Eaten By An Alligator
By
A. Hall
Teacher: Kyle Nelson – Grade 5
I once had an alligator,
I fed him every day at four.
But one day I got home late,
And he was waiting at the door.
He rubbed his big old belly,
And he licked his scaly lips.
I knew I was in trouble,
So I offered him some chips.
He curled his tail around me,
And pulled me very near.
My expression changed from
nervousness
To total, outright fear!
He opened up his mighty jaws,
And down his throat I flew!
This is why an alligator,
Belongs only in a zoo.
FEAR
By M. Orsburn
Teacher:
Christian Herring - Grade 10
I hide in my closet scared and alone
I was six that year
The darkness still haunts me.
I remember the pain in my stomach,
the
sting of the bruises still linger.
I can still see, peeking through the door.
Seeing my Mother sobbing on
the floor.
My Father is coming towards me,
like
thunder it seems.
His footsteps ease closer.
Once again an everyday
routine.
He strikes me screaming,
His eyes burning like fire.
God please make him go away, that's my desire I
hide in my closet scared and alone,
thinking of what might have been.
Now I'm not alone, I'm at home
and
that's a good end
Never Enough
By S. Simonson
Teacher: Marianna Malm – Grade 11
Why am I not good enough?
What advantage do you have over me?
I give up trying.
It is no use.
I can never be what you are.
You are a glowing supernova
Burning in the sky.
I am a dead star that never lived,
Only lived to die.
I want what you have,
But not by what you do.
I would never want to be you.
You are fake, a great pretender.
Your audience the borrower,
you the lender.
Someday you will lend no more.
Then I may finally take up where you left off.
Someday when it doesn’t
matter anymore.
When all the dust has settled
on the floor of my dreams.
I can’t win now.
But the charm still gleams.
Untitled
By
A. Noxon
Teacher: Christian
Herring – Grade 12
When I go home at night
I play board games with my
pillow
I really put up a fight
But I cant
ever beat my pillow willow
I hate my pillow willow it always
wins
Actually I like my pillow
When I get mad I leave in my
Eclipse
The pillow begs me to stay and
grabs me by my hips
I slapped the pillow and told him
no
He never plays fair he always
cheats
He will play anyone that he meets
My pillow
It's sad my pillow puts me to
shame
EDWARD MICHAEL MCULAH
By J. Mayers
Teacher:
Anna Griffith Boley – Grade 11
Mr. Edward Michael Mculah laid
flat on his back, constantly being reminded of his circumstances from the
agonizing pain shooting through his back that was thanks to a lack of springs
in a faulty mattress. Roughly 6 feet
above this lifeless figure was a paint-chipped ceiling that had been Edward's
sole companion for nearly a full year now.
The scent of night slowly crept through the air as the last rays of the
falling sun seeped through Edward's sorry excuse for a window.
He looked
down to the foot of his bed where his sandal covered feet pathetically swayed
from left to right. The sun sparked to
life because of this movement, shimmering off Edward's cold steel bedpost. These flashes of light were perhaps the only
hint of beauty that remained in this gloomy place that had become his
home. Grabbing the grungy white sink to
his left for support, Edward sat up and ran his fingers through his dampened
hair. Sweat from his brow trickled down
his trembling face, avoiding patches of overgrown stubble and collecting in one
large droplet at the base of his chin.
The sun now beamed directly at Edward's face, and although is brought a
blistering heat, it was tolerated, and in fact, was enjoyed. Edward had always felt that it was the
warmest place in the World where he was.
And at that same time, he believed it to be the coldest. To him, it was the driest and most wet place,
the brightest and the darkest. The most happy and the most disturbed. To Edward Michale Mculah, it was the only place in the World. It was cell 9, block C, in the Jackson County
Maximum Security Prison and Edward had just watched his final sun die beneath
the hills of the
Two and one
half years ago, Edward committed 2 murders.
He had lived quietly in a little northern
Both of
Edward's parents passed away years before his life fell apart. NO tragedies or horrifying accidents brought
forth their demises, thus negating the clichéd profile of many convicts. Old age just crept up on the endearing
couple, and it could be well assumed that, while no one welcomes death, the two
passed with nothing short of a smile on their faces.
To Edward,
their death managed to come as both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that it kept his family, who he
loved more with every beat of his heart, from seeing their beloved son who, for
all practical purposes, voluntarily ended his promising life. It was a curse in the obvious form of taking
away the two people he cared the most for.
But also, thinking more allegorically, a curse in that his father's will
forwarded an unwanted life to a beloved son.
Edward had
dreams, big dreams. Dreams that strayed
far from the small farming community of Freedom, and
ones that were most certainly reasonable for a bright young man like
himself. Unlike any other Mculah, Edward had attended college where he studied law
and one day planned of opening his own practice somewhere along the East
Coast. Resting in his dorm, he would fantasize
about someday being a Supreme Court Justice, and never even considered the idea
of farming. The land could have been
sold. In fact, the will even spelt out
such proceedings if Edward chose to do so.
The thought was unable to run through his mind though, and the land's
passing would cease to comply with the morals of a loving son. Plus, he was not
about to break four generations of tradition with selfishness about his own
dreams.
"Eddie.
Your dinner is ready." Sully, one
of the usual turnkeys, stood with his left arm rested on the bars, and his head
curiously tilted to the right. His deep
brown eyes attempted to catch those of Edward's that had now seemed to escape
this realm. The were
busy staring into the now night sky and that enormous rising southern
moon. Stars sparsely joined this moon in
attempt to make Edward's last sky a beautiful and memorable one. Slowly, and appropriately as Edward saw it, a
shadow of clouds tumbled across nature's pallet, dimming the beauty of the
tranquil night.
Had he not
directed his focuses to past efforts in life, Edward would have picked up on
the scent of his last meal hours ago. At
this moment the tantalizing smell of barbeque flooded the air with such
thickness it was as if the scent had taken on a new visible form.
It was an
extremely belittling process, this last meal.
Edward thought the idea stemmed from a lack morals and incapability to
really value life; two characteristics that the common man believed all
convicts possessed. Although a man's
last day to live cannot be enlightened with the most spectacular of
occurrences, a favorite dish is a sad and sorry attempt at this impossibility.
Just days after he was sentenced, Edward promised himself never to
speak out against these apparent injustices. No matter how hot the flames of anger burned
within his being, he would manage to suppress it all, and see life with a heavy
dose of perspective. As he saw it, these
injustices were nothing more than the everlasting effect stemming from his own
forever-damning cause.
Still
sitting on the bed, neglecting to face Sully, Edward dipped his head low,
positioning his chin against his chest, with his fingers interlocked
behind. A deep, hearty breath was gulped
into his lungs. This last meal was
really the first step of the inevitable proceedings that would ultimately end
his life. Edward didn't want to comply
with the instructions of Sully, a man who he considered to be one of his
closest companions. The twiddling of his
thumbs and incessant tapping of his feet, made Edward's nervousness very
apparent to Sully. Knowing that the
actual punishment wasn't for hours had no relevance on his immobility. He refused to move because he wanted, more
than anything, time to just sit and rest with him. "Just ten more minutes of life." He
thought, almost in the form of a prayer.
"C'mon now Ed, you don't want it to get cold on ya'."
Sully was
an extremely kind hearted man, a characteristic that was a rarity among most
turnkeys. He had become attached to
almost all of the death row inmates, and because of this developed a tolerable
hatred for his job. It was almost a
certainty that Sully's hidden heartache could be felt
by all those around him on the night of an execution. The story was no different on this night. While
Sully's eyes still searched for Edward's, upon the
second of their meeting, Sully would shy away quickly with a certain fear of
letting a tear drop from his deep and affectionate eyes. Edward possessed a special respect for the
man, much like the respect an honorable son holds for an honorable father. This was due solely to the fact that, even more rare than kindness, Sully would hold respect for
you.
After
slowing opening the bars, the affectionate turnkey gently grabbed Edward's arm,
and even more gently escorted him from his cell. Shackles were strewn between Edward's feet
and hands to prevent a number of things; escape, violence, comfort, and, above
all as Edward thought, to block out the idea of freedom. Those shackles represented the power in
As he
uncomfortably waddled to the dinning room, the sound of his chains consumed the
awe-stricken silence of confused men, who possessed watchful eyes that prodded
away at Edward's thoughts. Curious looks
from every passing inmate looked to Edward to set some sort of precedent for
their own dreaded day. The cell
arrangements were changed monthly, flushing the next man in line further
towards the end of the row. Closer to
the end, the faces were dominated by gloom and hopelessness, while those closer
to the front showed nothing but fear and hopelessness. While hopelessness seemed to be a lingering
feeling throughout your last days, fear would manage to trickle away. Perhaps the saddest thing about this place
was that in time you began to accept, and sometimes-even welcome, death.
Although
Edward didn't exactly agree with the last meal idea, he chose to go along with
the trend, and had his favorite dish prepared for this evening. Sitting before him was a paper plate of
baby-back ribs, ones that were doused with the elegance of Mal's
Spicy barbeque sauce. Steam blanketed
the dish in an attempt to prove its freshness, and two five-inch stacks of
napkins sat to the north side of the plate, waiting to be obliterated. Edward's mouth watered at the sight of this
meal, it had been so long since real meat passed through him. These thoughts triggered something in his
mind that made him understand the last meal.
When you have the constant repetition of nothingness, something unusual
is quite liberating.
In college,
Edward attempted to be a part of a more high-end lifestyle and because of this,
never thought baby-back ribs would evolve into his favorite meal. It was the community of Freedom that really
shaped this country life taste. When he
first took over the property, the kind hearted town insisted on holding some
sort of a welcoming party. According to
the Freedom residents, it would be breaking tradition not to organize some sort
of gathering. With the heartache of,
well everything, still fresh within him, Edward reluctantly obliged, and told
himself he would try his hardest to embrace this newly established lifestyle.
This hearty
welcoming came in the form of a barbeque that was to be held at a Miss Janey Lee Masters home.
Janey Lee was the publicly adored homemaker,
and privately despised gossip queen of Freedom.
She was the hostess or organizer of all the gatherings that were to be a
collaboration of the whole town, and held this unofficial status with much pride. It had always been this way in Freedom, and
more than likely would stay this way until the day that Miss Masters passed
on. Its not that people feared standing
against her, it was more that people avoided her for the sheer convenience of
avoiding her. Objecting to one of Janey's ideas or plans would land you a most aggravating
penalty that would be headed by her relentless attempts to disprove you; a
hassle that everyone in Freedom purposely dodged.
Although
her home heavily resembled all the other homes in Freedom, there seemed to be
some type of soul to the house, a soul that screamed perfection. Whether that be
accredited to physical cleanliness, or an acquired lack of modesty from the
head homemaker, perfection was definitely what the house screamed.
The
gathering had completely filled Miss Master's home with undoubtedly the entire
population of the small farming community; all who shook Edward's hand with
much respect and stared into his eyes with the most assured conclusion that he
was the mirrored image of his late father; a compliment that with each of its mentionings took a heavy sigh and heartfelt compliance out
of Edward.
In an
attempt to be the All American gem that his neighbors hearts so desired, he
insisted upon helping out with the party's on goings, despite the fact that the
party itself was being thrown in his honor.
Janey reluctantly assigned Edward to the job
of taking frozen meat from inside the house outside to the barbeque pits. After the cooking was done, the same plate,
now with cooked meat, was to be brought back inside where it would be sauced,
seasoned, and sent back outside for serving.
These were the requests, or orders really, of Janey Lee, and had they not been precisely followed there
was a fairly good chance that Edward would be kicked far from Freedom by none
other than Janey's own ballistic boot.
The clouds
can cast over a man with such haste in a day that seems to be filled with
nothingness. People never leave
nothingness in their minds, reserving the space, instead, for memories that
possess high levels of value, so one can suppose that's why a meaningless day
seems to fly by with such unmatchable speed. Such was the case for Edward, on
his day of welcoming, and the entire celebration had passed without one instance
of real time. Freedom still breathed the
fresh breath of existence, it did not die with the sun, but the stars had begun
to shimmer, and the day was coming, thankfully as Edward saw it, to an end. The night was never forced on Freedom. Never were the sun's glowing rays selfishly
shadowed out by a rising moon. Instead,
the two seemed to cooperate in perfect unison, giving way to one another as a
downpour does to a rainbow. Edward could
watch, he could sense the beauty in this transformation from day to night, he
could see the stars begin to shine, he could see the powerfully red clouds
gather at the base of a setting sun, but he could not feel the phenomenon. He was but a soulless man watching the
World's most beautiful spectacles being flaunted before his lifeless eyes.
Countless
strangers had surrounded Edward all day with relentless efforts to cheer him
up, or to sympathize for his loss with words that avoided emptiness but were
unable to escape a label of meaningless.
But he was not searching for sympathetic encouragements of life, he was searching for nothing at all. It could be said that Edward was hoping, yes
hoping, for someone, something that could restore his grasp on reality. At that moment he felt as if he were the only
man on Earth who felt sadness, who felt grief; an isolation that might as well
have pinned him as the only man on Earth at all.
Men were
still scattered across Janey's impeccable lawn,
reaping the benefits of a particular brand of over consumption. Edward would wonder to himself if within a
year he too would fall into the ways of these men who sat before him. Whose lives came to climax years ago, and now
relied on substances to convince themselves that life still possessed its
"spunk." As previously stated,
the day passed without one instance of real time. Names, stories, and hugs had all ceased to
exist as separate occurrences, falling hopelessly together in a category that
Edward hoped to soon forget. He was
bringing empty plates into the kitchen, his last set in fact, when something
made him stop. The sun had fallen, and,
realizing this, he looked to the sky.
Nothing special hung from God's most beautiful masterpiece, no falling stars or northern lights. But for the first time since his parent's
death, Edward noticed the stars. Despite
all the destruction, all the changes, all the sadness of a million compelling
hearts, there they hung, sparkling smiles down to their observers, with the
promise that life could go on. So many
things Edward saw in those blindingly beautiful lights of the night sky. His mother's eyes, his
father's smile, his relentless dreams, and even his hope. Perhaps it glimmered as nothing more than the
most faint star in the brightest sky, but nevertheless
he saw it, and for the first time since tragedy, beauty was welcomed by Edward
with a smile.
He stepped
into the house with a becoming sense of optimism, optimism that seemed to come
spontaneously, but optimism that he was not about to question over its
origin. The house was becalmed with a
silence that, for some unknown reason, sent the most swift
set of chills up and down Edward's spine, a feeling that was heartily welcomed
with a slight smirk. His legs swayed
smoothly across the carpet as he walked, and the pattern rekindled the flames
of some song that rested quietly in hid mind.
"I'm in heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart...," and so he sang, the most delightful
tune of happiness over love's ways, "when we're out together dancing cheek
to cheek." he finished. Upon the tunes
completion the loudest bang rang out from behind the closed doors of Janey Lee's kitchen.
Embarrassed over his misconception of the home's emptiness, Edward hoped
with all his might that the
He stepped
through the swinging door, and plopped uncomfortably upon the floor was, much
to Edward's dislike, the graceful body of a woman. Sprawled in all directions before her were
shards of broken glass from the apparent stack of plates that she was
juggling. One plate was, depressingly
enough, still clinched tightly in her hand, and in a fit of frustration she
smashed the plate against the ground.
"No need to leave him out I guess, huh?" Edward had started the conversation, his
first of the evening. The young lady
seemed to be no older than 30, and 30 was a stretch. She wore a conforming outfit of jeans and a
blouse, and chuckled a bit at Edward's words.
Her golden blonde hair was left down and it swayed before a glowing pair
of green eyes. "She's beautiful."
Thought Edward.
He saw her beauty in those eyes, in that hair, in her displeasure that
seemed to be the most common of links between the two of them.
"Let
me help you up
"Edward,
Edward Mculah."
she said, shaking his hand and taking the
obvious words right from his mouth. "It'd be awful impolite of me if I
didn't know the name of the man whose party I was attending. My name's Arlene Harrison."
"Pleased to meet you Arlene. Looks like you had a bit of trouble
here?" Edward bent down and began
gathering up the shattered dining wear.
"Likely
that Janey will kill me, yup, she'll kill me
dead."
"Oh
now don't be silly, Janey-Lee seems like the sweetest
lady," the two's eyes met in an agreement of sarcasm.
"Its just a few plates, not like you
broke the woman's neck or anything."
"Don't
give me any ideas there Edward, wouldn't wanna' make
you my accomplice. Was that you singing
just a moment ago?" she asked casually, as if she didn't expect Edward's
embarrassment.
"If I
told you no, would you go ahead and believe me, I'd consider it somewhat of a
welcoming present."
"No
need to be shy. Hey, at least you didn't
break the "Queen's" belongings." Upon the ending of her words,
Edward snatched up a serving dish, roughly a foot in diameter, and smashed it
against the chair he was leaning on.
"Now
there's nothing to be excluded about."
He said, as the two erupted in laughter.
Edward now
found himself reduced to tears over his heartfelt trip down memory lane. The clouds had gathered outside, and he sat
along side his window, crying tears equivalent in their magnitude to the
downpour that Mother Nature was displaying outside. Such beauty was held firmly within those
raindrops, and again, nothing but soulless eyes to greet them. Their pitter-patter against the cold asphalt
possessed no pattern that gave it the beauty of a well-orchestrated song, and
although the rain lacked this characteristic, it was this disorder that gave the phenomenon such splendor. The knowledge that so much beauty could in
exist in a chaotic occurrence such as drops of water spontaneously falling from
the sky. It is enough to almost fear the beauty of God's planned occurrences, and
it instilled even more fear into Edward's heart of God's planned
displeasures.
The full
moon hung high in the sky, above Edward, above his worries. It would beam down its brightness the
following night, when Edward would live as nothing more than a memory. This
projection forced yet another worry upon this story's main character. Perhaps the biggest question, or hope really,
that we all face as human beings can be found within the dark barricades of
what many would call human flaw:
selfishness. Edward couldn't help
but wonder how those who still remained on this green earth would think him
of. Fear oftentimes pushed Edward away
from answering this question because, of course, if the world lacked remorse
before his death, why would they gain the feeling after he was gone? Life was
fragile; Edward knew it. But he hoped
and prayed with all his heart that the broken shards of his life would be
picked up and perhaps placed together by someone after this evening. Yes, this was what he prayed.
“Mr. Mculah?” said Sully as he genially leant against the bars. “It seems you have a visitor, a Mr. Thomas Roseburough.” Thomas Roseburough
was the town lawyer of Freedom, and perhaps the only man in the world, besides
the turnkey just five feet away, that held sympathy for Edward. The two had become acquaintances shortly
after Edward moved to Freedom. Their
relationship was somewhat built around Edward’s desire for Thomas’ life. He stepped passed the barred barrier slowly,
acknowledging Sully as he did so with a slight nod of his head. He wore a khaki
colored trench coat that hung far down past his knees. The shoulders of the jacket were darkened
with the water that was still falling from the outside world, and a few remains
from the downpour existed shakily on Thomas’ brow. Yet another characteristic that Edward found
himself in envy of, oh what he wouldn’t give to feel the rain one last
time.
“Edward.” Said Thomas as he exhaled a
deep and hearty breath. “I just
got off the phone with a few people I know down at city hall. Well, I—there’s
no word yet, but, I mean, Edward, anything cold happen.” His words held the most weary amount of confidence, a confidence that slithered
away even further with each passing syllable that quivered from his dampened
lips.
“Things can
change in an instant, Edward, and it’ll only take an instant to change your
world.”
“I know
Thomas, I know.”
Both men’s heads were drooped low, in
the position that most often welcomes sorrowful times. IT cannot be said that Edward believed he
would win his case, and the dire last minute pardon seemed to also be nothing
more that a fainted fantasy. It can,
however, be said that Edward did not expect Thomas’ visit. His presence would have only been a necessity
if there were question marks still encompassing Edward’s situation. Such presumptions had all been answered
though, so Thomas was nothing more than a friend in this instant. He walked passed those bars not to consult a
client, or to give false hope to someone who had entrusted him. No, he walked into Edward’s cell as a man of
comfort, as a companion, and as a friend, the only one that existed currently
in Edward’s world.
Teacher: Mary Jean Olson – Grade 5
“Oh, no!” I screamed as I stepped into my
room. Papers were scattered, books were off the shelves, crumbs lay in my bed,
and there in the middle of it all, my little brother Peter sat, a devilish grin
on his face.
My mom burst in. “What’s all the ¾
Sarah, what happened in here?”
I took a deep breath. “Mom, Peter
messed up my room.”
“Oh don’t be silly,” Mom said,
“he’s only six. He couldn’t possibly do all this.”
“Wanna
bet?” I replied. “Besides, Lizz is gonna be here in two hours.” Lizz
is my best friend and tonight she was sleeping over at my house.
“I suggest you start cleaning
then,” Mom said as she picked up Peter and left leaving me with the mess.
“Arrrrr!” I screamed. “Peter the menace strikes again.” And I tossed
a shirt in my closet.
Lizz came around
“Ummmm
... truth,” I replied.
“Okay,” Lizz
said. “Do you have a secret crush on anyone?”
“You promise you won’t tell if I
do?”
“Cross my heart hope to die,” Lizz said.
“Okay, I’ll spill,” I replied. “I
do.”
“Who?” Lizz
asked.
“Matt Boisenberry,”
I said.
The
next morning while Lizz and I were eating breakfast,
Peter came running down. Still in his dumb cowboy pajamas.
He ran up to me and whispered in my ear, “So, how’s Matt looking today?”
“You little sneak!” I screamed and
started chasing him. I cornered him and twisted his arm. “Stop it!” he begged.
“All right you two...enough’s
enough.... QUIET!” Mom yelled. “Settle down and eat your breakfast or you’ll
miss the bus. Oh, and Sarah, I have to work late today so remember to bring
Peter home after school.”
I figured that I better not argue.
“Sure, mom,” I muttered, and started to eat again.
Right after math class I headed to
my locker to grab my lunch when I saw Matt walking toward me. He stopped. “Hey
Sarah, wanna come to my place after school?”
My heart stopped. I couldn’t speak
so I just nodded.
“Cool,” he said.
Then I remembered Peter. “Wait!”
He turned around. “I have to take
my brother after school.”
“Oh that’s okay,
he can hang with my little bro.” Matt said.
“Thanks,” I replied and ran to
tell Lizz.
After school I picked up Peter and
told him where we were going and that I’d give him a dollar if he didn’t say a
word to Mom. “Okay,” he agreed. We met up with Matt on the playground and
started walking to his house. It felt like it was a two-mile walk even though
it was only two blocks.
I was too nervous to talk so we
walked in silence, Peter trotting along behind. We finally got to Matt’s house,
a big Victorian brick house. I walked inside after Matt and found his mother in
the kitchen.
Matt introduced me to her. “Mom
this is Sarah, one of my friends from school. Sarah, this is my mom,” Matt
said.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah,”
Matt’s mom said.
“It’s nice to meet you, too Mrs. Boisenberry,” I choked out.
“And who’s this little fellow?”
she asked.
“This is Peter, my little
brother,” I replied.
Mrs. Boisenberry
turned to Peter. “How would you like to play with Matt’s brother Jake? He’s
about your age.” Peter turned to me. I nodded.
“Sure,” Peter said.
“Okay, I’ll get him. JAAAKE,” she
called.
A small, blond boy who looked
about six came running down the steps.
“Jake, this is Peter. He’s about
your age. Why don’t you go play on the trampoline?”
They both ran outside. Mrs. Boisenberry turned to us.
“You two can watch TV in the
living room. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
We did what she said. Halfway
through the show we were watching Matt started inching closer to me…. just
slightly. Suddenly Peter and Jake came running in.
Peter spoke loudly. “Guess what?”
Matt stopped. “What?” Matt asked
as if he was talking to a one year old instead of my annoying six-year-old
brother.
“Sarah has a crush on you and she
wants to marry you.”
I felt my face grow hot.
“We should get home, Peter,” I
said and grabbed his arm hard. He struggled to escape but I was too strong and
determined to go. I dragged him out the door and started heading home. I didn’t
stop until we got there. But if I would have known what was waiting for us
inside, I wouldn’t have gone near my house.
“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’VE BEEN? I
WAS WORRIED SICK!” Mom yelled as soon as we walked in the door.
“At a friend’s
house, Mom.
That’s all.”
“No, that’s not all. You didn’t
leave a note, you didn’t call me at work, you left no
sign of where you were. Do you even know what I felt like when I came home and
found the house empty?
“But Mom ¾”
“But nothing
young lady.
You’re grounded for to weeks. No TV, no phone and no computer. Now march
straight up to your room to think about what you did.
The next day during history class
the teacher told us that we would be making pyramids. He said it would be worth
a quarter of our grade.
“That’s a big project,” he said.
“I expect your best work.”
BBBBBBRRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNG. The school bell rang. “Okay,
class, that’s all for today. This weekend I want you and a friend to brainstorm
ideas for your pyramids. See you on Monday.”
Lizz asked if I could stay over at her
house to think up ideas for our pyramids. “Sorry,” I replied, “but my mom
grounded me for a whole two weeks for going to Matt’s house without asking
first.”
“Harsh,” Lizz
said.
I nodded. “No TV, no computer, and
no phone,” I mimicked.
Lizz laughed. “I’m sure you’ll think
of something to do, Sarah.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said and
got on my bus.
When I got home I stepped into my
room and found Peter sitting on my bed, reading my diary. “OUT!”
I yelled. He looked up, saw me, and ran away. I lay out my schoolbooks and
started doing my homework. 12 divided by 6, I read. Duh.
2. This is going to be easy.
At
“So Sarah,” My father asked. “How
was school today?”
“Okay,” I replied.
“What are you doing lately?” He
made a second attempt.
“Nothing.” I said.
He finally gave up with a sigh and
started eating again.
After dinner I went to my room and
started reading a book called The
World’s Best Poems. “Uh,” I said as I started to read. “This book should
be called The World’s Most Boring
Poems.” I fell asleep soon.
The next morning I got dressed and
went downstairs where I found Mom in the kitchen. “Hi sweetie,” she said.
“You’ve been really good lately so I decided to take you to the art show.
“Great,” I thought. “Just what I need. Going to listen to a
bunch of snobby rich people talk about how wonderful their paintings are.”
We went to the art show after
breakfast. Mom and I walked around looking at the different booths. At one of
them the paintings looked like the artists had handed their babies a crayon and
paper and let it go from there. I managed to suffer through the art show and
come out not having died of boredom, which was my top goal. The day pretty much
dragged on after that.
On Monday our teacher told us to
start working on our pyramids. We had three weeks to get them done. We all
started getting ideas and writing them on the board. Then we went to music
class. I hate music class. I don’t really understand the notes. But other than
that the day was pretty normal.
After two weeks went by I decided
I’d better start working on my pyramid. I was feeling a lot better now that I
wasn’t grounded anymore. I saw Matt in the hallway at school the other day.
He’s so cool. He didn’t even act all jerky and conceited like most guys would.
We just talked for a while before we had to head to lunch.
Now, back to my
pyramid. I
started out by drawing out the plan for it. I actually got some pretty cool
ideas down before my mom called me.
“Honey,” she said. “Your father
and I are going out to dinner .We want you to watch Peter. There’s money on the
fridge for you to order pizza. Just call my cell phone number if you have any
problems.”
I didn’t have any time to work
some more on my pyramid that night. Peter kept me busy and by the time Mom and
Dad got home I was too tired to even talk.
The next day after school I
realized that I only had until tomorrow until I had to turn in my pyramid. I
worked for like three hours on it and finally got it done. It looked awesome.
It even had little Egyptians.
Peter burst into my room. “Cool
toy, Sarah. Let me play with it!”
He lunged toward it. “Oh, no you
don’t!” I said, and caught him just in time. “This is not a toy, and if you go
near it consider yourself dead meat. Do I make myself clear?”
He nodded and angrily walked away
grumbling. Then Dad called me down to take out the trash. But when I came back
to my room I found Peter sitting next to my totaled pyramid holding one of the
Egyptians in his grimy little hands.
“You little
dweeb! I told
you not to touch my pyramid! Now it’s ruined!”
He started to run, but I caught
him. I pinned him down.
“You are a stupid, good for
nothing brother You’ve messed up my stuff for the last
time. Now you’re gonna get it!”
Dad came in. “Sarah, what are you
doing? Let your brother go...now!”
I had to give up. I had been
caught in the act.
“We were going to go to the movies
but I guess now you can just stay home. You’re not going after I come up and
see you doing this!
I had to start my pyramid all over
again. It took me over three hours to do. I hid it under my bed so Peter
wouldn’t get to it. Then I went downstairs to have cake with my family.
The next day I found out Peter
wasn’t going to school today. He was feeling sick.
“Probably had too much popcorn
last night,” Dad said. I could imagine Peter sitting at the movies stuffing his
face. I laughed to myself. I grabbed my pyramid and headed to school.
“Please turn in your pyramids and I will grade
them by tomorrow,” said our teacher. “And now we will start language arts.”
His voice kind of droned on. I was
paying more attention to the note that was heading my way. It got to me. “From:
Matt,” it said on the front. I opened it.
“Want to eat lunch with me today?”
it read. It had the words “yes” or “no” at the bottom. I circled the “yes” and
passed it back. Matt got it and smiled at me. I kept my eye on the teacher even
though I was thinking about lunch.
Finally the lunch bell rang. I
rushed out to my locker to grab my lunch. Matt met me and we walked out to
lunch. We talked for a while. Just about things like the school lunch food,
kids in our class, stuff like that. Soon lunch was over. We both had to go back
to class even though I wanted to stay and talk.
I went home and found that Peter
was still feeling sick.
“I’m taking Peter to the doctor.
Will you be all right?”
“Yeah Mom, you left me home for
two hours last night. What makes you think that I won’t be all right for half
an hour?” I replied.
Mom sighed and left. I just
watched TV for a while when Mom came home
“Where’s Peter? I asked.
I could see a small tear in her
eye. “He’s at the hospital,” she replied. “The doctor is testing him. Peter has
cancer.”
I couldn’t talk. I felt dizzy. I
had to sit down.
“What!”
Mom was sobbing too hard to answer
now. I had a million thoughts in my head. How could Peter have cancer? He’s
just six. He’s too young. Then I remembered how mean I had been to him.
“I’m scum,” I said to myself. “I’m
lower than scum. Now Peter is lying in the hospital with cancer and the last
thing I said to him was that he was a stupid good for nothing brother.” I felt
tears start to run down my face. I started to cry and I didn’t stop for two
hours.
The next day I didn’t talk at all.
I was too scared and sad to. In music class I heard someone say it was their
brother’s birthday today. At the mention of brothers I started sobbing like
crazy. The music teacher had to send me out to the hall until I calmed down.
When I got home I asked my mom if we could visit Peter.
“Of course we can, honey,” Mom
said and we got in the car.
When I saw Peter lying in the
hospital bed, I couldn’t hold back my tears.
“May I go in?” I asked.
Mom nodded.
I stepped in the room. “Hey
Peter,” I said.
Peter didn’t talk.
“Peter, I’m really sorry I said
those things to you. I was overreacting I guess. It wasn’t your fault. I should
have taken time to explain that my pyramid wasn’t a toy. You’re my little
brother and that’s what little brothers do. I just want you to know that all I
want is for you to get better. That’s all.”
I
turned to leave when I heard Peter’s faint voice.
“I forgive you.”
I turned around and gave him a big
hug.
“Stop,” he said, wiping his cheek
where I kissed him.
“Wanna
play Candyland?”
“Sure,” I replied. We played about
50 games. Finally the doctor came in and made me leave. He said Peter needed
his rest.
“I’ll come back,” I told Peter. “I
want a rematch at Candyland. I’m gonna
beat you next time.”
We both laughed as I left the
room. Even though I was still sad for Peter, I left feeling lighter than I was
before.
The next few weeks kind of droned
on. I kept visiting Peter after school. Sometimes he was asleep so I just sat
by his bed for hours at a time. We played a bunch of board games and talked for
what felt like forever.
But I heard that another patient
in the hospital had died of cancer the other day. It sent me into the
realization that Peter could die too. Maybe I was overreacting, but maybe not.
Maybe Peter won’t stay in this world as long as we thought!
Saturday, finally! I needed a
break. Dad took me to the movie theaters. I saw this weird movie about a flying
pig.
Lizz invited me to a sleepover. I felt
really grateful that she still wanted to be my friend after I’ve been avoiding
her. When we got home I packed my overnight bag and headed over to Lizz’s house. We just hung out. Looked at magazines,
listened to music, and pigged out on junk food. It felt good to relax and get
away from all the stress of everyday life.
But all of a sudden I got a call
from Mom. She was coming to pick me up. The doctors found out which blood type
Peter needed to go on with the bone marrow transplant...Mine.
I went to the hospital with mom
and checked in. The receptionist told me to go into room 276.
The doctor was in there. I entered
the room slowly. I sat down with mom on a small sofa in the corner. Dr. Flemsin (Peter’s doctor) came out from a curtain near the
wall.
“I suppose you know that your
blood type matches Peter’s.”
I nodded.
“Sarah, now you have a choice to
make. You can donate your blood for Peter’s bone marrow, or you can choose not
to and we will keep searching for other donors with a match although we might
not find any. The choice is yours.”
I gulped. “I’ll do it,” I said.
“You sure?” the doctor asked.
I nodded.
“Very well then. You will need to go through a
small surgery. We will begin next week. Is that all right?”
“Yes.” I replied.
“Okay. You are free to go.”
I nodded and I walked out of the
room.
Report cards came today. I looked
at my grades. Spelling: A. Math: C+. Music: B+. Gym: A. Social Studies: A. And science: A.
I smiled to myself. The only grade
I didn’t like was math. But if I did a few extra credit pages I’d be fine. I
still had this bad feeling inside about the surgery. What if it didn’t go well?
What if the bone marrow wasn’t successful? What would we do if Peter didn’t get
better? All I could do was wait and pray that the
surgery went well. For Peter’s sake.
Finally a week went by. I went to
the hospital to begin the surgery at
The next thing I knew I was lying
in the bed awake with this terrible pain in my leg. I saw Lizz
standing next to my bed.
“The doctors are giving Peter the
bone marrow,” she said. “They’ll have the results soon.”
I was still a little drowsy from
the medication but I understood perfectly what Lizz
said.
“Thanks Lizz,”
I said, “for coming over here.”
“No need to thank me. That’s what
friends are for.”
“I’m going to need a wheelchair to
get around school you know.” I said.
Lizz nodded.” Well look on the bright
side. You get to ride the elevator!”
I laughed. That’s what I like about
Lizz. She’s always looking on the bright side of
things. What she said was true though. Everybody wants to ride the elevator at
school and I would get to. At least until my leg heals.
As soon as the doctor came in I
started flooding him with questions. “Is Peter okay? Did the surgery go well?
How’s he doing? Can I see him?”
The doctor held up a hand.
“Peter’s just fine. The surgery went perfectly. Although you two will need to
stay in the hospital overnight. You can go home tomorrow.”
At that moment I felt a surge of
happiness. Peter was better. The surgery went well. Nothing in the world could
bring me down today. Nothing.
After a few months every thing
went back to normal. Peter was now running around the house creating messes
just like before. And I was still hanging around the house, talking on the
phone, e-mailing my friends, etc.
But one thing had changed. Ever
since Peter got cancer, we had developed a special bond. Not the kind of bond
between you and your best friend. A brother and sister bond.
A loving bond. A bond of hearts.
Wisps of Darkness
By
A. Hanley
Teacher: Delores Depe – Grade 9
Mcayla was only six when she realized
that she was smarter than her parents. They had been the worst parents
imaginable. They each worked minimum-wage jobs at the local burger joint. Each
day Mcayla would wake up, walk into her parents’ room
and wake them up. Without her waking them up, they would never have made it to
work.
Each day,
as she prepared to go to school, she would help her parents get ready for work.
At the age of seven, she was ironing her parents’ clothes, packing their
lunches, and finding them a ride to work each morning. Of course, to her this
was normal. By the time she reached eighth grade, she was doing calculus in
school. When she was a freshman in high school, she graduated, with honors.
People were amazed. At first, people thought she had cheated, making her take
all the tests over again. When she did even better the second time, scoring
perfect scores, they decided she was not cheating and deserved to be awarded
with the highest State scholarships possible.
People from
all over the country were calling her, hoping she would come to their college,
or that she would pick their scholarship. Before she even had a chance to pick
a college or a scholarship, something amazing happened. Not a good something,
either.
***
Mcayla woke up, slipped on her slippers
and walked down the hall to her parents’ room. She slowly opened the door and
walked in. The large lump under the covers reassured her parents were still in
bed, as usual. She walked over to her mother’s side and lightly tapped her
where she figured her shoulder would be (she could not tell because
her mom was deep under the covers).
Her mother did not stir. Mcayla shook her this time,
though not enough for her to become angry when she woke up. When that did not
work, Mcayla lifted the covers.
The most
horrible sight that she had ever seen reached her eyes. Her mother was curled
in a fetal position at the bottom of the bed. Blood was specked all over her
body. Most of the blood seemed to have come out of her ear. It trickled down
the side of her face and ended up in a big puddle on the once-white, lace
sheet.
Her father
was not in the bed. She walked around the bed, her eyes not leaving her
mother’s body. She stumbled over something on the floor and fell over. Her
hands landed in a wet and sticky substance. She slowly raised her hand into the
light and saw a red droplet fall slowly off her hand and splatter
as it hit the carpeted floor. She looked toward the ground to see what she had
tripped over, and, not to her surprise, she saw her father lying in the same
position in which her mother had been curled.
She had not
had much time to think. She stood up so quickly that the room started to spin.
She raced past the bed, trying not to look at her parents, as tears streamed
down her ashen face.
She slowed
her pace as she nearly ran into a wall. She jogged down the hall and into the
kitchen, grabbed the phone and started dialing 911. There was no dial tone.
She slammed
the phone back on the receiver, thinking there would be a dial tone this time.
It was still dead. She dropped the phone.
She had
just noticed a trail of blood that led from her parent’s bedroom all the way
through the kitchen and right underneath the fridge. That was something she had
not expected to see, even in the situation she was in at the moment.
She was a
fourteen-year-old girl stranded in the middle of the country with two dead
parents and no transportation. She sat there and thought. She knew she was
smart, but for some reason, she could not think of a way to take herself to
safety because, for all she knew, whoever had killed her parents could still be
around. She wondered why whomever it was had not come into her room and killed
her the same way he had killed her parents. Her room was closer to the only
entrance in the house. The thought that they had completely passed over her room
made her wonder.
She
walked out of the kitchen and headed for the backdoor of her country house. Her
only neighbor lived five miles away. That was not as far as it could have been,
but she did not look forward to that long walk.
Mcayla had not seen her boyfriend, Josh, in over six
months. He had moved to a different town and was going to come to visit her
today. He was supposed to be there around four-thirty, depending on the
traffic.
She looked
at her watch checking the time. It was
She slowly walked out of her driveway,
wondering where her dog was. There was no sound at all. Usually, the normal
sounds of the country were noisy and uncaring for anyone else, but today there
were no sounds, none at all.
Mcayla’s tear-stained face strained to see the closest
house. The harsh, cold wind beat against her face, stinging as she went along.
For
October, the weather was extremely cold. The gray, cumulous clouds were
darkening the sky. The sun was not peaking through the clouds anywhere. Mcayla grew increasingly cold as she walked along the
unpaved, unmaintained country road.
Mcayla thought of possible explanations to her parent’s
inexplicable deaths. She walked past an old, abandoned house. A nice old man
had lived there just a few years ago, but after he could not afford to live
there anymore, his family put him into an old folks’ home.
Mcayla strayed off the road and walked down his drive-way.
She scanned the area for the sight of anything that might look out of place or
unfamiliar. Nothing was out of place, but there was unease in the air, in the
feel of the place. She walked up to the front door and pulled open the worn,
old screen door and stepped inside. She was going to warm up a little before
beginning to walk the rest of the three miles to
She walked
in the front door and did her normal routine, walking down the steps into the
basement-style house. Everything had been cleared out of the house except for
an old couch and a gas heater.
Mcayla looked around the house, searching for matches. She
knew there was a box somewhere. She hurried back into the room and quickly lit
the heater. It was amazing. The warmth washed over her immediately. She soon
felt tired. Her eyelids started growing heavy, and she was almost immediately
sleeping.
She was overtaken by horrific images that
flashed before her, flashes of her mother and father walking around the kitchen
with blood dripping off them. Then the room filled with blood and she was
swimming in it. It was disgusting. Her haunting dreams continued for almost an
hour.
A
heart-stopping, ice-cold breeze awakened her. She quickly stood up and walked
up the stairs and closed the door that had somehow opened. When she turned the
doorknob to shut the door, her hand started burning. She quickly slammed the
door and looked at her hand. Her hand was red and swollen and there was a
strange design on her hand. She looked from her hand to the doorknob to see
what was on it. Green-orange goo dripped off the
knob. Something was intricately drawn on the doorknob. It was a cross with a
rose thorn through the middle. She looked back at her hand. Miraculously, the
redness and swelling had gone down. Her hand had a cross with a thorn embedded
on her skin.
Mcayla opened up the door without touching the doorknob.
Snow was steadily falling. Wisps of wind picked up, blowing the snow into her
face. She walked along the dirt path back to the road to continue her agonizing
walk to
Her feet
sank into the deepening snow. The loud, crunching noise of her walking echoed
throughout the area. There was no one around. She had about two more miles to
go until she would reach
Mcayla checked the time. It was ten-thirty. She had slept
longer than she thought she had. If she kept this pace all the way to
The snow,
falling more quickly now, started piling up on her shoulders. The wind had
stopped blowing for the moment. She saw a burrow in the snow bank. Deciding
that would be the best place to wait until the snowfall began to thin out, she crawled into the small crevice.
*** Tish Springston lived almost ten
miles away from Mcayla. She lived in a spacious
two-story house with her mother, father, and two little brothers. They owned
about three acres of property covered in mostly trees.
Her family
had not had the best reputation. They were known for speaking their minds,
always. Even if Tish were at school, she would tell
people what she thought, teachers, students, everyone. She learned speaking her
mind from her mother, who no matter what. would tell
anyone what she was thinking whenever she was thinking it.
Tish woke up at
Tish grew bored of watching her brother play, so she
decided to go into the bathroom to put on her clothes. When she came out, the
house was silent. She walked into the kitchen; no one was there, and no one was
in the living room or upstairs, either. She looked outside to see if the cars
were there; they were. Opening the front door, she felt a horrible chill. It
was snowing outside, and not a light snow either.
There were snowdrifts almost as big as the house. It must have been snowing for
awhile.
Tish walked back into the house, thinking that one of the
neighbors might have taken her mom to town or something, but when she walked
back into the house, she noticed everything was out of place. The TV was left
on. Coffee cups were left on the tables, and why had not they told her they
were leaving? They knew she was in the bathroom, but they didn’t knock just to
say they were leaving. Knowing the area
like she did, if they were to have left the house in that big a storm, they had
to have been in a four-wheel drive.
***
Mcayla sat there wondering how long it
would take for the snow to die down. The wind had slowed since she had gone
into the cave, like snow drifting on the side of the road. It had never snowed
that much in who knows how long. She noticed the sun was starting to peek out a
little through the clouds. That was the best time she figured to begin to walk
again.
A normally
not-so-long walk had turned into an all-day thing. By the time she was out of
her encavement, it was
She stepped
out of the little cave and walked out onto the snow-covered road. Nothing could
be seen. She could only see for a few feet, and after that, the glare of the
sun hit her eyes causing them to water and her to squint. The clouds had
completely disappeared from the sky and the sun was shining brightly.
Her shoes
were not the best to be out in weather like this. Her toes must have been
frostbitten by then. She jumped in the air a few times to start the blood
moving, hoping this might warm up her body. Maybe running would be a good idea.
She jumped one last jump and began running down the road. The crunch her shoes
made was almost unbearable. It was the only sound for miles, and she was not
really in the mood to hear anything at the moment.
She kept
her eyes ahead and her back straight. This running thing really did help her
out. The tingling in her hands had almost stopped. As she ran up the little
uphill road, she could see the tip of the trees that enclosed
She came up
to the turn and slowed to a walk. She edged to the right side of the road,
making sure that any one who might happen to be driving and could not see her
because of the glare off the snow. She heard dogs barking, as she moved in
closer to the house. She felt like an agent in a James Bond movie. She could
hear the music echoing in her head, as she walked closer to the trees that
surrounded the house.
A million
thoughts at once ran through her head. What if something were wrong here?
Should she just run up to the house, or should she secretively walk in from
behind and check the windows to make sure that everything was all right first?
The first answer that came to her head was, “Just go to the house.”
Walking out
from behind the coverage of the trees, she noticed that all the cars were
parked in their normal places. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, all good
signs that everything was ok. Walking as fast as possible without causing too
much attention to herself, she walked up to the door. One knock and she opened
the door.
She told
them everything, from the moment she had awakened until that exact moment. At
the end of it, she waited for their replies. The first person to say anything
was
“We knew
that already Mcayla. This has been planned since day
one, and you know it."
“What do
you mean? How could you have already known?"
Somewhere
in the kitchen,
It is time for you to give up this silly nonsense and come
home. It's all right. You have been gone long enough."
Before
anything that had been said had had time to register, Mcayla
was out the door. She ran across the field until she knew she was completely hidden
by the few trees that remained on the far side of the farm. Now that she was
looking around, everything was out of place. Chickens were all gone. Dogs were
locked up in the barn--in the barn!
A light
bulb seemed to have gone off in her head, as if for some reason the barn seemed
the perfect place to answer her questions. Usually a quiet unused barn, it now
stood with an eerie, cold fullness of life. The windows shown gray against the
snow that surrounded the ground and roof. The barn was three stories, counting
the loft in the attic. She had only been up there a few times with
An odd
gnawing at the back off her throat told her that whatever was in that barn was
there for a reason. If only she could remember what had been up there when she
was little. It was along time ago. Memories fade. As she started thinking about
it, though, she could not remember anything before the age of six. She had been
told stories about herself, but she never had any actual memories. Oh, well,
most little kids don't remember their childhoods anyway.
The barn
was looking more and more inviting. She crept along the side of the trees, making
sure not to be seen. They had to be out of the house looking for her by now. As
she crept along the side of the trees she thought, “Where are the dogs? I heard
them earlier.”
Not a
moment afterward, the dogs were let out of a small bunk house to the left of
the house. That must explain where the brother was, but where was the sister?
Halfway to
the barn, she heard a rustle in the trees. Having no idea what it was, she
began sprinting toward the barn. She made it, luckily without being seen. So
far it seemed to her that luck had everything to do with her being alive, or
safe from whatever was going on in her life.
She climbed
through a hole in the back of the barn where no one could see her. It was pitch
black on the first floor of the barn. Feeling her way to the old wooden wall,
she found her way to the stairs. She climbed them and noticed as she was coming
closer to the second floor, the darkness started going away and grayness
appeared. She reached the second floor and found Chantal crouched in a blanket
near an old, warn flashlight with a gray substance splattered all over it.
That
explained why she was drawn to come into the barn. Maybe it was safe here.
Maybe for some reason, they would not check the barn because it was so close to
where they were. One thing was sure. She did not think that those people out
there looking for her were the people she knew. They were something else ...
something ... different.
***
Tish walked
back into the house, still thinking something would have had to have been
terribly wrong for everyone in her family to just leave her like that. Her mom
knew that she was supposed to go over to Mcayla’s
house that day because Josh was coming up to visit. It was not very often that
the whole gang was back together again.
Tish walked
through the living room looking at all the misplaced objects lying everywhere.
Besides the fact that it looked like it had been vacated in a hurry, the house
seemed to be completely different. It was actually all the same, but something
felt different. No one ever left Tish home unless
they asked her. She had issues with being alone. For some reason, she did not
feel like she was alone. She felt like she was being watched from every corner
of the house. The place where she especially felt like people were watching her
was near the stairs that led up to her parent’s bedroom. She was never allowed
up there unless her parents were around. When they were not home, they would
lock the doors so no one could go up there.
She walked past the door a few times …
looking at it each time. On the last pass by it, she noticed a crack. The door
was open! Her mother never left the doors open. She reached for the door knob
and began to turn it. She quickly pulled away. Her hand was throbbing. The pain
was unbearable. She looked at her hand. There was a design on it that she could
not quite make out. The door was covered in orange-green goo.
She reached around and grabbed the corner of the door and pulled it open. Her
hands were red and aching. There was no swelling, though.
Her feet
seemed to lead her up the stairs and into her mother’s and father’s room. It
was empty. Everything was in its usual place. Too bad no one was in there. She
did a quick look around the room and decided nothing was there. She walked
through all the rooms upstairs. Nothing was in the first two, but in the third
one, there was and awful stench. A trail of blood led from the doorway into
where the old closet had been (earlier that year, they had closed off the door
with plywood). Fear was overtaking her. She quickly ran … no, not ran, sprinted
out of the house. The cold snow hit her
legs as she trampled out onto the road.
No cars had been on the road since the snow had started to fall.
The neighbors’ lights were on and all
their houses looked warm and welcoming, but for some reason, none of the houses
seemed to look like they wanted her there. She did not want to go inside
either. She was on the verge of a panic attack, and she did not think that
going into a house with warmth, and bright shiny faces, was going to make her
feel any better. The best place for her to go was the police station. It was
only a few blocks away from where she was at the moment. She figured she could
make it to them faster then they could come to her.
She crunched along in the snow,
counting the houses as she went along. She grew bored with that and tried to
memorize the “blue, tan, white, blue, and tan, white.” As she was repeating
this over and over in her head, she noticed a shadow in a place where there
should not be a shadow. There were no clouds anymore, and there was nothing
standing tall enough to make that large a shadow. Maybe it was her imagination,
or maybe things just kept becoming stranger.
Her eyes strayed away from the unusual
shadow toward the other side of the road. None of the lights in the houses on
the left side of the road were on. Every house seemed to be deserted. She knew
something had to be wrong. Where was everyone, and why did only one side of the
road have its lights off?
Quickly remembering that she had to go
to the police station, she began to walk. She kept to the middle of the road,
trying to avoid the stares from the empty houses. The snow made a crunching
noise under her feet. Each step made an echoing noise, since no one was
outside, or from what she could tell, anywhere in the town.
***
Mcayla sat
next to Chantal for almost an hour without moving. Chantal had not even
stirred, except for her rhythmic breathing. The sun was hidden behind a cloud.
She checked her watch. It was two-thirty. In another hour and a half, Josh
would be on his way to her house. Maybe she would be able to catch him as he
sped down the road. He always went almost thirty miles over the speed limit.
Chantal began tossing. Mcayla could see her eyes moving. Her eyelids flicked open
and the expression on her face was horror. Chantal scanned the room quickly.
Her eyes bounced wildly around the room, scanning every crevice. Her red
swollen eyes finally met Mcayla’s unwavering gaze.
A blinding flash exploded into the
room, causing their eyes to sting. They immediately searched around the room
for something that could have caused such a bright light. Not a thing in the
room looked like it could cause something so bright. The door leading to the
highest part of the barn was locked, as usual. The only explanation Mcayla could come up with was that something had flashed
underneath the door frame.
Quickly making a glance toward
Chantal, Mcayla stood up and walked toward the door.
Her hand began to burn the closer she came to the door. It hurt so much that
she had to stop advancing toward it. She
quickly lifted her hand into her range of vision and saw that it was red and
inflamed. The mark that she had on her hand was raised. It was black.
Everything else on her hand was red, except for the small tattoo-like mark of a
rose thorn on a cross. It did not matter to her anymore that her hand was in
extreme pain. She walked on. The closer she was to the door, the hotter it became.
Sweat was dripping off her face when she was within two feet of the door.
She reached the door and another flash
reached her eyes. This one was brighter than the last one. It did not cause her
to close her eyes, but soon after it was over, she was seeing colored spots. It
prolonged her making it to the door. She crept the
last few steps to the door and reached out to grab the knob, when Chantal came
running at her and tackled her away from the door.
Mcayla hit
the ground hard. Her head came down and smacked next to the old barn wall; her
arms smashed against an old pile of lumber. She raised her head and noticed
blood dripping down the left side of her face. She followed the droplet with
her eyes as it slid down her face, became a bubble at the edge of her cheek,
and, almost in slow motion, fell and splattered on the ground.
***
Tish had
never felt so alone. Not only was there no one around, but she felt as if no
one else in the world existed. The crisp, cold wind blew against her red
cheeks. She was already on
Crunch Crunch Crunch. Tish quickly turned
her head and was smacked with something. She was out cold, but she was going
somewhere.
***
Mcayla stood
up almost as quickly as she had fallen. Blood was still falling off her face,
but that did not matter to her. Nothing mattered. Her parents were dead. Her
best friend was, well, she did not know what her best friend was. She just
hoped that whatever was behind that door had answers to questions. She needed
those answers, and if Chantal were going to try to stop her, she was going to
regret it.
***
Tish had
still not gained consciousness. Her limp body was dragged across snow, then
gravel. She lost all sense of life after that. The image of her high school was
again in her head. She was walking into the bathroom, and looking into the
mirror. Her face was slightly fuzzy. It was not as the others were, but it
seemed to be moving closer. Whatever she had to do, she would fight to gain
consciousness. Whatever the fuzziness was, she did not want to be it. Her mind
was running on its own now. It was going through her memory banks. Actually, it
did not feel right in a way. It felt like it was looking for something
specific, something it knew was there, but simply could not find it.
Millions of images were running
through her mind. She began to look for something, too. Maybe she could find
the source of what was making her look. That’s when she found it: a light. Her eyes shot open. She was awake.
Not good for her.
***
Mcayla stood
up and paced around the room. She shot an awkward glance at Chantal; then, she
continued to walk around the room. Her eyes would dart toward the door. Her eyes were only tiny slits. They were like
cat eyes. She was alert, and waiting for the moment she could again try to make
it to the door. Chantal had retreated back to where she had been lying. Tears were streaming down Chantal’s flushed
face. Her eyes were glossy and red. Each time she blinked, she looked as if it
were hard for her to open her eyes.
Mcayla stood
up and walked over to Chantal. She sat on the small blanket on which Chantal
had been sleeping. Mcayla stared into Chantal’s eyes.
For some reason, she was almost entranced by their green/red swollenness. The
room started spinning. It was like she was in a vortex, a never-ending vortex.
Everything kept spinning. It would not
stop. Everything was a whirl of colors and lights. Mcayla was becoming
sick fast. Her head was rushing. She was
nauseous. Then the room slowly started coming to a stop. Slower and slower, the
colors whizzed around.
The last thing she could clearly make
out was Chantal. Then, of course, it had to have been Chantal who had caused
the spinning. It was the only logical answer Mcayla
could come up with. When the room had finally stopped spinning, she was in an
entirely different part of the barn. She had been sitting down when the
spinning had started, so why was she now on the other
side of the barn? Chantal was sleeping again. It looked as though Chantal had
gone back into the same position in which she had been when Mcayla
had entered the barn. Had the spinning been Mcayla
waking from a dream, or had it really happened? There was only one way to find
out, but she was going to try a different approach.
Mcayla
walked along the side of the barn, staying in the shadow. She did not want to
wake Chantal while she was on her death-defying mission. Mcayla
kept near the side of the wall. She must not wake Chantal. She moved over to
the big, double-doors that led to nothing except a ten-foot drop off the side
of the barn. Slowly she opened the door enough to peek out. Nothing was in
sight. She opened the door and flung her leg out onto a ledge. It would be a
hard climb, but she was going to make it to the next floor some way. This was
the only other way besides the door. She reached up to a loose board and pulled
herself up to another ledge to put her feet on. She looked down. It was not
that far, but she was terribly scared of heights. She reached up and grabbed
the ledge of the window that led into the attic. She moved her legs up,
searching for a ledge on which to rest her feet. At first, she could not find a ledge and
frantically searched for something on which to rest her feet. Her hands were
starting to slip. The old wood had splinters ripping into her hands. As she
started slipping, she found a ledge. Of
course, she thought movie predictability.
In this kind of situation, she still had her sense of humor. One last
pull and she was on the window ledge, jumping down into the attic.
It was pitch black in there. It was
not what she had expected. She was waiting for a childhood memory to flash
before her eyes. She knew she had been in this exact room before, but she
couldn’t remember what had happened in there. She went to the nearest wall and
put her hand against the wood. She moved her hand all over the wall, looking
for a switch. She found it and quickly flicked it into life. Then it went out.
She tried it again a second later. It turned on.
She looked around the room almost
amazed. There were gadgets everywhere. Outside the door, she heard a scuffle,
then the sound of a loud crack. The shiny objects on the wall shook. Then she
remembered. Faces flashed before her eyes, things. Nothing was right. She saw
her mother and father. She saw
That’s when she felt a searing pain in
her left arm. It was unbearable. Her memory continued flashing before her eyes.
A large plastic-looking thing was pressed against her skin. It was as if her
skin was lifted up, because the plastic thing seemed to disappear underneath
it.
Just as fast as her memory was there,
it was gone. A chair sat in the middle of the room. Blood was splattered all
over it. This had to have been the chair she was set in. She lifted her arm to
look at it. She had never noticed before, but there was a large scar in the
middle of her arm. She took her thumb and finger and ran them across the
surface. It was hard, too hard for skin.
Then, the sound of a door opening
reached her ears, but not in time. She was being dragged down the stairs and
out of the barn. She passed Chantal. Chantal was lying in the corner. Someone
was looking over her. All of a sudden, she could not see Chantal’s face
anymore. It was blurred. It was like a dream. It was all like a dream.
***
This was not supposed to happen to
people like Tish. She was supposed to live a very
sheltered life. No strange and unsolved phenomena. She was not supposed to be
tied to a tree in the middle of the forest surrounded by the nastiest creatures
she had ever seen. They were all tied to surrounding trees. Some had clothes
on. Some had familiar clothes on, actually. It was odd to see monsters in
clothes. She never thought she would die being eaten by horrible creatures from
Hell, but, hey, as long as it were not painful. She could not believe what she
was thinking. She quickly brushed those thoughts out of her mind, and pushed
her mind to concentrate on the ropes binding her to the tree. The ropes were
not very good; they looked like they were over ten years old. She started
pulling on lose strands of string. The rope wasn’t very thick. At this rate,
she would be out in no time, but did she want out? Would she be safe out there
with those horrible creatures?
Each one looked a little different,
but each was fairly much the same. They were hairless except for the extreme
number of strands that hung over their eyes and onto their faces. Some were
taller than others, with feet that looked almost one-foot long, and their nails
were as if they had never been cut. They were disgusting. Spit was flying
everywhere. Each time they opened their mouths, a horrific grunting or
screeching noise came out, followed by lots of spit.
Only a few strands of rope remained.
If she hurried, it would only take about five minutes to escape. Then, she had
to avoid the things that were tied to most of the trees. It would not be easy
making it out of there, but she had to try. “Might as well go out with a
fight,” she thought.
There was one more string left on the
rope. It snapped. She was free. She quickly stood up and surveyed the area. The
monster-like, Hell creatures seemed to be sleeping. At least, it looked like
they were. She carefully began to walk through the narrow path of trees. With
each step, she had to avoid large, disgusting monstrosities.
Ever so often, one of the creatures
would move and she would have to do a quick maneuver to keep from stepping on
one. Each monster was tethered to a tree with a very thick chain. Most of them
were sleeping, but some were awake.
Each step she took, she had to avoid
large gruesome creatures. None of them paid much attention to her and if they
did, they lazily concentrated on her. Their eyes would follow her footsteps and
close; then, they would open and follow her again. If the situation had been
different, she probably would have thought this was funny, but since she did
not know whether or not she were in a life-or-death
situation, she could not stop to notice all the details around her. The surreal
images became interesting, and for the moment, she did not feel as if she were
wending her way through a maze of monsters.
***
After Mcayla
was carried out of the barn, she was thrown into the back of an old, white
pick-up. The light from the sun reflected off the snow, giving her a great view
of who had grabbed her. It was her best friend, Leon, or maybe it was not
In the front of the truck, she could
hear them trying to start it. It would turn over, but would not start. After a
few silent minutes, they turned the key again and the truck roared into life.
The truck was put into gear and they were on their way. The road they took, by
the feel of it, did not seem to be the one they would take on a normal day. It
wasn’t bumpy. It was like it were paved, but the closest paved road was a few
miles away. It was strange. She finally sat up and looked out the window. It
was cold out, but not as cold as if she were outside. Telephone poles whizzed
by in a blur. She looked at the road. It was paved. That would mean that they
would have had to have gone at least five miles to the nearest paved road, but
how would they have made it there without touching one stitch of bumpy unpaved
gravel road?
Too many strange things were going on
today. Things like this weren’t supposed
to happen to her. She checked the tailgate, hoping she could open it. Her
efforts were futile. The truck hit a large bump and she was sent flying into
the rear window, causing her nose to bleed severely. She quickly placed her
sleeve over her nose to try to stop the bleeding. The truck was still bouncing
madly along the stretch of what looked like a field. They kept hitting large
mounds of dirt, probably dug out by a prairie dog.
It was approaching dusk when the truck
finally came to a complete, but vigorous, stop. It looked like it was past
five, which meant that Josh had probably already gone to her house and found
out what was going on. Hopefully, he would come down this road so that she
might have the slightest chance to escape. The sun had almost set. No one had
left the truck since they had stopped. It felt like hours before they stepped
out of the truck, but it had really only been three minutes. The whole time,
she had been scanning the area for any other sign of life, something that did
not look like it contained the very essence of evil in its eyes.
Mcayla noticed, as
the drivers approached the back of the truck, that their eyes looked like they
were filled with pain. Each set of eyes was different.
***
Tish grabbed
a tree and tightly wrapped her arms around it. She was at the very end of the
trees. There were no more horrible creatures surrounding her. Instead, there
was a monotonous droning sound. She had
come out of the woods near the main road. She was almost at Mcayla’s
house. More snow had fallen out in the country than in town. The sun was almost
set, and the cold air hit her cheeks and nose with a sharp force.
About five miles away, she could see a
light. It was not a car, but it might have been a house. She had nowhere else
to go, so she started out toward the light. She walked inside of the tire
tracks that were deeply pressed into the snow. It was not even close to five
miles away. It was maybe only a mile away. She arrived sooner then she had
planned. She had not even thought about what she was going to do. She quickly
decided that walking out into the open was not a great plan, so she idly walked
along the edge of the property.
She noticed two trucks in the almost
non-existent, snow-covered drive way. There were people sitting in the cab of
the white one. No one was in the brown one. From the looks of it, someone was
in the bed of the truck, and whomever it was, the
person did not look like he/she wanted to be there at all. After a few minutes
of watching, the three people in the truck stepped out and walked to the back.
They opened the hatch and attempted to coax the person out of his/her own
free-will. They did not move. The smallest of the three people who had climbed
out of the truck, reached in and grabbed the person. Immediately after the girl
had emerged from the truck, Tish knew it was Mcayla. No one else had her unique look
Tish knew
that Mcayla was being held against her will. She also
knew that whoever was holding her, had to be behind the disappearance of most
of the town, including her parents. She heard the distant roar of a truck and
saw headlights. She would head for that truck and hope it was someone she knew.
They would for sure be able to help her find a way to help Mcayla.
At first she started at a jog; then
she started to sprint as fast as she could. The truck drew closer, and closer.
She was almost there. She flailed her arms all over the place, hoping the truck
would stop. It did, and to Tish’s amazement, the
person driving the truck was … Josh.
Tish just
stood staring at Josh. She was transfixed. She had not expected to see him at
all. As a matter of fact, she had completely forgotten that he was coming out
to see Mcayla today. After a few moments of staring
at each other, the events of the day rushed through Tish’s
mind. Everything was overwhelming. She opened the truck door, jumped in and
said, “Drive.”
They drove about three miles away from
where she had been picked up. Neither one of them had said anything. Josh had a
terrible look on his face. It was not the normal look of happiness that now
covered the whole of his face. His brow was wrinkled and his eyes were
scrunched up. He parked off the side of the road in a small enclosure of trees,
just off the main road. Tish began to tell her side
of the story, when Josh interrupted her.
“I think Mcayla
is dead. Her parents are. I found them in their bedroom. There was no sign of Mcayla anywhere. The area was deserted. I’m worried; if she
isn’t dead, then where is she?!”
“Don’t worry. I think Mcayla is
alive. I think she is being held in that barn where you picked me up. I flagged
you down so that we could find a way to rescue her. Are you sure her parents
are d-ddead?”
“I’m one hundred percent sure. People
do not look like they did and live to tell about it. Anyway, how did you get
out here?”
Tish started
telling Josh what had happened to her. She even tried to explain how the
people’s faces had looked when she was daydreaming. It only took her about five
minutes to finish her story. She had told it in a rush. Immediately after she
told her story, they made a plan to take Mcayla out
of where she was being held. The plan was simple.
***
Mcayla was
taken out of the truck and put in the large barn. No one was around. It had
been almost twenty minutes since
Several male voices reached her ears.
One scream shattered the shouting and two people came running in the door,
followed by her captors. There was a gunshot and the two dim lights went out.
She heard a grunt, quickly followed by someone screaming ... no ... it couldn’t
be. Had someone screamed, “No, Josh! …”?
HONORABLE
MENTION – SHORT STORY
Blessings in
Disguise
By
S. Rott
Teacher: Candy Lemer – Grade 10
Sitting here in my rocking chair, I let myself drift back
into my past. I think about the choices
I made and the decisions I was faced with.
As I close my eyes, I float back in time and think about what took place
some fifteen years ago.
When we first heard folks talking about going West, we thought they were crazy. Why would they want to risk their lives
traveling unknown trails full of Indians and wild animals? I couldn’t imagine leaving behind all of your
family and friends to discover a new life.
It just didn’t make sense, or so I thought.
Charles and I had a decent life. He made his living as a blacksmith. Day after day, he worked hard to provide food
for our table. We were married in late
October, over three years ago. We hadn’t
been blessed with children yet, but we both longed for a child of our own.
We had a little home outside of
town. I stayed home during the day and
kept up the house and our farm. I raised
a few vegetables for the winter and took care of the animals. It was my job to feed the chickens and milk
Bessie, our cow, each morning. Charles
usually tended to our horse.
We were eating supper by the fire on a
cool, March evening when Charles told me the news. He wanted to go West
and start a new life. I was very shocked
and surprised. Why on earth would we
want to risk so much and leave the life we had here in
Although I was leery, I let Charles
explain to me what he had planned. The
wagon train was leaving on April 10 to head west. There would be about 15 wagons going in our
train. We would have to purchase our own
wagon, and the only belongings we could bring were those that would fit
inside. We needed to make our decision
by the next morning.
I was so upset that I couldn’t
speak. Charles had his mind made up, and
it didn’t look like I was going to have any say in the matter. I couldn’t imagine what would make him change
his mind about going West. I told him goodnight and
then went to bed. As I lay in my bed, I
thought about what events might take place within the next month. Many families were leaving; we wouldn’t be
the first. As I was lying there,
listening to Charles put away our dishes, I realized
that things were changing. Our little
town of
The next morning, I talked to Charles
about the decision I had made. I told
him about my fears, but I also said that I was willing to take some risks
too. He was so excited that he picked me
up in the air and twirled me around and around.
A week later, I tried to decide what
to take along and what to leave behind.
Making these choices were some of the hardest decisions I have ever had
to make. I decided to bring my chest of
drawers, my china tea set, and my rocking chair. I began to pack up the things we wouldn’t be
taking along. My sister and her husband
agreed to take most of it.
Charles brought home a wagon the next
day. We would take the cow, but we were
going to have to sell the horse and chickens.
We would also have to purchase some oxen. We traveled into town together to choose the
ones we wanted. Charles picked out two
big-boned, red oxen. We named them Jim
and Jack. We bought five other oxen, but
these two were our favorites. We also
picked up some extra supplies while we were there in case of a break down or
shortage of something.
Finally the day came. I woke up that fresh April morning, and it
really hit me. I would never sleep in
our little bedroom or make a meal in our kitchen again. It was time to say goodbye. We traveled into town and were greeted by our
family and friends. It was a sad
farewell. I didn’t know if I would ever
see any of them again.
The wagon master gave the final call;
it was time to go. We crawled up into
the wagon, and Charles gave Jim and Jack the cue. As we drove away, I looked back once more at
our little town of
We traveled until about
We kept traveling, day after day, on
the dusty trail. Each day we got up at
sunrise to eat breakfast and prepare for the day ahead of us. We would usually stop around
It was during one of these times when
Sarah told me the news that she was pregnant.
She had just told John the news the day before. I was so excited for her
and John, but I couldn’t help wishing that I were in her shoes. I longed to have a child of my own, and I
knew Charles did too.
The next day, I walked with Sarah
behind our wagons. We talked about what
things would be like when we reached the valley. We’d been told that it was full of fertile
soil and tall trees. We imagined what
our homes would look like and where we would put our gardens. We also talked of our children growing up
together.
It was about that time when Charles
called me up to the wagon. A river was
up ahead and we were going to have to caulk the wagons and float across. He slowed down for me to get in as Sarah
walked over to find John.
We each took turns floating across the
river. It was about six feet deep, and
it had a fairly strong current. After we
got our wagon across safely, we stopped to let the animals graze and help
others who were still coming over.
Charles walked over to help the other men with the extra oxen while I
went to find Sarah. As I was walking, I
heard a shout. I turned around and saw
that a wagon had tipped over while trying to cross. I watched in fear as a small child struggled
to find something to grab onto. Her
mother had already made it to shore, with the help of some others. She screamed and cried frantically as she
helplessly watched her daughter.
The men tried to swim out and save the
child, but it was too late. She was
swept off a rock and quickly carried away by the currents. We all agreed to camp there for the night,
even if it was early in the day. Many
people walked along the river, looking for signs of survival, but none were
found.
The next morning, after a having a
short service in memory of young Suzie Kendall, we began traveling again. It was very difficult, but I was glad to be
leaving that forsaken river. How hard it
must have been for her family, knowing that they would no longer see her or her
grave marker again.
That evening Charles and I went over
to the
We kept traveling the dusty trails
each day. My feet and back were sore
from walking; I had never felt so exhausted before. I helped Janet out each day by taking care of
the children while she took care of little Rose. Taking care of her children made the ache in
my heart grow bigger each day. When
would I have my own little boy or girl to hold in my arms? I hoped it would be very soon. I had a suspicion that I may have been
pregnant. I didn’t want to tell Charles
the news, for I feared of being wrong.
There would be nothing more devastating than telling him that my
suspicions were false.
Nothing new happened in the next weeks
to follow; however, we did find some fruit and vegetables along the trail and
stopped to pick them. It was nice to
have a little bit of variety in our meal.
Those few weeks would have been very dull, if I wouldn’t have found out
some exciting news. My suspicions had
been correct. I was going to have a
baby!! When I told Charles the news, he
didn’t believe me. When I finally
convinced him that I wasn’t teasing, he was thrilled. I don’t know if I’d ever seen him so happy.
The excitement began to wear off as
time went on though. Each night, I
collapsed, exhausted into the back of our wagon. When would this awful journey be over? Each day we looked at nothing more than bare,
desolate plains. Was this new life
really worth all the hard work? It
seemed as though we had been traveling for years. My shoes were beginning to wear out and the
blisters were almost unbearable. The
only two things that kept my hopes up was the thought of the new life inside of
me, and the love I felt for Charles.
I usually got a decent night’s sleep until the rains
began. We soon found out that there was
a hole on the cover of the wagon. It
rained steadily for two and half days. When it finally quit, I surveyed the
soaking mess inside. Everything was
wet. I would have to try to air dry
everything out. On top of that, it
would be hard on the oxen to travel on the muddy trails. I didn’t think things could get any worse . .
. until I woke up the next morning.
I rolled over in our bed, and realized
that the sun was peeking through a crack.
How could we have overslept? I
touched Charles’ arm to wake him up, and it felt cold and clammy. Something was wrong. As I tried to arouse him, he barely
stirred. I ran outside to get help from
John. I was sure that he would know what
to do.
John and I ran back to the wagon. When we got there we saw that Charles was
holding his legs. He was obviously in a
lot of pain; he said that he had terrible cramps. John felt for a pulse while I
tried to massage his cramps. I glanced
up at John; he had a very solemn look on his face.
John covered Charles up with a blanket
and asked me to come outside with him.
He told me that Charles had Cholera, a result of infected water or
food. He told me that it normally comes
after heavy rains and that it usually kills the victim in a day or two. John
also said that all we could do was let him rest. The train decided to rest for a day, to help
not only Charles, but the rest of us as well.
I stayed inside with Charles as he
slept. Sarah came and sat with me for a
while. She listened as I cried and told
her my fears of him dying. She reminded
me that I needed to stay positive.
Charles needed me to be there for him, so I did all that I could to keep
busy and take care of him in any way that I could.
John came and checked on him
periodically during the day. By the
evening, Charles was beginning to get worse.
His cramps were almost unbearable, and he slipped in and out of
consciousness. I tried hard to stay
strong, but it was difficult. It was so
hard to watch him suffer.
Late that night Charles died. He told me to take care of our baby and raise
it well. He said to live life to the
fullest and never give up, even when times get tough. He wanted me to stay strong for our child.
The last thing that he said was that he loved me. I don’t think I will ever
forget that moment.
It felt as though a part of me had
left with him. How could I continue to go on without Charles with me? How could I raise a child on my own? What would I do when we got to
We had a short funeral for Charles the
next day. The pain was almost
unbearable. The only thing that kept me
from giving up was the child that was growing inside of me. I wanted to give him or her
a good live in a new land. Some
way or another I was going to make it.
John offered to drive my wagon while
another boy drove his. It was a long
journey and each day I grew lonelier. If
Sarah wouldn’t have been there for me, I don’t know what I would have
done. I appreciated my friend so
much. It was so nice to have someone
there to listen. I told her of my fears,
and she offered to help in any way that she could.
The wagon master figured that we had
about three weeks left of traveling. If
only Charles could have held out. He was
so close to achieving his dream. It was
depressing to think about how close he came, so I decided to look forward to
the future. I would never forget my life
with Charles, but I didn’t want to dwell on the past. He would always have a special place in my
heart.
We traveled hard each day. You could almost taste the anticipation in
the air as we got closer to the valley.
We began to grow impatient as the days went on. It seemed like we would never reach our
destination.
At last, I saw it. We reached the
John and Sarah told me that I could
live with them for a while. A widowed
woman could not live on her own, especially not right
away. I was glad for the opportunity to
stay with them, and it would be easier when the child came.
We stayed in town while the men built
the house. They wanted to hurry and get it done before winter set in. It was going to take about a month to
build. In the meantime, Sarah and I
spent time shopping around and buying clothes for our babies. Buying the clothes made me even more excited
for the child to arrive, but every time I looked at a piece of clothing, I
couldn’t help thinking of Charles. I
missed him so much.
Finally the time came for us to move
in. John and Sarah had a beautiful piece
of land. A small creek ran through the
backyard; it was perfect. A few big
evergreen trees surrounded their house and some wild flowers grew nearby. It looked like painting from a picture.
As the time grew closer for Sarah’s
baby to arrive, we grew more and more excited.
She began to pick out some names.
If it was a girl, she hoped to name her Hannah, and if it was a boy, she
wanted to name him Jonathan, after his father.
She was getting bigger everyday.
We knew it wouldn’t be much longer.
Finally the day arrived. It was a cool, rainy day. Thankfully we didn’t have to go into town to
get a doctor, John delivered a healthy baby boy. They decided to name him Jonathan
Matthew.
Having a baby around made the quite a
difference in our little household.
Jonathan cried late at night; I was glad to have a separate section of
my own. Sarah was busy trying to keep up
with the washing and cooking. I tried to
help her as much as I could, but most of the time, I went off by myself. I enjoyed walking along the creek to think
and dream about things.
I thought about how different things
would have been if Charles had made it.
We could have had a little house just like John and Sarah’s to call our
own. I wanted him to be here when the
child would arrive. He wanted children
so much, and he would never be able to hold his own son or daughter. Our child would never see it’s
father, and someday I would have to explain why we were different from other
families. I was not looking forward to
raising this child on my own.
A few weeks later, it was my turn to
deliver. I was walking by the creek and
my pains started. I quickly walked back
to the house and found John. Soon after,
I saw my baby girl for the first time. Holding her for the first time was an
experience I will never forget. She had
her father’s eyes and nose. By just
looking at her sweet face, I knew I would never forget Charles. In that moment of joy, sadness filled my
heart, for my daughter would grow up without a father.
I decided to name her Faith Elizabeth,
for without faith I would have never survived the journey. I had faith in Charles, and I had trusted
him. Even though he would never get the
opportunity to hold our daughter, I knew that he would be proud.
Now as I sit here, I think about how
far I’ve come since we’ve arrived here, over fourteen years ago. I have matured and changed in so many
ways. As I look back upon my life, I see
how selfishly I lived. If it wouldn’t
have been for Sarah and John, I know I wouldn’t be where I am today. They
helped me to look beyond myself, and appreciate what I have.
Faith is fourteen now, and she looks more like her father
every day. My new husband Samuel and I
have been married for twelve years. I
received my wish, and we live in our own home in the country. Samuel works on our farm while I teach our
children. Sam is ten, James is seven, and Julie is five. I love my new family more than I ever thought
was possible.
Even though I am happily married to Samuel, I will never
forget Charles. He will always have a
special place in my heart. Sometimes
life takes you on a ride you aren’t prepared for, but never give up and always
hold on tight, for you never know what is going to happen. You must always be ready to face whatever
challenges rise up.
My life was not easy, and I made lots of mistakes;
however, I am happy for the way things have turned out. You see, the tough
times that I went through were really blessings in disguise. They were hard to see at first, but now I
know that I am truly blessed.
Child and Teen
Obesity
By S. Vanhooser
Teacher: Sheryl Douma – Grade 9
One of the most alarming and
fast-rising epidemics is child and teen obesity. According to www.drgreene.com,
more teens are overweight now than at any other time in history. This is scary, but really, not all that
surprising. Consider taking out all of the soda and “Super-Sized” hamburgers
and fries that are in our diets: cutting down on the number of unhealthy foods
we eat would undoubtedly cut down on the number of overweight people. Read on, and we’ll discover what we AREN’T
doing and what we SHOULD be doing to stop this wildfire of obesity.
“Super-Size
it, please.”
“I’ll have the extra-value
meal.”
“Mom, can I have a Big Mac?”
We’ve all heard these
statements before, and we’ll all hear them again. One of the most surprising things, though, is
when one of these statements come out of a child’s
mouth. “Mom, can I have a Big Mac?” only
adds to the fact that anywhere from 50 to 80% of obese
children become obese adults. Is this what YOU would want for your
children? Do you want them to grow up to
be obese when all they had to do is eat right and exercise when they were
young? That is certainly NOT what I would want.
As quoted by Dr. Beth Abramson, a cardiologist and a spokesperson of the
Heart and Stroke Foundation of Canada: “Teens have to get the message that they
may be at risk for heart disease. It
starts early, but it can be prevented early.” To stop this rising epidemic, we must start changing
our lifestyles and stop the bad habits.
Many things make it hard for adolesents to try to lose weight. One thing is the fact that in most of the
schools around
Another astounding fact is
that one out of every three hundred children have
juvenile diabetes (
Stop ‘feeding’ (literally) the
bad habits that we’ve fallen into: no more Super-Sized fries, no more
King-Size-Jumbo-Extra-Large pop drink very time you stop at the gas station,
and no more 5-hour-T.V. marathons! Only half of all children say they
participate in at least some physical activity at least once a week. This is a bad habit we’ve developed,
Now you’ve seen an inside look
at the most alarming epidemic that’s spreading across
Underage
Drinking
By A. Mann
Teacher: Karen Burrows – Grade 11
In 1984, a federal law required that states set 21 as the
legal age for the purchase or public possession of alcoholic beverages. The
states that did not follow this new law would lose a portion of their federal
highway construction funding. The federal law was linked to the highway
construction funding because of evidence that showed lower drinking ages
resulted in more traffic fatalities involving young drivers according to the
website Safe and Sober at www.nhtsa.dot.org.
This proves that younger drinkers are less responsible drinkers.
If teenagers could
handle drinking responsibly, it would be okay, but teenagers don’t understand
the consequences of drinking. Wait, I take that back; they do understand what
can happen, but the attitude of “it won’t happen to me” is where the problem
lies.
Many teenagers suffer from alcohol poisoning and aren’t
even aware of it. They get into a drinking game, drink entirely too much in a
short period of time and pass out or vomit.
I speak from experience. I am one of those irresponsible
underage drinkers. I never thought that I could be seriously hurt from
drinking. I thought if I drank enough until I started feeling good and then
stopped, I would just end up getting sick and be fine again. But on
Teenagers
often blame drinking on boredom, and I think that it is a big reason why
teenagers drink. But how hard are they trying to find something to do? Not very. Just as easily as someone can get a case of beer,
they can be playing a game of basketball or watching a movie. Drinking isn’t
the only answer to boredom.
Alcohol is too accessible. Underage drinkers can get
alcohol in hardly any time at all. They get it from older friends who say they
can remember back in the day when they used to ask people to buy them beer, so
why not? Too many teenagers have “buyers.” These “buyers” are not doing any
good for these underage drinkers. If something were to happen to the teenager
drinking, the buyer takes the blame.
Teenagers today need to wait to drink until they are 21
when they are more mature and have more life experience. A lot of accidents
could be prevented. So instead of saying, ”Hey, lets
drink,” how about actually trying to find something else to do? Because I know
I CAN have fun without being wasted, I CAN find things to do if I try hard
enough and I CAN wait until I’m 21 to drink any more alcohol.
Untitled
By
C. Rudolf
Beulah,
Teacher: Amy Benz – Grade 8
A perfect country. A
perfect world. Many people know
that this is quite impossible. But many
of us still dream about living in a perfect nation without crime, abortion,
abuse and poverty. I am one of these
people, who almost every day, think and dream of what
That
percent is growing each year. I think
how lucky I am to have a house, food, and clothing that I need, and even the
extra things I am privileged to get. I
can’t even imagine living out on the streets day after day trying to get by.
Even
though many people in
There are
many rich and famous people in this nation and world who have billions of
dollars and everything they could ever need or want. Many of these people are very generous and
share much of this money with the poor and underprivileged. I admire them greatly for that and yet I wish
that more people will billions of dollars or just a normal family with a normal
income would donate money or even time to help less fortunate.
I do not
know if my dream will ever come true, but I will continue to dream. I will also try and continue to do my part
and be thankful for all I have. I know
my voice may not make a huge difference, but now it is at least heard.
Flying With the Wright Brothers
By
G. Meyer
Conception,
Teacher: Renee Wilcox - Grade 5
An airplane soars overhead with ultra-fast speed. Could it be containing passengers, headed to
some distant place on this amazing flying craft, much faster than any other
method of transportation? Or could it be
an Army plane, carrying out a mission on the fastest way to travel? With the ability of flight we have opened
thousands of doors. But who do we owe
this magnificent aviation device? Who
gets credit for the amazing machine that has become a part of our everyday
lives? None other than
Wilbur and Orville Wright.
Susan Wright gave birth to Wilbur Wright on
It was their father who taught the
boys to stick to whatever they were doing and always, no matter the troubles,
do their best. But it was probably their
mother who passed down the genes that let the Wright brothers’ posses a
knowledge of mechanics and the skills to use them. Bishop Wright had trouble driving a nail
straight.
As they aged,
Orville grew an interest in printing. We
made his own press out of junkyard scraps. During his summer breaks he worked for a
local printer as an apprentice. While in
his junior year, he made an even bigger press with Wilbur's help. Orville was so convinced that printing was
his dream job he dropped out of school to start a printing business. Orville's first paper was the weekly West Side News. While Orville was the publisher, Wilbur was
the paper's editor. After a year of
successful printing the Wright brothers changed the West Side News to the daily Evening
Item. The Evening Item did everything it could to stay afloat amongst other
big name
During all of this bicycles were
growing safety as well as popularity.
The Wrights joined thousands in falling under their charming spell. When your bike broke down, you would take it to
the Wright brothers. Upon this the
brothers decided on yet another job switch.
The bike trade became theirs in 1892, when they founded the Wright Cycle
Company. First they were known for just
repairing bikes, but soon they grew to selling their own series. Mostly homemade, these bikes were much
cheaper than other more expensive brands.
With much free time during the off season, the brothers made many
additions to the house and shop, but the idea you are probably most concerned
about was being developed in the back of the bike shop.
Many people
before the Wright brothers had investigated and experimented with flight. One of these many people was named Otto Lilienthal. He
conducted lots of gliding experiments in
While the Wright brothers were
studying flight they learned three properties they needed in powered
flight. Wings were used to achieve
lift. Something to propel the plane and
something more to steady the plane were both needed. The power of the airplane designed, just
waiting to be built. Control was the
problem. For left and right movement a
rudder was used. A sideways rudder,
called an elevator, was being used on submarines for the up and down movements,
but people wondered whether this would work for a flying craft. Not too many earlier inventors had paid much
attention to the element of control.
They were focused on getting themselves into the air. Orville and Wilbur found this amazing for
they thought that balance and control were essential to a good flight.
The Wright brother's first important
discovery of how to make their plane came while watching buzzards over their
hometown. They saw the birds using their
wings to revolve around. Orville and
Wilbur wondered how to harness this in airplane wings. The solution came to Wilbur when serving a
customer at the bike shop. He, without
thinking about it, twisted a box's ends in opposite directions. He looked down and saw the answer in his
hands. Thus the brothers created their
first experimental craft to test this theory.
They built a little kite that used what they called wing warping, and it
responded to Wilbur's every move. To
make better test flights, they needed a good windy place. So they contacted the U.S. Weather Bureau. They chose
They reported to the press that they
had flown, but not many printed it and even fewer readers believed. Before the airplane became a practical
invention, the must show it could make longer flights. To improve the plane they flew in a friend's
pasture, but it was very bumpy. This
presented a few problems. Still they
perfected the airplane and saw what it could really do. On September 20, the first circle in the sky
was flown. The longest flight made here
stretched five minutes as Wilbur flew around the 100-acre pasture four
times. More improvements were made, like
separating the tail rudder controls from the wing warping, and the airplane
became even better. This airplane was
the first practical airplane, for it could run as long as its fuel supply held. After a bit, word got out about the strange
flying contraption. Still many people
did not believe, for they thought human flight a true impossibity.
For the next two and a half years the
Wright brothers did not fly. Until the
patent rights were secured, they did not want anyone trying to steal their
invention. Repeated times did the
brothers try to sell their creation to the U.S. War Department, but twice
failed. Despite the Army’s refusals to
buy the plane, Orville and Wilbur were building an even better plane, where you
could sit upright. The Army was having
doubts at their decision, so they got in touch with the Wrights. After much discussion, a contract was
made. The French Government heard of the
Wright brothers and soon another contract was made. It was decided that Orville would stay to
work on the airplane for the
When Wilbur first came to
Across the globe, Orville was making
ready for the demonstration to the U.S. Army.
On
Now came the time when the price of
the airplane would be settled. They
would take a test to determine the average speed. If it was 40 miles-an-hour, $25,000 would be
the Wright's. Every full mile-an-hour
after that would get them an extra $2,500.
Since Orville had to choose another passenger, he chose a small 126
pound man named Foulois in hopes of narrowing his
time. When Orville and his passenger
crossed the finish line, the clock marked 14 minutes and 12 seconds. That meant that the average speed was 42.58
miles-per-hour. This got the Wrights
$5,000 dollars more. Soon airplanes
became a not so uncommon sight. In
August the first plane races were held.
On October 4 Wilbur flew 20 miles up the
The Wright brothers were the fathers
of the airplane. Even though the modern
plane is constantly changing, they still are the founders. We owe many wonderful things to the Wright
duo. We can get around the world much,
much, faster than without the airplane.
For people who have travel as a normal, everyday thing, they thank the
Wright brothers especially for this. But
that thanks does not match the pilot’s gratitude toward them. For them flying is a passion, a passion that
started with Wilbur and Orville. They
love flying, and the Wrights are the ones who made it possible. So next time you see this amazing flying
machine, you know who made it possible for it to be there. The genius brothers named Wilbur and Orville
Wright.