rose from her place next to Ava, to return to her chambers. Partly to escape his scrutiny, which made her feel a longing she hadn’t felt since she had left Israel.

   Although she had walked in the opposite direction from Cyrus she was taken by surprise as he stepped right in front of her just before she was to exit the room. Her breath caught and she took a step back only to hit one of the servants holding a tray of Yokheh. She would have fallen further had not Cyrus caught her. His hand wrapped around her waist and she was suddenly in his arms. He could only see her eyes, thank God. She now wore her usual head-garments. Her face, if seen, would have been bright red. She quickly regained her composure.

“ Thank you, my lord”, she gave in the most unassuming voice she could find. Never more aware of the difference in her voice, and how it now sounded since the accident.

He gave a slight gesture towards the corner she had just left, “ You are Laru’s assistant, are you not?”

She did not know whether to try a lie or accept the fact he already knew.

“ Yes that is I.”

“What is your name?”

“ Delilah, my lord.”

“ Do you live here in the palace with the other maidservants?”

He thought her a maidservant!

“ My Lord I am a part of the centennial council, thus I live with the ladies in court.” What an offense that was to her. Were her garments that unappealing? She was clearly sitting with the other women of the Court. Why would he, in the first place, want to leave the presence of the King to come speak with her? And secondly, to ask the name of a maidservant, which was what she seemed to him.

“My apologies, I had assumed such from the chance of seeing you depart from the East side of the palace more than twice daily. “

He has seen her come and go from Asters room? Why must this conversation vex her so much?

“My cousin Aster resides there.”

“ Ah I see.”

There was not much more said between them. She was desperate to escape his presence. His composure threw her off. She had not talked to him in more than two years. So she said the formalities of goodbye and turned the corner to the chambers to retire for the night.

As the sun rose Delilah exited the palace to the gardens where she was to study Laru’s latest pieces. She sat for an hour attempting to focus on the illustrious descriptions of the new Persian provinces. She gave up after her mind wandered for the 10^th time to the encounter she had the night before with the man she had left her heart with in Israel.

As she looked up Ava approached her. She had that grin on her face that made Delilah’s stomach feel uneasy. It usually meant she knew something of importance, or some type of mischief that Delilah didn’t know.

“Delilah I have news.” She sat on the bench and started twiddling the sleeve of her dress.

“What is it?” always a pause for dramatic effect.

“The queen wants you to travel to Nayum on business with her. You are to have some of the most important family members of the Persian Empire escort you. I would love to have gone but my duty is to stay with Laru, while you are absent from court. Oh what a privilege to be able to go at this time of year! With the addition of the queen personally asking you to go.”

Delilah for once was joyful over the news brought to her. She had heard Nayum was one of the most beautiful Provinces. And the work while traveling would be light. She needed a break from the constant work she was surrounded by here in the palace. Not to mention the women, who although were very nice to her, were rather tiresome to live with.

That night the queen called her to a private meeting to discuss the details of the work she was to do. Two days later she was ready to go. Many of the men and women in her party she had known for years so the familiar faces were eagerly received the morning of. Aster her cousin had come to assist Delilah. She had requested her as a maidservant, as she usually does whenever given the option, so as to spend more time with her.

Aster was eager,” What are we waiting for? We are on business and it need not be delayed.”

Delilah gave her a smile and assured her,” We will soon be on our way, I believe we are waiting for two other men to arrive, I do not know whom.”

As soon as she said so two men came from around the corner. One a face Delilah did not recognize, the other Cyrus.

He immediately made eye contact with her, before she turned away she thought she saw a look of surprise in his eyes, and then a look of pleasure.

He went straight to his horse, mounted and spoke to the party, “ We have quite a long journey together so make sure all your belongings are loaded, and lets start.”

Delilah looked away, and got in her caravan wondering to God why he was so suddenly involved in her life. And why he seemed to be interested in who she was at all. Especially since she was technically just a stranger to him still. Little did she know Cyrus was watching her walk away, wondering the same thing.

"Dance With the Devil" by Raquel D.

She reached out for the hand on the floor. 
The wood board creaks as she pulls away the man to the other side of the room. 
“There,” she said rubbing her palms on her white blouse. She places him on the chair, and begins to clean his face. 
Scarlet rags fall to the ground. 
“Wow, so handsome! Do you want some tea?” she asks. 
His head nods once a “yes”. 
The stygian purple from the mahogany leads to the kitchen. She pulls out a dusty golden teapot, with two chipped mismatching tea cups. 
The sun blazes in through the openings of the house. In the kitchen, branches stretch out to the windows for sympathy.
A long groan is let out from the dining room. She heads out. 
“I’m going — ouch!” she excitedly yelps. She had forgotten to put on shoes again. Her feet were bleeding from the broken glass. 
She thought to herself, green or black ? 
She looked up to her father. 
Her father was silently waiting. His dark face was outlined by the rays of sunlight peeking in from the kitchen. Mixtures of silver highlighted streams flowing throughout the crown of his head. 
Is he mad at me again, she thought. 
She nervously placed the teapot on the table. 
Trembling she picked at her fingers while looking down to the dark void. She kept thinking over and over if she had done anything wrong. 
“I know either is your favorite…” 
He sat there still silently. 
Creepy entities began to wrap around her limbs. 
She desperately whimpered, “Please, no — ” 
Gasping for air, she violently falls to the wood floor creating a long “thunk”. 
Tumbling over her, the man falls on her. 
The room was flushed in dark. 
Bruises marked all over her body ached. 
She wakes to see crimson stained all over her home, shirt, and hands. 
She softly licks her hand. 
It’s sweet. 
Wobbling, she gropes the fallen chair and stands. 
With every thud, she approaches closer to the door. 
Opening the door, a breeze of wind orchestrated the leaves’ dance. 
Scattered abroad, she follows the their lead.

"A Stupid Tale" by Hanna B

We rode our rickety bikes through our town of peasants like warriors, passing the faded, white picket fences with rusty tin cans perched to the side of each one. Some of them were dented and banged up. That might have been our doing, but then again I can’t really remember.  The night was being blanketed across the open sky, but slow enough so that we can have a once around the streets and finish what we originally came out to do, before it was time to go back to our wonderful families, our wonderful houses, and wonderful lives.

This evening, the boys and I were on a quest, a quest filled with dangerous outcomes, yet a quest of meaning. There was no damsel, no monsters, no treasure, just the satisfaction the four of us would receive from completing it.

What exactly was our quest you may ask? Well, let’s just say that we were seeking retribution for our dignity that was wrongfully taken from us. We waited long enough so that the wrongdoers had enough time to bask in the satisfaction and let it sink into their blood like venom from a viper. And now, it was time that we ripped it right from their bodies and took it right back.

We pulled up to one of the few yuppie looking houses that were in the neighborhood, the ones that had a nice lawn, fancy foliage, etcetera, etcetera, and positioned ourselves around the front of it. We pulled out our weapons that were concealed with carton from our bags. A dozen shots each. Forty-eight in total. The barrage of yolk only lasted for a minute, and in that minute the windows and door were covered with part of our revenge.

Oh yes, it wasn’t over yet. We took to our bikes and grabbed the garbage cans that were sitting at the curb. The contents were strewn about the street like confetti during a birthday and we were hooting and hollering while we were doing it. And it didn’t stop there. We took it upon ourselves, as our civil duty to recycle the neighbors’ trash onto the front lawn. Whoever said we didn’t care about the environment was clearly mistaken.

The sun was almost long gone and stars were beginning to poke out of the sky like drops of paint. It was about time for the four of us to start heading back. The boys and I separated at the main street and went our separate ways home, and by that time the moon had taken place on its throne in the sky.

My house was only a block more away. Oh sweet asylum. Mom and dad were probably already asleep, which made it easier to sneak in. I turned the corner and as I rode up, patriotic lights flashed upon my house.

Damn.

                  Just ride past.

I never lived here.  

Sadly, luck didn’t fancy the idea of tag teaming with me. I knew I was done for when I heard a ‘That’s him on the bike officer.’

"Convention and Quality" by Jeannette M

If you are an artist who would like to fuel your emotions, I suggest you take a class regarding the category of art you are a slave to. I have found joy in challenging authority and ignoring the opinions of others, because I gain a sense of control over my life and my work. The worst thing we could do is become submissive.

In taking a Visual Arts Digital Photography Course over the summer, I had to decide, do I want to show people that I know the rules and I understand how to take an average stale picture? Or do I pursue the route I’m dying to follow and would actually make me happy? Is staying true to your art more valuable than receiving an A? I got to taste what many musicians struggle with. There are a few musicians that claim to stick to honest meaningful lyrics with money experiencing a lack of consideration during the writing process. I felt caught. Could I get the A and walk out the classroom and go back to sticking to my own art? Is that smarter? Or is that less respectable?

I knew ahead of time not to pitch any ideas to my professor or TA and just go for it, but out of boredom and being that last in the room, I showed my art that was collectively finished. My professor suggested I take photos more like how Laurie Laren Lee Lord Knows Who Yahoo captures hers. Then my professor suggested I even take them more like himself. Due to a collection of things, I felt drained. I gave up in entertaining people with my art that I felt passionate for and just fed them what they wanted. I still made it very much different but it wasn't the original concept that I wanted. The collaboration with Damairis Lao wasn't appreciated. But isn’t that how it goes? Art is never appreciated. Maybe if you’re lucky it’ll be valuable after you die, but there is a small chance of that. I don't want to be told what to see or how to feel or what to do and perhaps I should’ve just been deaf.

One day in my Junior English Class, I had a friend tell me that I took the class way to seriously. I noticed everyone was half asleep or talking without a care in the world. If you want to get anything out of this world, you have to take it seriously. One of the most influential people in my lives sat me down one day and told me its good to be reflective and take things seriously. I just laughed. It can be a pain. It can be isolating. Everyday usually is. It feels as though there’s a “quality “of thought that is diminishing amongst those around me.  I get teased all the time by my friends because I have to stop to take a picture. I begin to wail if I forget my camera and have to resort to my phone. Always in an art-hunting mode, I’m either taking pictures or picking up things or stealing signs or admiring graffiti. Graffiti artists want to leave their name on this world. That's what it comes to down to honestly. It’s not always about making this world dirty as most believe. Sometimes we need reminders that art is first and foremost about yourself whether you are viewing it or making it.

The purpose of art is to follow what you are feeling and if it makes people uncomfortable, than some may argue you are doing something right. According to the infamous Google, convention is “a way in which something is usually done, especially within a particular area or activity.” I have never been one to ever care for convention. My favorite photos, outside my little art world, are the blurry or off guard pictures I have taken with my sister. There is a story behind every one of those moments. There is meaning and a raw element to those photos because we are unaware of the camera or we are in the middle of moving. Laughter and joy cannot be forced nor recreated. It is luck that snatches those photos. The typical conventional photos, generic selfies, and whole instagram cultural appear to me in a very boring and monotone light.

My next attack is on the word “quality” which is described by Google as “ the degree of excellence of something; the standard of something as measured against other things of a similar kind.” If this is the case, my photos are low quality. I need to continue being the world’s lowest quality photographer and thinker. Quality is a subjective label. It can refer to the appearance of something or it can refer to only its level of function. What if there is nothing to compare to because the item is unique and purposely breaks the rules?  I find the story to be the most important factor in something rather than its alignment to a ruler or what the thing next to it looks like in order to compare. Quality and convention are not important to me. The story is.  

                                          Cheesy Photography That Got Me An A+ featuring zoom & noise

 

 

Our Last Set for the Year is Here!

Be sure to read all the new pieces for May, and comment on at least THREE of them.  (follow the guidelines below, if you've forgotten.  Comments are due on the blog AND in class (hard copy) by May 13.

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 corrupt king" by Margaret M

He was falling his life flashing across his eyes as he was pushed from behind. He turned, the kind face of his friend distorted with malice.

He fell, memories of his life appearing to him.

He remembers as a child the only person he could trust was his friend, his dear dear friend. Everyone else was after his life for his father was the cruel ruler and he his only heir. The continuous betrayals he faced changed him, twisting him into his father.

He trusted no one.

Especially not his cruel father whom he hated. He recalled the poison he slipped into his father’s wine too easily and how quickly he was crowned to the depressed citizens tired of the previous king.

However,

He proved to be much much worse. Raising the taxes to an unlivable level, killing any suspected of treason with or with out proof, waging war, changing the laws for worse, and many more unspeakable acts.

He fell recalling the more recent memories of his, tears trailing behind him as he continued from the great height. He thought he could trust his friend after all he had been through, he should have noticed the unease his friend gave after killing off his younger sister who argued with him due to his treatment of their people.

He was betrayed by the last person he trusted in the world, but he could not be upset. Nor hold any grudge.

Instead he smiled reaching his hand to the sky as he made impact with the ground his crown flying off his head out reached arm falling to the side.

He reached towards the sky again looking at the tower his friend stood outside opening is mouth to address the crowed.

‘Thank you’ he whispered as his world fell dark and he met his peace at last.

“ THE CORRUPT KING IS DEAD REJOICE”

"That One Summer Night" by Merosa U

The summer night of July fourth I experienced one of the most embarrassing yet memorable nights of my life. My family hosted our family and friends on the fun Independence holiday. I had expected all of those who attended to come except for one. This happened to be our close family friend’s nephew T, who I had a huge crush on at the time. Although I was not prepared to see him I was definitely pleasantly surprised. I spent almost the entire gathering trying to find ways to “get him to myself” (just to talk and get to know him of course).

            I had several minor encounters with him that day, except I never got my chance to really talk to him. Night time soon creeped up on me and the day was slowly coming to an end. Most of our guest remained and everyone but the adults decided to play fugitive. The game of fugitive is great for large groups such as the one we had that night. When playing the game the players must choose some people depending on the amount, to be the “cops”, and the remaining players to be the “fugitives”. Then the group chooses a destination for the fugitives to attempt to get to without getting caught by the cops, the first fugitives to get there win. Due to the amount of people in our group we split up in pairs. My first thought was to make sure I was paired with T and I thankfully was able to make that happen.

            The game began and everyone dispersed, the destination we chose was a field on the local high school behind my neighborhood. T and I set off to our destination and I pretty much mentally lost the entire goal of the game. I honestly couldn’t have cared less if we won or not I was just glad I finally got to talk to him. While he was actually trying to win the game, I on the other hand was distracted by his presence and risked our chance of getting caught multiple times. We finally made it to the field safely and won the game. On our way back I finally got to talk to him with no distractions. The conversation was everything I hoped for and more. We reached the exit of the field which required us to climb over a fence. He hopped over first, effortlessly and offered to help me down. Assuming I was more athletic I declined his offer and decided to jump off myself. Which was probably the worst mistake I could have made, I completely failed! My shorts got caught on the top of the fence and ripped, not just a little tear, oh did I wish it was just a tear. The shorts completely ripped in half, so it pretty much became a skirt at that point. On top of that my cell phone flew and scattered on the ground. After my horrific fall T immediately came to my assistance completely unware of my split shorts and tried to help me up. Once I noticed he was totally unaware of my shorts I quickly turned his attention to my scattered cell phone and yelled at him to grab that instead. Unfortunately my yell came off slightly rude which was definitely unintentional. He put my phone back together and we made our way back to my house. I struggled to hold my shorts together, keep up with our conversation, and make sure he was slightly ahead of me so he wouldn’t see my embarrassing shorts. I felt like it was the longest walk of my entire life. I couldn’t enjoy the conversation and was too embarrassed to admit what had happened. We finally made it home and without a word I took off running into my house. I changed quickly but it was too late T left and I didn’t get to finish our conversation or say goodbye.

A couple of days later I saw him again and he asked me why I rushed in without saying good bye that night. He thought I was irritated with him and he couldn’t have been more wrong. I explained to him what happened including my feeling of total embarrassment. To my surprise, he explained that he actually found my incident really funny but cute and that I should have just told him. T and I are just friends now and reminisce on that night all the time. I learned that I’m horrible at communicating with boys and just to be honest in circumstances like this. Since then I avoid the game of fugitive as often as I can and definitely do not pair with anyone I’m attracted to.

"Untitled" by Kayla F

“Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, you will be successful.” Albert Schweitzer the AP English teacher write on the board. The students walk in and take their seats and the late bell rings.

Teacher: Good afternoon. I need you guys to take out a piece of paper and a pen. Then read the following quote on the board and tell me what you think of this quote and what does it mean to you. When you are down turn your paper in the bin.

The students anxiously start writing expect for one student who looks slightly scared a numb feeling comes over her she does as her teacher says and begins to think,

What does it mean to be successful? What does it mean to be happy?  Does success only come from happiness or success has nothing to do with happiness? Are you only happy when you are successful or is happiness not affected by success? Are these just abstract ideas that we set our goals on just to make ourselves feel good or content with our actions? Do our actions mean anything? If we were successful in life would we be happy? If we were happy would we be successful? Does getting everything you ever wanted mean that you are happy? Does this mean that you are successful? Will I ever be completely happy? Will I ever be successful?  If I am not happy will I not be successful? What if I just want to be successful? What if I just want to be happy? I got it.

The student begins to write,

One day I want all my dreams to come true. I know that sounds like fairytale or something straight from a Disney movie but, I mean it.  In every Disney movie there is struggle in the beginning. The main character starts to doubt themselves however, somewhere deep down inside they find the will to keep going. They find a will so that they can be happy. We all are a main character in a Disney movie. We work hard and dedicated ourselves in order to reach the goal we have set forth. We make those goals because they will make us happy once they are achieved.  We all have to do what makes us happy in order to reach your goals and become successful in life.  You can only be successful once you are happy. If you had all the money in the world you would be considered by many successful but if you are not happy there is a void within your life. The only way to fill that emptiness is to find happiness in your life then and only then will you be successful.

The student turns in her paper. She leaves the class with the widest and most energetic smile on her face. She finally makes a decision about which college she wants to attend. She rejected Harvard and went to San Diego State because she knew that is where she would the happiest.

"Talk" by Elisabeth D

Where do I begin?

Man, I don’t even know.

Let’s see how this goes,

Sit back and enjoy the show.

Now this poem isn’t your typical stuff,

I don’t follow the definition of a sonnet and such,

I could bore you about the future and all that mush,

But believe me I don’t want to leave you crushed.

So what should I talk about?

School, work, family, and all that?

Well, school and work are exhausting without a doubt,

And my family’s… well they’re my family, let’s just leave it at that.

We could talk about the world,

And all that’s going on…

But talking about all that will leave your brain swirled,

And before you know it you’ll be gone.

Maybe talking about graduation might do.

But who really wants to “get emotional” right now?

Besides,

We have so much time too.

I’m pretty sure by this point you’re probably confused,

Wondering what point I’m exactly trying to make.

At the start of this poem I didn’t know either, I just kinda cruised.

I guess what I’m trying to say is… Talk.

I know, I know, what does she mean by talk?

She came up with every excuse in the book not to talk.

She didn’t even know what to talk about.

That’s just it, there’s so much to say without a doubt.

If I had to talk about any of these topics,

Believe me we’d be here forever.

But nobody has “time for that”,

So let me get it together.

Talking, no matter how good or annoying, is a gift,

Sounds cliché? Yeah, I know.

But come on be honest, sometimes you let it drift.

There is so much to talk about,

It’s pretty ridiculous.

So I find it very ironic when someone asks, “What do you want to talk about?”

And we all suddenly become clueless.

  

"My Families Attitude!" by Aiseosa I

            Let me give you some background of my family’s history of attitude. My family is from West Africa, more specifically Edo State, Benin City, Nigeria. I have the pleasure of being blood tied with the Ibude, Edekere, Egbon and Ogiamien families. My heritage is so full of surprises and wonderful people. I learn new things every day. To Benin City, my family is known for speaking their mind. They don’t mind fighting anyone who disrespects their own. I just love that. My Edekere and Ogiamien side of the family are considered royalty in their village. Both of my Step-Grandfathers are chiefs in their tribes. My grandmother and my step-grandmothers call me Eyoguea (E-yo-gay) which means mother of future kings. However, only males could be chiefs of the village so I am considered “The Chief’s daughter” or princess of the tribe. Which I am upset about because I am a queen! I have a queen since the day I was born but, they don’t see to understand that. Anyhow,  seeing as though my older brother is the first in line, it’s most likely he won’t be chief because one, he doesn’t like the responsibility and two because he’s not even in Nigeria and three because can’t deal with the mindset of everybody  all at once!   On my mother’s side she has 21 brothers and sisters. I know right! It freaked me out when she told me. But she went on to explain how my grandfather had 5 wives. At that time I was too young to understand what polygamy meant. I have yet to meet all of them! That’s probably why everyone in my family has an attitude because they have too many people in one household to deal with.

The woman that really peaks my interest in my family is my albino step- grandmother. The woman is pure white! Like, she’s as white as snow. She glows in the dark, that’s how white her skin is. Yet, she has the biggest mouth I’ve ever seen. The woman tries to fight every one that looks at her for more than three seconds! She once came to America to visit us. We took her to the African market in LA to get vegetables and egusi soup. Because she was wearing our native clothing and she was as white as she is, everyone was staring at her. Knowing her she started to yell at people with the little English that she knew.  “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!?! HAVE YOU PEOPLE NEVER SEE WHITE?  AM WHITE. SO? NEVER YOU SEE ALBINO ‘FORE?  I have never been so entertained and so embarrassed at the same time. I honestly don’t know where I would be without her. She takes care of my family. She is always praying for protection over us because she believes that Americans are coming after the African people….

There are so many more people to talk about but I would need a book the size of Britain’s Encyclopedia to finish.

My own attitude has gotten in a lot of trouble but there is never one time I didn’t have a reason for it. It’s just the way I am and I am proud of who I am and where I come from. Though these people can hit nerves I never thought was possible to reach mentally, I have learned to be strong for myself, learn to deal with my mistakes and fight for what I want. They have a huge part of making me who I am today. And I love me so…..

"This Is Not Goodbye" by Kat V

Let me tell you the story of the girl and how she quickly fell into the grips of love.
She never understood love and its power over someone.
She stood to the side unamused with the idea of love for she believes the emotion is artificial and null.
She had lovers but never enough to love them.
Until one day it changed when she met the boy.
The boy whom she thought would/ could change her heart.
Her non beating heart. Heartless creature with no love to profess.
It all started on the weekend where the girl was traumatized in events that will forever be in her mind and she was left in her weakness.
The boy comforted her, caring for her as she wept on his shoulder while he whispered to her that everything will be alright. Making her feel like she wasn't alone in her battle anymore. He had told her that he finished the song she had asked him to learn months ago because of everything that happened and that warmed her cold heart.
Then before she knew it or even before he knew it... Their lips touched ever so lightly against each other. Unsure yet soft.
They had kissed.
To the girl it felt as if there was more there than just friendship, but she couldn't think the same for boy. She just knew that it was not like anything she has ever felt before.
They both knew that whatever was to happen between them... It would nearly be impossible... But to the girl impossible was the best part.
Now she feels she has to push away her feelings and pretend that they never existed in order to protect herself.
She has always had boundaries but now the boy has penetrated them and has entered her weakest place, her heart.
Every time he looks at her now, all she can focus on are his big brown eyes.
If she focuses on anything else about him she will be tempted to kiss him or to even utter the powerful words.
He believes himself to be nothing, but to her she believes everyone is something. Especially him, it's not everyday someone can enter her heart.
Now she's afraid...
What if he leaves?
He's already with someone so why should it matter?
It doesn't matter how much he cares because it will never change.
Even if he promised he will never chase after the other girl again he will still do it. She's his priority and she always will be.
Doesn't matter their moments or their feelings.
It will never change.
The girl wishes it would change for she feels her heart only hurting even more as each day passes, but she puts on a smile. Smile indicates strength while a frown indicates weakness.
She will not be viewed as weak.
She suffers in silence and always will.
But she can't help her heart...
She's afraid that her heart has finally learned a new emotion... An emotion no one else has ever ignited in her...
That's what she fears most... How strong her feelings are for him.
She figures that in a few weeks it is probably that their paths will not cross anymore.
She is off on her journey and soon he will be off on his.
However deep in her heart... She hopes... No... She knows that this is not good bye.