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PoetryPPppPoetry
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Essay/prose
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Short Short
Storyy
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| Class of 2002
Back before the days of ditching school and listening to peer pressure,
back in the days when friendship somehow
meant forever and school was actually fun, we seem to look at the world
with a giant smile, letting every piece of beauty
and knowledge fall into our eager little minds with such fascination and
ease. We take on the world with such pride and
laugh at the idea of "growing up."
Somehow, though, amongst all the trends and truth, we let our
laughter turn to tears and our smiles into judgment. We
become a reflection of how we want others to perceive us. Slowly, our
faces become a mask hiding our true identities,
the identity that would set us apart from the rest, making us different,
the one thing in our lives that we all fear. Our true
identities are sheltered behind name brands and nice rides. Somehow, our
dear elementary school buddies become a
collection of fading memories and a distant stare among judging eyes.
And of course our childhood innocence becomes a place we will
never be again, erased by the harsh rumors and constant
ridicule roaming the halls with lying eyes and empty words. Our innocent
image fades like a ribbon of dust, leaving
behind a body of insecure fears and shallow hopes. We center our lives on
reaching the top and being the best, even though
most of us will never truly feel like we ever made it. Most of us will
never really remember who was on top anyways.
But for most of us who cried the tears of heartache, who felt
the pain of bitter betrayal, who watched a friendship fall apart
and who faced the world when it was actually time to grow up, we somehow
come to realize what it is we are trying to find.
As the walls of high school begin to crumble down and the
constant guidance from our parents begins to slowly fade away,
we are reluctantly forced to change. For some of us, it will be a time to
erase the pain of the past and move on to develop
into a person we no longer have to hide. Into a person who doesn't' need a
nice ride or expensive clothes to be called "cool."
Into a person that can grow and change on their own, instead of in a
crowd. For some of us, the past four years has taught
us the essence of our own spirit is often our only true friend and the
identity that we once worked so hard at locking away,
is usually the person we eventually become.
We have over come the fight to gain the respect we never
really cared about and we begin to face another journey amongst
a world we have never truly seen or understood. There are no more
semesters or tardy bells, or report cards and principals,
only paychecks and bills. But through every fallen tear and broken heart,
we will always look back to the days when we
were young and remember how hard it was to grow up into somehow we can say
we're proud to become.
No one can change or erase the past four years, even though
most of us wish we could, but through it all, we will always
remember that it was worth the fight. High school will always be a piece
of who we are, even though it was the hardest piece
to obtain. For some of us, high school taught us lessons we never thought
we needed to learn, but for most of us, high
school changed us into people we never thought we could become! |
Heather
12th grader
Chino Valley, AZ |
AboAbout the author of class of 2002
I am a senior in high school, about to graduate in a week and all my life
all I've wanted to be is an author and I know one
day I will be!! I am from Chino valley AZ and I love writing, softball and
poetry!
|
There is no such thing as a
"Painless Suicide"
"No one appreciates me. No one cares." The cracked voice
repeated over and over again, like a prayer. "No one appreciates me.
No one cares." The girl bent over to pick up the gleaming knife from
a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. She sat down at the bathroom
counter, looking from the knife held so tightly in her hand to her
reflection in the partly shattered mirror.
The enormous bruise around her left eye, made her pale skin
seem ghostly white. The teenage girl swallowed hard and looked once again
at the knife, just as a clock chimed in the hallway. The girl then noted
the time, "Six o'clock. If I'm going to do this.then.I have to do it
now. Daddy will be home soon.and this time I don't want to be around for
him to hurt me.I don't want him to hurt me anymore."
She walked over to the partially opened window. There
was a puddle of vomit in the sink. Her father had come back drunk as usual
last night. A small fleck of blood caught her eye, rusty brown against the
dirty cream tiles. "I thought I got all that up," She grumbled.
We can't have people seeing things like that. Daddy was a good man, a kind
man. It wasn't his fault he lost his temper sometimes. But she knew what
people thought of him. The priest, he was a good man but he shouldn't
think the worst of people. It was her fault she was bruised, she shouldn't
have asked for more money. "We manage, don't we?" She asked the
empty bathroom as she started to walk to her room.
Her brother, Ryan came home from basketball practice
angry and silent. The large purple mark across his face, showed more than
she thought it had. Silly kid, he shouldn't annoy father like that. Ryan
didn't see how much he hurt daddy when he complained about things. Ryan
was only seven.he didn't know any better. All little boys were naughty.
That's why daddy... punished him sometimes. So he stayed in his room,
pretending not to hear a thing until his father went to bed. Ryan would
learn.then he wouldn't need punishing any more.
It was quiet now. Ryan was asleep, as children of his
age should be. No television for him to watch, daddy had destroyed that in
a drunken rage. But, it didn't matter.she never liked it anyway. She sat
in silence, awaiting his return. His dinner was ready; there was nothing
more to do now.
She wished she had another cat. They had a ginger cat
once. A friendly one that liked to sit on her knee and kept her company.
What was his name? Sammy, that was it. It was a shame that Sammy was
naughty too. Always getting in daddy's way like that. She'd buried him
quietly in the backyard. There was no need to worry Ryan with something
like that.
The door flew open. She rose, obediently. He was
shouting terribly tonight. She hoped Ryan wouldn't hear him. Shouting and
raging at her for spending all the money that he had made. Her murmured
apologies for a crime she didn't commit fell on ears that didn't want to
hear them. His punishing hand rose. And despite her efforts to steel
herself from the blow, she flinched and his hand hit the wall. The girl's
hand flew to her mouth. He's going to be really angry now. "I'm
sorry!" She cried as he picked up the lamp. She backed into the
kitchen, her hands raised pleadingly. Ryan had awoken and he sat quietly
on the stairs, listening as he always did. His only sister, who was more
of a mother, was trapped against the counter with nowhere to run. Before
she thought about it, she seized a nearby flower vase and struck out
blindly.
Silence. Her frightened eyes saw her daddy. So
still.just like poor Sammy. And that glass vase had struck him on his
head! She fell beside him, stammering more apologies. "I didn't mean
it." She whispered, now standing and backing up. Oh dear, he'll be
furious now! She half fell against the counter, catching the dirty cloth
she used for drying dishes with her bruised arm, as she tried to save
herself. The cloth fell from the hanging nail, landing silently in the
overflowing trashcan.
With a little gasp she ran for the stairs,
fearing her daddy's revenge. Ryan had sat there the whole time.naughty
Ryan, he shouldn't have listened to that. She swept him up with
adrenaline-fuelled strength and raced into his room. There she wedged the
battered clothes dresser against the door and sank to the floor, still
holding Ryan. They'd be safe now. Their daddy would calm down. He'd
realise it was a mistake when the alcohol wore off. Ryan struggled against
his sister. She held him tight, murmuring soothing words to try and calm
him. She reached out and held an old teddy bear of Ryan's. "There,
Sammy...you bad kitty.I knew you'd come back. It's ok.we're all ok.for
now."
Ryan fell asleep later on in the night. I quietly
moved the dresser that was blocking the door, walked back down the stairs
and into the kitchen. Father was still lying on the dirty cream-colored
tile floor, where I had left him several hours ago.
The little clock chimed again. Ding-"One."
Ding-"Two." Ding-"Three." Ding-"Four.four in the
morning.the sun will be up soon." The girl said as she bent down over
her father. Looking at him like this was killing her. She looked away, out
the kitchen window, as a tear rolled down her cheek. The salty tear stung
her bruised and scraped face. "Daddy.daddy wake up." She rubbed
his cheek softly.
The man's eyes slowly opened. "What.what happened?"
The man rubbed his head ruffling his graying hair.or what was left of it.
She could smell the liquor on his breath. It was enough to make her sick.
Her father got to his feet, staggering backwards toward the
counter. "You did this! You did this to me!" He raged. His hand
was raised once again.
"I'm sorry daddy! I didn't mean to-"
He cut her off. "Didn't mean to what! Try and kill
me!" He was walking towards her as he spoke. "You're worthless!
Worthless.just like your mother."
"My mother? What about my mother?" Her voice
started to shake. She didn't remember much about her mother, since she
died before her twelfth birthday, a year after Ryan was born.
"She was worthless too! Absolutely worthless! She was
always at home.she never had a job.and she never helped support 'my'
family!" Her dad screamed.
"'Your' family! You have no right to call us your
family! You're the one who tore us apart! You told us that you loved us
and then beat us as if we were an old rug!" She screamed, stopping to
catch her breath.
"How dare you say that to me! I never loved you.and I
never loved your mother either!" His large punishing hand struck her
hard across the face.
She looked up at him, tears flowing down her cheeks. "If
you always tell me you never loved me and you wish I were dead, then why
didn't you kill me a long time ago?"
This time.her father did nothing but look at her. After
an invigorating silence he finally said, "Kileah, go to your
room.it's late and you have school tomorrow."
Obediently his sixteen year old, abused and bruised daughter
climbed the jagged, creaking stairs to her room.
Kileah sat quietly at her desk, copying down some work off of
the board. She was rather embarrassed to even show her face in public. Her
left black eye now had the right one to match it perfectly.
"Why so melancholy Kileah?" Coach Brach asked,
trying not to stare at her bruises.
Kileah looked up from her work at Coach Brach. His dark brown
hair and astonishingly clear blue eyes made him seem much younger than his
actual age of twenty-nine. Kileah snapped out of her fantasy. "No
reason." she said quickly, and then remembering the extremely
noticeable bruises on her face, looked back down at her paper and
continued to copy from the white board.
"Very well Ms. Freeman. Oh by the way.you did a really
nice job on your make up.but you can still see your enormous
bruises." The class laughed and they all started to stare at her.and
at her bruises.
Kileah felt her cheeks turn bright red. She slammed the
door as she ran out of the classroom. She could feel the hot tears welling
up in her eyes as she ran through the halls and out into the parking lot.
The hot, salty tears stung her eyes and burned her scratched face.
She fumbled through her purse and found her car
keys.now all she had to do was find the car. As she wandered around in the
parking lot, her mind began to wander.and she began to talk to herself.
"It's not 'my' car.it's mom's car. It was mom's car before she
died.before daddy killed her. It wasn't mommy's fault that she died.she
was protecting Ryan and me.she died to save us.to save me. I wish that she
had died and that Ryan and I died with her.we would have all been better
off."
She found her car.her mother's car and leaned against it,
breathing hard. "Why? Why me!" She screamed as she slammed her
fist down on the roof of the car, leaving a little dent behind from her
high school ring. Kileah unlocked the door, mumbling some very
un-intolerable words as she climbed into the driver's seat of the car.
It was around twelve in the afternoon when Kileah got home. Ryan
will be home around three thirty, she noted to herself as she walked into
her room, throwing her backpack on the dirty carpet. She pulled a large
glass bottle of vodka from her bottom desk drawer. "Daddy'll never
know it's missing.he has so many more." She also pulled out a
notebook and pen and carefully unscrewed the Vodka bottle...then poured it
out onto the floor. (AN: Honestly Mrs. Smith! Did you really think that I
was going let this poor girl drink? I think not!) Kileah took her pen and
started to write the thoughts that filled her head that night.it was
nothing terribly profound.just these simple words:
"Night's come again and
I'm crying on the bathroom floor
All I want is a decent life
I Never asked for more
Wandering 'round with no purpose
When did my life turn to this?
And all I'm waiting for is a chance
To finally end my life's dance
The pain in my mind is
Long gone, but the hurt in my heart
Is still growing, and growing strong
My suicide note just got signed
Wandering around without joy
Tired of being life's little play toy
But this time I'm not sad
This time I'm almost glad
And the white knife brings
Me such beautiful relief
My next life will be better.
That is my strong belief
Wandering 'round, waiting alone
Now I'm finally going home
With me waiting happily
And now I'm finally going to be free."
Kileah put her pen down, closed her notebook and replaced it
in the drawer. Taking the empty bottle, she went into the bathroom. There
was no vomit in the sink.and no blood on the floor, she cleaned it up
before her daddy could see it. She walked over to the window and opened it
just a crack, then sat down on the little wooden stool in front of the
counter.
A glint of white silver caught Kileah's eye. It was the knife
she had a few days before. Picking it up very carefully she looked at her
reflection in the blade. Her black hair was falling down into her face and
her green eyes were swollen and red from crying.her face, badly bruised,
scratched and swollen.
"Why does my father hate me?" She asked her reflection.
"What have I done so wrong?" She was now looking in the
mirror.but only this time she was seeing it numerous times and in all
different shapes and sizes, because of the shattered glass.
She was now gripping the knife very tightly, holding it by
the blade. She watched as the blood trickled down her arm and placed the
blood stained knife back on the counter as she picked up a dirty
washcloth. She tied the washcloth around her wounded hand, so her daddy
wouldn't notice.
Just then the back door slammed. Kileah jumped and
knocked over the vodka bottle. It fell to the floor and shattered into
tiny, little pieces. She muttered some swear words under her breath as she
ran into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.
Her perfect suicide was not as perfect as she had planned.
The only thing that hindered her from killing herself.was the one thing
that made her 'want' to kill herself.her father.
Moments later her father came walking up the steps and down
the hallway to her room. Kileah was now sitting in the corner behind her
bed, praying that her daddy wouldn't find her. She could hear his heavy
footsteps echo through the otherwise empty house. The doorknob turned and
her father walked in the doorway. She could smell the liquor on his breath
before he even spoke a word.
"Kileah!" He screamed. "Kileah!" He
screamed again. Kileah said nothing but her sobs could evidently be heard.
Her father walked over to the corner, where Kileah sat. "What's the
matter darlin'? Daddy's home." He said with an evil grin as he went
to shut her bedroom door.
Ryan didn't come home that night, so Kileah was left alone
with her abusive father. The next morning Kileah didn't go to school. She
didn't even bother to cook breakfast, which she later got screamed at and
slapped for. Kileah didn't try and move when her father struck at her this
time, she didn't even cry or try to apologize.she didn't need to. She had
made up her mind and she was going to commit her perfect suicide after
all.
Slowly she raised the cocked gun to her head. In just one
heart beat this could all be over. All this could be just a distant memory
of a painful life she no longer lived. She took one last look around her
room. It mainly consisted of taking a couple hits of heroin a day and
listening to loud, depressing music. Posters of 'Life of Agony' and 'Alice
in Chains' hung over the hostile walls.
Needless to say she didn't have much of a social life.
She saw no need in it. Why have people around you who don't know what
you're feeling? Why surround yourself with people who do.why surround
yourself with people at all?
She couldn't control her body anymore. She didn't want
to. Mindlessly, she pressed the barrel to her temple. Her index finger
rested on the trigger. Silence flooded.pressed against her eardrums. She
tightened the muscles in her index finger. The steel bullet launched from
it's steel home and buried deep in her mind, raping it of all coherent
thought. It got lost among 'Life of Agony'. Then blood stained 'Alice in
Chains', blood stained her eyes, and blood stained her soul.
Her daddy came home that night.and found his only
daughter, lying dead on the dirty tile floor. Beside her he found an
envelope addressed 'Daddy'. Her father crumpled to his knees and wept
beside his daughter. Inside the envelope was a letter, poem and a
photograph. His hands were shaking as he read:
"Sit in the dark and wait for the right time
Feel your adrenaline climb
Take out the gun, put it in your hand
Pull the trigger in and give up on this fight
Close your eyes and hold on tight, as you fly on broken wings
Now listen as the Nightingale sings
How softly she sings
Her gentle song, slowly swallowing you
The room begins to fade
She lays there so peaceful and still on the cold tile floor
Her daddy doesn't even notice she's gone
Oh sweet, sweet Nightingale, spread your broken wings and take flight
Carry me deep, deep into the night
Sweet, sweet Nightingale
Take me away, far far away."
His tears ran down the paper, smearing the dark blue ink.
Still shaking he folded the paper back up. He was trying to hold back the
tears. He was doing all he could to keep himself from ripping open the
letter that his daughter had so neatly folded.
Dear Daddy,
By the time you get this, I will be gone. I just
want you to know daddy, that this is all your fault. I wish that I had
done this sooner. Daddy, my diary is upstairs under my bed mattress.I want
you to read it. I want you to know the pain I felt when you hit me, and
when you screamed those hateful words to me. It's not the visible scars
that hurt, it's the ones in my heart that hurt the most.
Daddy, you always told me that I was going to hell.you said that
was where the bad little girls go. Well daddy, I guess I'll see you there.
I'm going to miss mommy, since she's in Heaven. But she said that she'd
always be there.
What happened to Ryan, daddy? Did he disappear the same way mommy
did? Did you make him disappear the same way you made mommy disappear? You
never told Ryan that you loved him. What happened to you daddy? You
weren't like this when I was young. What changed you? You told me that you
loved me once. I remember it really well too. It was on my sixth
birthday.I had just blown out my candles and I was sitting on your lap.
You hugged me and told me that you loved me. You told me that you loved
me! How could you say that! I still love you daddy.I know you tried. But
you didn't try hard enough.
I have to go now daddy. I love you. I love you the way you never
loved me.
Love,
Kileah
Her father folded up the paper. He was crying hard now. His
shoulders were heaving as he picked up the photograph. Even though he was
crying, a small smile spread across his face. The picture was an older
one, he knew. He smiled as he looked at the happy faces of his family. His
wife Janet, was holding baby Ryan, Kileah and Sammy the cat. They were all
smiling. But where was he? He flipped the picture over. Sure enough, there
was something written.
"July 4th- Mommy, Ryan, Sammy and me! Daddy was gone to the pool
hall. He said that he would be back in time to eat with us, but that was
hours ago."
"No wonder they were so happy." He said out loud to
himself. "I was gone. I wasn't there to make them miserable. But that
night.that night was awful." He stood shakily, grasping the counter
for support but then fell back down to his knees. "God I'm sorry! So
sorry! I wish I could take it back! I'd give anything to take it back!
I'll be a good daddy! I promise!" He screamed, still crying.
"I'm sorry.so sorry." He whispered, lying down beside his
daughter. "So sorry."
The sunlight shinned through the blue curtains and right into
Mike's eyes. He groaned, rolling over. Then remembering everything that
had happened, he jumped up. He was in his bed. "I wasn't in the bed
last night." He said scared and confused.
"Mike, honey? What are you doing? Are you ok?" A
voice asked, sleepily behind him.
Mike turned around to face the person of which the voice came.
"Janet?" He looked over at the astonishingly beautiful woman
that was lying beside him.
"Who else would it be?" She asked laughing.
"Janet!" He hugged her neck and kissed her gently.
"It was a dream.it was all a dream! It never
happened!" He yelled happily. His smile faded. "Did I drink last
night?"
His wife looked down at the floor. "Yes." She said as she
pointed to the small bruise on her arm.
"I promise that I'll never drink again!" He screamed
happily.
"What on earth are you going on about?"
"Where's Kileah? And.and Ryan?" He asked hurriedly.
"In their rooms asleep I suppose. Why? Are you sure you're all
right?"
Mike ran out of the room and up the stairs. He quietly opened the
door to Kileah's room. "Kileah?" He walked over to the bedside.
There asleep, was a little girl, about the age of ten, asleep under the
covers. He kneeled down beside the bed and brushed his hand across the
little girl's soft cheek.
"Daddy?" The small girl whispered sleepily.
"Yes it's daddy, honey. And daddy loves you very much."
He said as tears started to well up in his eyes.
He walked quietly out of Kileah's room and into the room
across the hall. He didn't stop in the doorway this time. He walked over
to the crib and peered over the side. "Ryan." He whispered
softly, as a tear rolled down his cheek.
"Mike, are you alright?" His wife asked as she walked into
the room. Close behind her was Kileah, who was still half asleep.
He looked at each of them. Smiling he said, "I am now."
|
Whitney
9th grader
Athens AL |
My name is Whitney and I'm fourteen years old. I've always
wanted to write and publish my work. Despite some people's belief, this
story is nothing like my home life.
I had originally written this story for an English assignment. Our
teacher gave us two weeks to work on our short stories, but I finished
mine in about three days. The teacher commented on my story. She said that
it was both 'chilling and entertaining' and then she later admitted that
she had cried during some parts of it. That was what I was going for. I
wanted to touch someone and get more than a 'good job' or a 'well done'. I
wanted emotion! And my mother and my 8th grade English teacher gave me
those things.
|
GOOD LUCK TO YOU
I felt stupid and childish
watching you
knowing that
the reason i want to be with you
is because i think
you make me feel
safe and protected
But who i am kidding?
Why would you want me?
You're older, cute, popular
I'm younger, foolish, lonely
For the longest time
I wished you would
But now I know
I don't have a chance
with you
I still wish I did
But you like her
The other girl
The older, cute, popular girl
The one who doesn't
Stumble upon her words
But always knows
The right thing to say
The one that lights up your eyes
And grabs your attention
The one you long to be with
And the one I long to be
See,
Aren't I foolish?
Wanting to be someone else
Just to be with you
I guess I'll have to keep searching
And hopefully
Eventually I'll find someone
Who wants to be with me
I'll just have to wait until then
meanwhile,
Good luck
to you
|
Heather
10th grader
Clarkston, MI |
Lost Love
I wish that I can somehow tell you, how I truly feel
What really lies beneath my cover, beneath my daily
mask
That to hide what is so dear to me
Is such a gruesome task
I wish that I could be up front with you, to tell you
so you'd know
That all these years that I've been pining over you, I
just kept putting on a show
Pretending that I didn't care and that I had moved on,
but in reality,
the feelings that I shared for you, they kept me going
on
I love you, miss you, want you
Always have and always will
I'd give up anything I got, just so that I can hold you
If only that would be God's sacred will
It's been so long since I've last kissed you
And felt your sweet and tender touch
And, while recalling all the times you held me near
you
A single tear starts rolling down my eye
Just think of it, two years ago
I was your sweetheart; the one you cared for, loved,
and dreamed of
And, now I see you kissing someone else
My heart just breaks in two at that same glance
Will you come back to me someday?
I just can't stop to question
I hope that you'll return to me one day
Make a brand new start and let go of all the pain and
all the tension
I pray that someday I shall have the strength
To tell you how I really feel, to show you that my heart
is true
and that all my feelings are completely real
Until then.I'll dream of you, while I keep
building up my strength
I pray that you still think of me in more than just a
friendly way
That maybe somewhere deep inside you, you share the
same feelings for me too
Maybe someday, sometime, I'll be standing right beside
you
and finally hear you say those sweet words "I love you
too..."
|
Marianna
Graduate
|
Marianna, 19, Staten Island, NY is a published auhtor and
poet. She has been published on over nine Internet sites, including
TeenLit.com, Stories.com, About.com, Izza's Haven, PlainInk Online
Magazine, TeenInk.com, etc...
She has also been published in the TeenInk magazine (Feb. 2001 issue) and
featured in a nationwide teen seller Teen Girlfriends by Julia DeVillers.
Marianna is currently working as a staff writer at New Youth
Connections Magazine and just recently finished writing for the Board of
Education Home Instruction newsletter. She has been writing since six
years old and hopes to achieve much success at a career in journalism and
flourish as a writer. |
| You Belong to Me
"That was why, when he had spotted her sitting alone at the table,
and later had witnessed her almost girlish pleasure when one of the male
hosts asked her to dance, he knew right away how easy it was going to be.
He raised his glass, and with the faintest movement in her direction,
offered a silent toast.
Your prayers have been answered, he promised, From now on, you belong to
me."
End Quote
One man, with the goal to betray and the desire to kill, is aboard a
cruise trip, under a false identity. He carefully chooses his next victim,
a lonely woman, eager to fall in love. To each of the women he
meets, he gives a ring, inscribed "you belong to me" as a gift.
That is the only thing the women have of him, because he avoids all
pictures, and the romance is kept a complete secret. The woman is to meet
the man at a designated location, where they, together will take a short
separate vacation, and re-board the ship at a later time. But neither of
the two ever boards the ship again, as planned. The man goes off,
and continues his life elsewhere. Meanwhile, the woman is missing,
her body never found, and family and friends know nothing about the
disappearance. However, the man is not perfect, and has left a few major
clues, but nobody, yet has connected all of these deaths, that one man is
responsible for, but Susan Chandler is on the verge of some very
significant and dangerous discoveries.
Susan Chandler, a psychologist and former assistant DA, found much
interest in the topic of one young woman's death. One day, she
decided to have her radio talk show be based on the disappearance.
An anonymous caller called in with some very important information about a
mysterious man. The caller is the one woman who was to meet the man, but
failed to do so. This is the first of the killer's mistakes. The woman
agreed to meet Susan and bring the unique ring he gave to her, and a
picture that she had caught him in the background of. His second mistake.
Instead the caller decided to mail the items to Susan, but the caller
never had the chance to mail the envelope. A car crashed into her, while
she was walking. There was one witness who saw a man push her in front of
the car, that women was found dead in her apartment the next day. Susan,
now greatly interested in the disappearances and in the caller, is
determined to find the killer.
The man has planned to find his next victim very soon, but first he must
take care of all the clues he has left behind. He must collect the
"feathers in the wind." He must hide his mistakes.
There are a few themes in You Belong to Me. The first, is to always be
very careful with whom you become involved with. The second is that people
aren't always who they appear to be. This message is conveyed within the
fact that the man seems to be a quiet gentleman, but in truth is a
dangerous murderer. I agree with this theme, however in some cases, it is
more important to build trust within others.
Mary Higgins Clark is an excellent mystery writer. Her books have much
suspense and the end is a complete surprise, every time. Each chapter of
the book is written in a certain character's perspective, but the book is
still written in the third person point of view. In You Belong to Me, she
takes writing to a different level, in each chapter a new twist is added,
making the book a page-turner.
Quote:
She waited until Detective Anders rang the ball before she opened the
door. Must be getting cold, she thought---his coat collar was turned up,
and he wore a slouch hat pulled down low on his forehead. Plus he was
wearing gloves.
"This will only take a minute, Miss Johnson," he said. "I'm
sorry to disturb you."
Hilda cut short his apology. "Come in," she said quickly.
"I've got something to show to you too." As she led the way to
the desk, she did not hear the soft click of the closing door.
"I did a sketch of the guy I saw," she said triumphantly.
"Let's compare it with the picture you have."
"Of course." But instead of a sketch, the visitor laid down a
driver's license with the photo ID.
Hilda gasped, "Look, it's the same face! That's the man I saw push
that women and grab the envelope."
For the first time, she looked directly up at Detective Anders. He had
removed his hat, and his coat collar was no longer turned up around his
neck.
Hilda's eyes widened in shock. Her mouth opened, but the only sound that
came from her was the faint murmur; "Oh, no!" She tried to step
back, but she bumped into the desk behind her. Her face went ghastly pale
as she realized that she was trapped.
End-Quote
This book is a must-read. However, not everybody will enjoy it. It is an
exciting mystery, but at times it may be too scary for younger children.
Ages 11 and older would most likely enjoy this book. I thoroughly loved
this book, cc by Mary Higgins Clark, and recommend it to anybody
interested in reading it.
|
Kaitlin
8th grader
palo alto, ca, usa |
| GoodBye
She was going to die. She had cancer. She wasn't ready to die; but did
anyone ask her? Twenty year olds don't die, she told herself. She had a
great life: a wonderful group of friends, an awesome family, and a
to-die-for boyfriend. And now she had to leave it behind. She was going to
die.
She wasn't ready to tell everyone the bad news. She wasn't ready to
say goodbye to her house and her new kitten. She wasn't ready to say
goodbye to school before she graduated. She wasn't ready to kiss her
boyfriend for the last time. She wasn't ready.
But she had to prepare. Prepare to do all of these things. She told the
university that she wouldn't be returning next fall. She told her new
college friends she wouldn't be seeing them anymore. She went home and
said goodbye to the first boy she kissed and the first park she played in.
She told her family, "It would be all right," and "Not to
worry." She tried to seem happy and ready for the great journey she
would soon take. But she wasn't. And, every night, she cried and prayed
and wished everything would be normal. She had to prepare.
Her boyfriend was with her everyday, every moment, every step. She was
glad of his support, but grieved immensely at the thought that she
wouldn't see him after a while. She did all the things she wanted to do in
life: had a triple-triple-triple sundae, and went swimming in the pond
with the ducks. She bought her favorite movie and watched it every night.
She wrote to the television station about her favorite show that had been
cancelled five years ago. But something was missing.
The day before she died, she was happy. Her boyfriend took her to a fancy
Parisian restaurant where they had always wanted to go, but never had
enough money. She was happy, sitting there, and imagined everything away.
On the walk home, he held her hand. He led her to the spot where they had
met: a beautiful garden with a bench in the middle. They sat down and he
reached into his pocket. Out came a tiny black box, which he handed to
her. She opened it and saw a small band with a diamond just her size. She
tried it on and hugged her boyfriend, now fiancee. She was happy.
She was excited as she walked home. She showed off her new ring to
everyone on the street. "I'm engaged," she told the grocer as
she walked by. "I'm going to get married," she excitedly shouted
to the hot dog seller. She got home and showed her family.
Now she was ready. Ready to move on to the next chapter in her life. Ready
to say goodbye to her friends. Ready to say goodbye to her family. She was
ready. She was prepared. With a smile on her face, she was ready to move
on. She was happy. With all of these things in her bag of things to carry
in life, she was ready. To die.
|
Lizzi
USA |
My name is Lizzi! I want to shout out to MLB~~ You have
been the greatest English teacher and have really brought out the writer
in me! The class of 2003 all love you and wish you luck! We will miss you
sooooooooooooooooo much! Love Always
|
Searching For David's
Heart
"Tears blinded me, but I kept running, hard and fast. From a
ways behind me, I heard David calling to me. 'Darce!' He yelled.
'Darce!' I could hear his footsteps, growing closer, gaining on me.
I ran even faster, as fast as I could. I got to the street and
darted out between two parked cars. I wouldn't let him catch me, no,
never. I would run out of my own skin, until I became someone else,
anyone else but awful me. 'Darce!' David called again.
'Stop so I can--' That's when I heard the terrible noise from behind me:
brakes squealing, a sickening thud, and then a silence far more terrifying
than the sounds that had come before. I stood on the other side of
the street, panting so hard I thought my lungs would rip out of my throat.
If I didn't turn around, it wouldn't be true. A car door slammed.
'Oh, my God, he darted right out in front of me!' a horrified voice
yelled. 'Is he dead?' 'I've got a cell phone, I'll call 911!'
Did I run back? I must have but I do!
n't remember. All I know is that I was there, next to him. And
all I remember is the streetlight, shining down on the crumpled, mangled,
bloody body of my brother." (p. 65)
Searching For David's Heart is written by Cherie Bennett. Life at the
Deeton House isn't always easy. Money is tight, her parents argue,
and her dad has something against Darcy. Darcy Deeton is a shy
twelve year-old. Her big brother David, is a star football player at
his high school in Wisconsin where he is a senior. Darcy and David
are the closest of friends, soul mates, really.until Jayne, the J-Word
comes along. David's new girlfriend has taken up a lot of time with
David. Darcy feels hurt and neglected. After a big fight in the
park, she runs off. David chases after her and while doing so gets
killed by a car. Darcy is sure it's all her fault, that it's not a
tragic accident, but a murder. There's the murderer on her birthday,
David's death day. All she wants is to say she's sorry to David, for
him to forgive her.
After David's death, his parents decide to donate his heart. Darcy
is now determined to find the person with David's heart. For she is
sure that somewhere his heart is still beating. Somewhere his spirit is
alive. And so the search for David's heart begins.
Darcy Deeton is a one-of-a-kind character. She is quiet, shy, and
tongue tied around most people although she always felt comfortable with
David. Her straight, brown hair, freckles, and chest, which doesn't
need a training bra because there's nothing to train doesn't help boost
her confidence either. In addition to her older brother David, Darcy
has a younger brother named Andy. Her dad is a policeman while her
mom works as a nurse. For her birthday she really wants a new
computer.
An important scene in the book is when Darcy discovers the idea that David
is still alive in the sense that his heart is in someone else. Darcy
and her friend, Sam, are walking in the park when Darcy gets mad because
Sam hasn't seemed to register the fact that she will never get to talk to
her brother again or tell him she's sorry. She starts running toward
her bike and falls on a slippery patch of ice. All the anger starts
building up, and she wishes she were dead. Sam states that if your
heart is beating, you are still alive and so her petition to die has been
denied. Then everything fits together like puzzle pieces. She takes
what Sam just told her and figures that if David's heart is beating in
someone else, he's still alive in a way. Suddenly light dawns where
Darcy has felt trapped in the darkest and scariest place.
The theme of this book is to always have hope. After David dies and
Darcy starts the search for his heart, she describes her hope as this.
"It seems to me that hope is like that bird. For a while, I
took really good care of my new, hopeful feeling. During the next
few weeks, Sam and I spent all our free time trying to find out who had my
brother's heart. But with every blind alley, and every dead end, my
hope got smaller and weaker. If something good didn't happen soon, I
knew it was only a matter of time before I'd be holding a funeral for it
in the backyard too." (p. 82)
If her hoped died, Darcy would give up and never have the same desire to
find her brother's heart.
Cherie Bennett's style of writing uses much dialogue and can be deeply
emotional at times. This book is told in the first person by Darcy
Deeton. By reading this book from the point of view of
the main character, it grabs the reader and the emotions are felt not only
by the main character, but the reader too.
I would highly recommend Searching for David's Heart for ages eleven to
thirteen. Younger readers can understand the story because there
isn't really much complicated vocabulary and the reading isn't so hard.
However, there are some emotional concepts and passages that are brought
up and younger children might not be able to handle them. This book
is great for people who want to enjoy a mystery, adventure, and love story
all in one.
|
Clarissa
8th grader
Los Altos |
About the author Clarissa
I love art, poetry, summer, and sports such as soccer, basketball, and
volleyball.
I enjoy traveling and spending time with my friends. Spending time
with my extended family is also really fun. |
| Your Eyes
When I first looked into your eyes,
I saw the spark of life renewed.
When I stared into your eyes,
I saw a world seen by few.
When I was captured by your eyes,
I soared higher than ever before.
When I was buried in your eyes,
Evil existed nevermore.
When I stared into your eyes,
You stared back at me.
And I hope for evermore,
that that is the way it'll be.
|
Matt
10th grader
Cincinnati,OH,USA |
I am a 16 year old guy who occasionally dabbles around in
poetry. I am an avid reader and just wanted to see what others thought of
my writing.
|
| 8:48
"What number is our flight?" I ask my mom breathlessly,
sprinting through the crowded Boston airport.
"Flight eleven, gate B4. We're almost there. Just a little
further."
My dad glances nervously at his watch, then begins running a little
faster.
I'm so excited! I haven't been to California since my grandma died when I
was five years old. She lived there and I hadn't had a reason to go back
since the tragedy. Now we're going to Los Angeles to visit one of my mom's
old high school friends, Donna, that she'd received a phone call from a
week ago. "A miracle," she'd called it. She had been searching
for her through a US People Search service for Donna when she heard the
phone ring.
Of course I'm not glad about the visiting, but while my mom is at Donna's
house, my dad is going to take me wherever I want to go in LA. The beach,
amusement parks, the zoo... I've never been to LA. Only Sacramento where
my grandma lived in the tiny blue cottage with the white picket fence. The
most beautiful daisies always greeted you cheerfully with their sweet
scent when you stepped up to ring the doorbell. But of course that's gone
now that my grandma isn't here anymore.
"Whatever you want to do is fine with me," the words had sung to
me when my father had said them before we left for the airport. "I
don't want to be stuck in a small house with two gossiping women sipping
hot tea and giggling any more than you do."
Finally we've arrived at gate B4. Outside the window, the white plane with
the words "American Airlines" along the side fires up its
engines. We hand the attendant our tickets and walk down the narrow
corridor to the plane. She tells the pilot through her radio that all
ninety-two passengers are boarded and that we're ready for take-off.
I've been on the plane for about twenty minutes and I'm chewing gum to
keep my ears from popping painfully from the high altitude. I snap it
loudly then turn to look out the window. We're flying through the white
fluff of the clouds, only they don't look so much like clouds up close. I
lose interest and stare down beneath the clouds, where I see nothing but
mountains up to the horizon.
My boredom ceases as I remember where I am going. I'm looking forward to
the beach, I'm sick of the dirty beaches near Boston. Maybe they would be
just the same in LA, but I'm not going to lose hope.
I can't help but notice the man sitting on the other side of the aisle,
just a few rows ahead of me. He has on a black jacket and there's
something long and bulky in his pocket. He keeps fidgeting nervously and
looking suspiciously towards the cockpit.
Maybe he's a first-time flyer, I think. And he's nervous about the flight.
He has a jacket on because the air conditioning is on too high, and he's
carrying a cell phone in his pocket.
I think nothing of it after that. Beside me, my mom hums softly with her
eyes closed, a smile on her face. She must be more excited than I am! To
think of reuniting with a friend after so many years. I smile for her,
pull a magazine from the pocket on the seat ahead of me, and munch happily
on my tiny bag of pretzels as I read about the latest fashion crazes. I
hate these articles, I think, but it's this or stare at the mountains.
Over the magazine I see the man in the black jacket stand up. He looks as
if he's trying to hide something, and there's an angry expression on his
face. He opens the lavatory door, goes inside and shuts it with a loud
click. I watched closely for at least ten minutes, and the man doesn't
come out. I lose interest and go back to the article in my magazine- one
of those quizzes you take and get a score on, that mean absolutely
nothing.
It's Valentine's day and your boyfriend forgets to call. You: a) Dump him.
He's not worth it, why should you bother? b) Forgive him, he was busy. Or
c) Get a little angry, but eventually, you-
WHAM!
The door slams open, and I jump, startled by the sudden distraction. The
magazine rips a page off as it falls to the floor and slides under the
seat in front of me. I hear some little girl scream in terror and everyone
gasps, looking forward. I struggle to see, but I can't lean far enough
over my parents. What's going on?
"Dad? I can't see! What is it?" I say quietly. "Answer me!
What's happening?"
"Don't worry, just keep low and don't say anything," he
whispers. He's pale as my grandma's daisies, and it makes me panic more. I
unbuckle my seat belt and peek between the two seats in front of me.
There, the man in the black jacket stands with a knife held high,
threatening anyone who dares say a word.
I'm so scared. What's happening and why? The man pulls back the curtain
separating the first and coach class passengers, and I can't see what's
going after he closes it. The plane jerks violently and slowly begins to
turn around. The pilot comes on over the P.A. system, his voice choked and
shaking. He tells everyone to remain calm, though he knows it's
impossible. He stops in mid-sentence, and the P.A. suddenly cuts off.
I see the pilot coming back beyond the curtain, behind him the man stands
with the knife to his neck. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket, ties
the pilot's hands together behind his back, and shoves him into an empty
seat. The man tells the him to stay there and threatens him, should he
move. With the knife still at his throat, he touches it to his skin so
that it draws a tiny drop of blood, making sure the pilot knows that he
means what he says. The man spits in his face, turns around and walks
past, snarling at me on his way back to the cockpit, where he takes over
the plane.
We're going in the wrong direction. What's he doing? I don't understand
this! What's going to happen to us?
I look at my watch. 8:35 AM. I should be in LA by 9:45! We all sit in
complete silence for at least ten minutes as we wait to find out what
happens next. My hands are shaking so badly that my armrests are rattling,
and I panic, unsure of what's going on. I look out the window. I see we're
closing in on Manhattan, New York. The Twin Towers are directly in front
of us. We're so low, and there's no runway! Can't he see we're going to
crash?
That's when I realize, of course he sees that. That's the plan. This is no
accident, we're all going to die and there's no way to escape! This is
some terrorist trying to kill us all, and he's heading towards the north
World Trade Center.
Dear God, please help, I think. I'm innocent and I don't deserve this. I
was only looking forward to a trip to the beach. My hands won't stop
shaking, and a tear runs down my cheek. My mom has her hand over her
mouth, trying to stifle her cries, and my dad is nodding his head in
prayer, tears squeezing out his closed eyes.
My mom takes her hand away and gently touches my hand with her tear-soaked
fingers. "We love you, you know that don't you?" Her voice
cracks. She knows, too. Her hand closes around mine.
"No!" I try to be strong, but I know I don't sound that way
through my trembling words. "No, don't start that, Mom! I don't want
this to happen and I know it's going to. I know it! We're all going to die
and I'm-" I can't finish. I break down, my hands cupped over my face.
I'm crying so hard I can't breathe. My dad puts an arm around me and my
mom. "And I'm scared!"
Trying to comfort me, they tell me between sobs that it will be okay. I
know it wont be. The building is coming so close now. 8:48, my watch
says. This is the minute I die. I let out a blood-curdling scream,
terrified of my last thought. My mom's hand gets tighter around mine, and
my dad's arm pulls us all closer. I wince as if I've already felt the pain
of what's about to happen. Softly, I whisper "I love both of you
too," as the glass shatters, smoke and flames closing in around me...
"What number is our flight?" I ask my mom breathlessly,
sprinting through the crowded Boston airport.
"Flight eleven, gate B4. We're almost there. Just a little
further."
My dad glances nervously at his watch, then begins running a little
faster.
I'm so excited! I haven't been to California since my grandma died when I
was five years old. She lived there and I hadn't had a reason to go back
since the tragedy. Now we're going to Los Angeles to visit one of my mom's
old high school friends, Donna, that she'd received a phone call from a
week ago. "A miracle," she'd called it. She had been searching
for her through a US People Search service for Donna when she heard the
phone ring.
Of course I'm not glad about the visiting, but while my mom is at
Donnas house, my dad is going to take me wherever I want to go in LA.
The beach, amusement parks, the zoo... I've never been to LA. Only
Sacramento where my grandma lived in the tiny blue cottage with the white
picket fence. The most beautiful daisies always greeted you cheerfully
with their sweet scent when you stepped up to ring the doorbell. But of
course thats gone now that my grandma isn't here anymore.
"Whatever you want to do is fine with me," the words had sung to
me when my father had said them before we left for the airport. "I
don't want to be stuck in a small house with two gossiping women sipping
hot tea and giggling any more than you do."
Finally we've arrived at gate B4. Outside the window, the white plane with
the words "American Airlines" along the side fires up its
engines. We hand the attendant our tickets and walk down the narrow
corridor to the plane. She tells the pilot through her radio that all
ninety-two passengers are boarded and that we're ready for take-off.
I've been on the plane for about twenty minutes and I'm chewing gum to
keep my ears from popping painfully from the high altitude. I snap it
loudly then turn to look out the window. We're flying through the white
fluff of the clouds, only they don't look so much like clouds up close. I
lose interest and stare down beneath the clouds, where I see nothing but
mountains up to the horizon.
My boredom ceases as I remember where I am going. I'm looking forward to
the beach, I'm sick of the dirty beaches near Boston. Maybe they would be
just the same in LA, but I'm not going to lose hope.
I can't help but notice the man sitting on the other side of the aisle,
just a few rows ahead of me. He has on a black jacket and there's
something long and bulky in his pocket. He keeps fidgeting nervously and
looking suspiciously towards the cockpit.
Maybe he's a first-time flyer, I think. And he's nervous about the flight.
He has a jacket on because the air conditioning is on too high, and he's
carrying a cell phone in his pocket.
I think nothing of it after that. Beside me, my mom hums softly with her
eyes closed, a smile on her face. She must be more excited than I am! To
think of reuniting with a friend after so many years. I smile for her,
pull a magazine from the pocket on the seat ahead of me, and munch happily
on my tiny bag of pretzels as I read about the latest fashion crazes. I
hate these articles, I think, but it's this or stare at the mountains.
Over the magazine I see the man in the black jacket stand up. He looks as
if he's trying to hide something, and theres an angry expression on
his face. He opens the lavatory door, goes inside and shuts it with a loud
click. I watched closely for at least ten minutes, and the man doesn't
come out. I lose interest and go back to the article in my magazine- one
of those quizzes you take and get a score on, that mean absolutely
nothing.
It's Valentine's day and your boyfriend forgets to call. You: a) Dump him.
Hes not worth it, why should you bother? b) Forgive him, he was busy.
Or c) Get a little angry, but eventually, you-
WHAM!
The door slams open, and I jump, startled by the sudden distraction. The
magazine rips a page off as it falls to the floor and slides under the
seat in front of me. I hear some little girl scream in terror and everyone
gasps, looking forward. I struggle to see, but I can't lean far enough
over my parents. What's going on?
"Dad? I can't see! What is it?" I say quietly. "Answer me!
What's happening?"
"Don't worry, just keep low and don't say anything," he
whispers. He's pale as my grandma's daisies, and it makes me panic more. I
unbuckle my seat belt and peek between the two seats in front of me.
There, the man in the black jacket stands with a knife held high,
threatening anyone who dares say a word.
I'm so scared. What's happening and why? The man pulls back the curtain
separating the first and coach class passengers, and I can't see what's
going after he closes it. The plane jerks violently and slowly begins to
turn around. The pilot comes on over the P.A. system, his voice choked and
shaking. He tells everyone to remain calm, though he knows it's
impossible. He stops in mid-sentence, and the P.A. suddenly cuts off.
I see the pilot coming back beyond the curtain, behind him the man stands
with the knife to his neck. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket, ties
the pilot's hands together behind his back, and shoves him into an empty
seat. The man tells the him to stay there and threatens him, should he
move. With the knife still at his throat, he touches it to his skin so
that it draws a tiny drop of blood, making sure the pilot knows that he
means what he says. The man spits in his face, turns around and walks
past, snarling at me on his way back to the cockpit, where he takes over
the plane.
We're going in the wrong direction. What's he doing? I don't understand
this! What's going to happen to us?
I look at my watch. 8:35 AM. I should be in LA by 9:45! We all sit in
complete silence for at least ten minutes as we wait to find out what
happens next. My hands are shaking so badly that my armrests are rattling,
and I panic, unsure of what's going on. I look out the window. I see we're
closing in on Manhattan, New York. The Twin Towers are directly in front
of us. We're so low, and there's no runway! Can't he see we're going to
crash?
That's when I realize, of course he sees that. That's the plan. This is no
accident, we're all going to die and there's no way to escape! This is
some terrorist trying to kill us all, and he's heading towards the north
World Trade Center.
Dear God, please help, I think. I'm innocent and I don't deserve this. I
was only looking forward to a trip to the beach. My hands won't stop
shaking, and a tear runs down my cheek. My mom has her hand over her
mouth, trying to stifle her cries, and my dad is nodding his head in
prayer, tears squeezing out his closed eyes.
My mom takes her hand away and gently touches my hand with her tear-soaked
fingers. "We love you, you know that don't you?" Her voice
cracks. She knows, too. Her hand closes around mine.
"No!" I try to be strong, but I know I don't sound that way
through my trembling words. "No, don't start that, Mom! I don't want
this to happen and I know it's going to. I know it! We're all going to die
and I'm-" I can't finish. I break down, my hands cupped over my face.
I'm crying so hard I can't breathe. My dad puts an arm around me and my
mom. "And I'm scared!"
Trying to comfort me, they tell me between sobs that it will be okay. I
know it wont be. The building is coming so close now. 8:48, my watch
says. This is the minute I die. I let out a blood-curdling scream,
terrified of my last thought. My mom's hand gets tighter around mine, and
my dad's arm pulls us all closer. I wince as if I've already felt the pain
of what's about to happen. Softly, I whisper "I love both of you
too," as the glass shatters, smoke and flames closing in around me...
|
| |
This is the first piece of write I have ever tried to be
published. I love writing short stores and poetry at home in my spare
time.
|
|
