Chloe Lockwood

4TH MARKING PERIOD:

I wake to a rattling knock on the door. Sliding out of my silky sheets, I let my legs dangle cautiously over the edge of my small cot for a moment before gingerly touching my bare feet to the musty wooden floor. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and tension courses through my body. The knock comes again; rattling the brittle wooden door. I make my way over to the front entrance, but not before grabbing a large steel shovel from my closet. The creaking of the old floor boards beneath my feet alert the knocker to my approach. "Please, let me in. I need help.. they're.. they're coming for me." a croaking whisper carries through the thin wood between us, "Please..." Tightening the grip on my shovel I open the door a crack and peer outside. A set of ice blue eyes peers back. Startled, I recoil and my loose strands of hair catch in the splintering wood, pulling the door open with me. The young man before me's pain stricken face is illuminated with lantern light and the way he clutches his side makes the conclusion plain as day- he's been shot. In the fleeting moments it takes me to process this, he bends over, still clutching his side, and breaks into a coughing fit. He hesitantly draws one hand from his side wound to cover his mouth and when he pulls it away, it's drenched in blood. He's coughing up blood. Feeling nauseated, I stumble backwards. His knees wobbling, he lets a dread inducing sentence roll of his lips and his eyes remain dead set on he back wall, "They're coming for me, and they'll come for you too.", then collapses into a heap on the floor. I force myself to approach him. Tenderly rolling him onto his back, I manage to find my voice, "Who's.. Who's coming for you?" Without opening his eyes, the stranger croaks out one last word, "Run." A chill goes down my spine and I swallow hard. I already know what I'm going to find, but I allow myself to hope as I place my fingers onto his neck. I feel no pulse. He's dead. I remember his advice, "Run."

2 DAYS LATER The biting wind nips at my flushed cheeks.I can almost taste the piney aroma that fills the air. Reaching a clearing in the dense woodland, I decide to set up camp. Plopping down onto a tree stump, I bite into a bland granola bar. This is my fourth camp in two days, but I have to keep moving or else they'll find me. The paper I found crumpled up in the stranger's frost bitten hand explained everything, and I can never stop running... to be continued

NEW STORY Rounding the corner, I tear down the stretch of ground in front of me, gravel spitting from beneath my shoes. My heart pounds and the only thing I can think about is getting the heck away from my pursuers; whoever they might be. Fear is suffocating me, I’m short of breath, my head is spinning… I can’t m-o-v-e… some invisible force feels as if it’s pulling me back. I’m overwhelmed by a sudden compulsion to turn around. My once bolting sprint has become a slow jog at best. It feels like I’m running through thick sludge, my will weakens, and as if I’m a puppet whose strings are being pulled, I turn around to face my pursuers. My eyes lock on a tall figure with a dark, shiny mask. In the mask I can see the reflection of my own terror-stricken face. As my eyes meet the mask I look straight into my own icy blue eyes and something inside of me snaps. Everything turns to an empty blackness and eerily familiar voice meets my ears. “Kaelynn Henebery is awake.”

My eyes snap open and I take a gasping breath. Feeling the smooth bed sheet against my cheek, I exhale in relief. It was just a dream. My mom’s voice carries in from the kitchen, “K, breakfast is ready!”  Breakfast. I am a normal girl with a normal life starting her normal day. It was just a dream...

A warm breeze tossels my wavy strawberry blonde hair as I turn the corner of Jefferson and Bellevue on my usual route to the park to meet Jocelyn. The air feels static with the nervous excitement that takes hold in the calm before a storm. Mom said the rain was supposed to hold off until later today, but as I glance upward the sky tells me other wise. It appears that the dark clouds are on the brink of giving way to a July Thunderstorm, and a big one by the looks of it. My eyes linger on the clouds for a few moments with anticipation before I finally see the first raindrop fall. As the icy water droplet meets the warm skin of my arm, a chill runs through my whole body. Visions flash before my eyes. Strange figures with plastic gloves and notepads monitoring people strapped to tables… I see myself hooked up to test tubes. An identification number is written in dark ink across my forearm. A masked figure approaches me with a syringe containing a shiny liquid. My limp wrist is lifted and the needle of the syringe plunges into my arm. Slowly, the shiny liquid drains into my bloodstream, my eyelids droop close and my monitors start to beep. A new vision appears. It's a blueprint for a dome that looks like a.. a force field. I look closely into the force field, the buildings look strangely familiar.. but.. no... it can’t be... and yet, it is. The buildings inside the force field blueprints look strangely familiar because they’re the buildings in MY town. I am in the force field, and the force field must be here for a reason…So what is that reason? Is the force field meant to keep us   in, or something else  out ?

This time when my eyes open I’m not in the safe comfort of my bed. Instead, I find myself lying on the hard concrete sidewalk, and this time I’m not alone. “Kaelynn?” Jocelyn's normally calm voice is now full of concern. Groaning in reply, I bring my right hand up to massage my temple. I just want to wake up from this nightmare. Someone please pinch me! But I won’t wake up; I can’t wake up. I can’t wake up from this because this time, it wasn’t a dream. to be continued..

WHERE I’M FROM I am from saltwater. I am from hot, sticky wax on smooth surfboards. From flashlight tag on a moonlit beach with the soft sand tickling my toes as I run. From racing to the water’s edge and tripping through the waves with a splash. I am from cool ocean water lapping around my ankles as I build castles of sand in the shallows. I am from eating with my face slices of pizza bigger than my head. I am from the tarnished old gray-blue house on 90th street with the beach right outside my front door. I am from mild summer nights on the front porch swing listening to Papa’s stories. From the smell of cool rain on hot asphalt. I am from dark summer skies on the brink of giving way to August thunderstorms. From skinned knees and Minnie Mouse band-aids. From vivid sunsets over the lake; taking in Mimi’s lemony scent as I drift to sleep in her arms.

I am from mud puddles. From hissing kettles and bitter, pungent black tea. I am from flushed cheeks and roaring wind. I am from doughy, thick, spongy pancakes with mountains of gooey, tepid butter dripping down the sides. From coming in from the yard just before dark to the aroma of Dad’s italian cooking. I am from forts in the basement made of blankets and chairs that would keep out the monsters. I am from the Sicilians and the vikings. From my crazy Italian great aunts with their long fingernails and thick accents.From fingers sticky with the remnants of cloy apple pie.

I’m from braids, From poofy pink princess dresses with sequins and glitter. I’m from Mom’s fuchsia red lipstick smeared around my chin. I’m from dull dirty boots once bright purple pink that I refused to take off. Ever. From Dad’s fuzzy yellow hat covered in icy flakes sliding over my eyes as Mom snapped the picture. I am from Freckles the plush dog, my closest companion, always by my side. I am from “Let’s Wing It!” and “Who needs a plan?”

I am from the crazy family. From screaming our heads off while suri-biking with dangerous velocity down the boardwalk. I am from late nights all crammed into my father’s bed for the weekly episode of Survivor. From singing loudly with the windows down and the radio up. I am from travels and adventures. From suitcases and hotel rooms. From trips down south and out west. I am from playing outside until dark. From chasing fireflies and popping bubbles. From becoming a part of the endless seas of green and watching the clouds drift by on the gentle breeze. I’m from chalk covered hands And grass stains on my knees.

I am from the forest, From spruces,elms, and oaks with their bumpy brittle bark against my back. I am from the smell of campfire smoke mingling with the scent of the pines and the open air. I am from pitching tents and hiking mountains. From rushing streams and skipping stones. From ripples on a tranquil lake and toasty sleeping bags. I am from spontaneously combusting marshmallows that were just never golden brown.

I am from big adventures and even bigger dreams.

Why? the question of all questions As it seems the answer to life, Hidden in the answer to such a question it may be Why are my fingers dancing across the keys as these words flow from my mind to the paper? Why is it that you’re scanning your eyes across these letters? Why bother to ever leave the sweet, simple, silent, serenity of my welcoming bed? Why not let the covers envelope me and shut out all the stress of the day to come? Why bother working to get a perfect score when there is no prize? Why should I keep pushing beyond my limits? Why give 110%? Why try, When in 200 years no one will care what I did. And it brings me to the core of the question, The real question The puzzle that is yet to be solved, And never will be Because there is no answer I try for me, He tries for Jim She tries for Kim. Kim tries for her mother. Jim tries for his brother. So why do I still ponder why I’m here. Why am I spinning on this ball of dirt in the middle a colossal sea of lackness? Why do I matter? No one has ever known why. Know one ever will.

Hi. My name is Johnny. I’m a feather that is currently floating to my impending doom in a fiery volcano. Sorry, I guess I should give some backstory first, and I probably have a couple minutes before I’m become a crisp of bacon on the world’s hottest piece of toast. It all started 3 days, 9 hours and 17 seconds ago… I woke up like I would any other day. Right on schedule, the old brittle door to the musty closet creaked open and Carla’s long arm stretched towards the hook where all of us purses hang. Her probably fake pink fingernails brushed against me and a couple of other feathers as she reached for the hook. I experienced the familiar feeling of weightlessness for an instant as Carla lifted us from the hook, then we sunk down to her hip. We were off! From here, things started to go south. As we jolted and bounced from our thin string on Carla’s shoulder, I got a glimpse of the sailing by clock. The blinking red numbers were the first problem on a list of problems that would grow longer and longer as the day went on. They read 6:58. On an average day we’re out the door by 6:15; 6:20 at the latest. My heart raced as I pondered why on earth Carla was so late, then, a chilling thought occurred to me. What if this wasn’t Carla? It could just be an impersonator with very good costume making skills. What if this was some random person taking us to be auctioned off at a flea market. Don’t become one of those crazy feathers like Philip Seymour Carter the third, I reminded myself. To be continued shortly

winding, winding, endlessly. winding, twisting, and turning for eternity. ups and downs. inclines and declines. spinning, swirling, winding. a maze of decisions. turn left, happy day. turn right, sad day. opportunities and obstacles, every little thing altering the course of fate. I am a lawn mower paving the path through this maze that is life.

NEW STORY Cramming the last water bottle into my pack, I sling it over my left shoulder and rise to my feet. Most people left the camp this morning around sunrise. Now it’s almost eleven and I can feel the harsh sun beating down on my back through the layer of thin, ragged, cloth I’m using as a shirt. I really need to get out camp because the day is winding down and soon it will be night, but I have to wait for Jackson to finish packing. Jackson is my eight year old traveling companion who I’ve sort of taken under my wing. It’s beyond me how he can be still packing when he has even less belongings than me, not to mention he started an hour ago! Just as I’m about to go nag him to move faster, Jackson comes around the corner with his Spiderman backpack on. “Let’s go!” his voice, sweet like honey, conveys the innocence of a child. Just the pure sound of it is like a warm sunshine, not the blaring kind the sunburns my back, but a soft light that melts the icy wall that I put up around my heart to keep out the emotions after I lost my family. “Ok.” I smile at the innocent eight year old who is the joy of my life; my little sunshine. I reach down for Jackson’s hand and lace my fingers through his; “Let’s go.” To be continued..

3RD MARKING PERIOD: A Little Boy's Hero "Shoooooom! Dr. Devil-ray swoops in on his evil blast-a-tron-glider 5,000." Joey lifts the plastic figurine in the sky and drops him onto a pillow so that he bounces nearly 3 inches in the air, pretty clever for a five year old. Mom chimes in "All hope seems to be lost for Brownsville when a familiar voice meets the citizen's ears." Catching on, a broad grin erupts on Joey's face, "You'll never get away with this Dr. Devil-ray! POW!" This time, when the plastic figurine of Dr. Devil-ray is pushed by Captain Cool, his landing isn't cushioned by the pillow, he lands with a smack on the solid wood floor and remains motionless.

"Hey Joey I lost track of time we've got to go to the bank now!" Mom exclaims after a quick glance at her watch, and so Joey is swooped away from his figurines and strapped into the baby blue car seat in the back of his Mom's minivan. "But what about Captain Cool Mommy? We can't leave him behind!" Joey's mother meets his eyes and sees the true concern behind them, and she smiles. "We wouldn't need a hero for a trip to the bank Sweetie." Joey always liked traveling to the back. There were so many things to explore and fuel his curiosity. Tons of new people from all different backgrounds, crazy machines that the man behind the desk referred to as computers, and so much more. Joey found his eyes wandering from his mother as he followed her through the crowds of people in the bank. There was one man in particular that caught his eye. The man wore dark clothes and he carried a large black backpack. Just as Joey grew tired of contemplated the bag's contents, he turned away to find his mother was no where to be seen. A wave of icy panic rushed through his body- where had she gone to?!? To young children, time is a mysterious force, so to Joey this period of time spent looking for his mother felt like hours, when in reality it was more like seconds. His search was rudely interrupted by a scream from behind him. Joey turned around and was met with a shocking site- the suspicions man from earlier had pulled out something that closely resembled Mr. Devil-ray's blast-a-tron-glider 5,000- big and scary. All around him people were screaming and the bank erupted into chaos around Joey. He needed Captain Cool to save him now! Those couple of moments were a blur of insanity to Joey, and with the world deteriorating around Joey, he began to cry. No, not just cry but sob; wail really. But in this low moment, for Joey a hero was born. A hero with a blue shirt and shiny gold badge busted through the door. He stopped the suspicious looking man, who Joey suspected to be Mr. Devil-ray in disguise, and put him in shiny silver hands-cuffs. Tears were still fresh on Joey's cheeks though, and he had no idea where his mother was. The hero in blue seemed to be approaching Joey, and as the man drew nearer Joey read the name tag on his uniform in astonishment. Well Joey, being a five year old, couldn't exactly read, but the 5 letters on the name tag were probably the only 5 letters Joey knew- JOEY. Joey, the man in blue that is, placed his hand on Joey the fiver year old shoulder, "Are you lost son." Joey sniffled and nodded. Joey number 2 smiled and said a couple of words into his walky-talky. A few minutes and many tears later, Joey saw his mother sprinting towards them. She embraced him in a bear hug, "Oh Joey!! I was so worried!!" Joey was about to tell Mom how he wasn't worried at all because he met Joey number two who was a super hero and he had everything under control, when officer Joey tapped him on the shoulder. "Follow your dreams son." he said as he took of his police hat and handed it to little Joey. On the car ride home Joey told his mom, "I know what I'm gonna be when I grow up. I'm gonna be a superhero. I'm gonna be Officer Joey, Jr."

I wear my heart on my sleeve, let the world dictate my emotions. I cry too easily. I share myself to strangers. I put myself out there, and sometimes people reject me. They criticize me. Laugh at me. Blame me. But still I wear my heart on my sleeve, let the world dictate my emotions. I laugh often, I put myself out there and I make friends. People appreciate the real,  raw  me. They  like  me. Laugh  with  me. And so I don't hide my emotions. I don't stifle my tears, I don't hold in my laughs, I don't keep my anger inside. I let my emotions roam free, I show the world the REAL me.

The clock  tick, tick, ticks  down as the final seconds of the game approach. My face is as red as the tomato soup from last night's dinner, and as piping hot as it too. My eyes follow the ball's pattern as it bounces of the shiny court and back to the hand of the guard. In the background my Coach is screaming my name, I know what I have to. In one darting motion, my hand swipes the ball from the air. I can hear the crowd, but as I push towards the basket everything seems to fade. There's only me and the ball in my hands. The rim approaches and I know it's now or never. I fall into my two steps for a layup. A motion so rehearsed I don't think, just do. The ball peels away from my finger tip as a hard blow strikes my arm. A shrill whistle blows; indicating the foul, but the ball has already left my hands. The room is so quiet with tension that it seems a blink of an eye has the decibel level of a nuclear explosion. Everyone watches as the ball rolls around and around the rim. The crowd seems to collectively inhale as the orange sphere teeters on the edge of the hoop; the edge of my fate; the edge of victory; the edge of defeat. And it rolls in. My eyes dart to the score board, it's 16-17 and it will all come down to my one foul shot. Pressure weighs down on me like I'm bearing the weight of the sky on my shoulders. I stand at the line and shoot, the ball screams, soars, slices through the air and... and... It bounces of the rim. I missed. The buzzer rings and the game is over. Done. Finished. Fate Sealed. I failed.

NEW STORY...

Jules

Tap, splat, tap, splat, tap, splat. I tap my fingernails on the dashboard in harmony with the splat of the rain as we cruise around Liberty Drive. Charlotte seems to be saying something, but I think she’s talking to Heather instead of me, or at least I hope. Getting into an argument with Charlotte on a rainy Tuesday afternoon in April over me not paying attention to her mindless babble is the last thing I need right now. All of my waking thoughts are devoted to the upcoming finals; I can’t let my focus stray from the Calculus book in my hands. My brain feels like it’s filled with wool and my eyes are turning into two figurative little fiery infernos inside my sockets and as much as I hate to admit it, I need a break. So I let my thoughts wander freely and my eyelids droop closed. The lulling sound of the rain mixed with the blues Charlotte has the radio tuned to are about enough to put me to sleep. I can feel the warm and welcoming arms of sleep enclosing me and I can feel the heaviness begin to engulf me as I’m about to drift into sleep, when a sharp; piercing scream from Charlotte followed by another from Charlene rip me violently into a fully awake state.

People always say that when you’re about to die you see your whole life flash before your eyes, but for me I saw not my past, but the lost possibilities of my future. How I’d never stroll down the aisle with a beautiful white gown trailing behind me, never sit on the beach with my husband and watch the sun set over the ocean. I’d never throw my hat up in the air as I graduated high school, even though it was only 2 months away. How I’d never join a sorority or paint my face for a college football game. I would never look down at a child’s eyes as he or she lay softly in my arms and know that that child was my child. So many moments I would never experience, so many people I’d never meet, jokes I’d never laugh at, tears I’d never wipe from my daughter’s cheeks. Time seems to slow down in these final, fatal moments, as we spin and skid towards the impending doom of the crash. The car flips and the world outside the front windshield begins to spin as my head slams around. The metalic taste of blood fills my mouth as the edges of my vision fade to black and the last thought that crosses my mind is  What a way to die- studying for a senior year calc. final in Charlotte’s car listening to the blues on a rainy Tuesday afternoon in April. and then I slip over the border of consciousness and everything goes black.

Charlotte

Beep, beep, beep, beep. Am I Dead? Is the first question that crosses my mind as I regain consciousness. The shrill beeping of my heart beat monitor fills my ears as I slowly open my eyes. My head hurts like a stampede of elephants have just trampled by brains and my vision is foggy. Taking in my surroundings, I seem to be in a hospital bed in a plain white room. The walls are lined with colorful flowers and my bedside table is practically overflowing with chocolates, cards, and teddy bears. The room appears to be empty, so I reach over and grab a teddy bear from my table. His soft fur is a fluffy cloud of creamy brown and milky white and I am overwhelmed with the temptation to hug him. I’m all wrapped up in a hugging frenzy with my new friend Mr. Teddy Bear when a chill goes down my spine. The thought hits me like an icy knife- I’m OK, but what about my friends? Charlene and Jules were in the car with me when we crashed, what if something happened to them.. I.. I would never forgive myself… Panic consumes me, and just when I feel my heart might beat right out of my chest, my question is answered. Well, let me rephrase that, part of my question is answered. Charlene comes through the door, her face blank and her eyes gazing to the floor. “Charlene?” I call to her. She looks up with an expression of pure bewilderment on her face. “CHARLOTTE! YOU’RE OK!!” She smiles from ear to ear and flings herself onto me in a very uncomfortable hug. “I’ll go get the nurse; let her know you’re awake.” She turns on her heel and races toward the door so quickly I barely have time to call out to her before she’s halfway down the hall. “CHARLENE! WAIT!” “What?” She re enters the room from the hallway. “Where’s Jules?” I put every ounce of hope in my body into those two words. The expression on Charlene’s face alone is enough to make my heart sink into my toes, “She… She’s in a coma… When the car flipped her side went down and she smacked her head on the concrete through the broken window. The doctors don’t know if she’s gonna make it…” Charlene’s voice cracks on the last few words and I can see tears forming in the corner of her eyes. My mouth hangs open in a state of disbelief. “I’m gonna go ahead and get the nurse..” Charlene turns and walks out of the room, the sounds of soft, muffled crying follow her.

After my conversation with Charlene everything goes by in a blur. The nurse comes in and does some tests and talks to me, Mom comes in and hugs me, everyone just keeps telling me it’s gonna be OK, but it’s not. All I can picture is a lifeless Jules lying in a hospital bed; her beautiful long black hair resting softly behind her head on her pillow. The thought that sweet, smart, friendly, sensitive, beautiful Jules might never smile again, never open her ice blue eyes and take in the world again, never laugh her soft laugh again, it is too painful an idea to think about, yet it dominates my every waking thought.

CONTINUATION OF VERY FIRST STORY.....

Where am I ? As I begin to regain consciousness everything starts coming back to me. The men in the dark clothes, the syringe, the helicopter… I try to sit up, but a sharp pain shoots through my left arm. “Careful now, you’ll tear your stitches.”, a calm, monotone female voice comes from the nurse I had not realized was present. “We had to implant a tracker into your left arm, it’s standard safety protocol.” My mind is spinning, I’ve got a killer headache, and I can’t seem to find my voice, “Wha… Where…” The nurse smiles, but not the kind of warm, genuine smile you might see on your Grandma, a smile that seems cold and rehearsed. “I know you probably have a lot of questions, and that’s normal. All of your confusion will be cleared up at the ceremony. You need to put on your uniform and follow me to the grand hall.” She gestures at a jumpsuit draped over a small table. It's solid gray like the color of the sky on a rainy day, kind of like my current mood- without the hope or light of the sun. “Where am I?” I try again. “You need to put on your jumpsuit and follow me to the grand hall.” the nurse repeats, her smile tightening. After weighing my options, I decide that it’s in my best interest to cooperate. Gritting my teeth through the pain, I pull myself out of bed and slowly make it over to my new ‘uniform’. It’s a solid gray short sleeved jumpsuit with an identification number printed on on the back in thick black ink: 3919 To my surprise the nurse offers me no privacy as I slip out of my old clothes and into my new uniform, but what was I expecting the way things had been going so far? Without a word I follow her through the doorway into a plain white hall where her pace quickens as she leads me through a series of complicated turns. I’m beginning to feel like a guinea pig in a maze when finally, she stops in front of a large steel door, “You have to proceed from here alone. Through this doorway you will find a large room-the grand hall. Find yourself a seat and await further instruction.” I nod and turn to the ominous door, placing my hand on the handle. Taking a deep breath I turn the knob and step inside… The room is dead silent and the creak of the door practically screams, “HEY LOOK AT THIS GIRL!” I feel eyes following me as I make my way to a seat on the other side of the tension filled room. The knot in my stomach loosens a bit when the girl next to me catches my eye and smiles. Her smile, unlike the nurse’s, fills me with warmth and reassurance. I’m contemplating whether or not to introduce myself when the decision is made for me. A tall bald man with a blue business suit clears his throat, “Good afternoon. My name is Dr. Scott Prescott and I’m in charge of the trials program for the society. You have all been randomly selected to be put through a series of designed trials with an end goal of the administrators gaining knowledge to help improve our society. If you do not pass a certain trial then you will have to be ‘released’, the bottom line is, you do not want to fail. Today you will be assigned your roommates and living quarters, the first trial begins tomorrow morning.”

To be continued...

2ND MARKING PERIOD: CONTINUATION OF 1st story in 1st marking period...

Seconds turn to hours as I sit in that hard plastic chair. Waiting, waiting, waiting, in a room smelling of medicine and despair. Not my idea of a fun afternoon. After the nurse diagnosed me I stopped listening. What was the point? What was the point of listening to some nurse just counting down the seconds until her lunch break recite a list of useless ‘treatments’ that wouldn’t help in the long run. I guess that was what ticked me off so much- nothing would help in the long run. In the long run I would probably die and maybe some charity organization would be started in my honor. I could still hear the faint, muffled sound of her voice as she informed my mother of treatment options. I felt a million miles away from the people bumping elbows with me. As I wallowed in a pool of self pity as big as the Pacific Ocean, something the nurse was saying snagged my attention. One word pulled me from my thoughts and into the harsh reality of my life. But that one word also gave me hope. I had heard the nurse say, “Experimental.”

“What?” I asked quite abruptly. They both looked over at me, as though suddenly aware of my presence. The nurse’s piercing blue eyes stared straight at me. They seemed to see inside of me, searching my soul. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I asked again, more firmly this time. “What did you say about an experimental procedure?” The nurse drew her lips into a tight line and waited for what felt like an eternity before saying, “Well, if your mother approved, there is a procedure that doctors have recently started field testing. Of course there's still a lot of risks, but they are starting to look for human test subjects. You’d have to fill out some waivers, but if you’re interested I could set up an appointment for you to meet the administrators.” We both looked to my mother. (TO BE CONTINUED)

(new story)

∂∂∂∂∂∂∂∂∂Day dreaming∂∂∂∂∂∂∂∂∂∂

What is the point of my life? A question I ponder too much it seems. I’m supposed to be taking notes from the book for my biology test tomorrow, but I’m too caught up looking wistfully into the distance. My thoughts keep wandering from C15H12O6 to what I’m gonna eat for lunch. Speaking of lunch, what time is it? Uggghh. The clock punches me in the gut- how could this period have started just 5 minutes ago?!? Well if I haven’t died of boredom by lunch time, then I think I’ll buy a grilled cheese sandwich from the cafeteria. To balance out the savory taste of the cheese, I’ll need something sweet… Ice cream sounds good, Mint Chocolate Chip... Focus! I bring myself down to Earth and try to fill out my bio notes… Oh man look that says H2O! That’s like the title of a Sci-Fi book I read once. It was about a girl struggling to survive in a world where water is poisonous. Isn’t that the premise of most books nowadays? Main character+horrible experience= New York Times Best Seller. I wish popular literature would be more diverse, there’s so many books out there and… .A traffic guard in a neon vest appears in my mind holding an immense red STOP sign. This is my little ritual I do in my mind when I get distracted. It’s like my way of saying “Hey Brain! You’re off track- refocus on your notes!” I let out a lengthy, exasperated sigh and try to put pencil to paper. My head feels like a football game. A football game where the coach is yelling at the referee about a foul and the parents are screaming at one another about whether or not the point should count. A football game where the players are wrestling each other and grunting, and I’m just that one kid who’s the rookie sitting on the bench with her head in her hands. There’s a million voices in my head at once and I.. I.. ..am saved by the bell!! It’s lunch already? Looking down at my paper a knot forms in my stomach. There’s two words written down, My first and last name….... “Quiz tomorrow guys!” My teacher calls on the way out. Oh man, how am I gonna explain another C to my parents?

(New Story) THE EXTENT A DOG WILL GO TO FOR STEAK...

Ollie stretched out across the floor, preparing for a nice nap, but just as he was about to drift into sleep, something caught his attention. His nose twitched as a scent drifted in through his nostrils. Ollie recognized the smell right away. STEAK! He shot up off the ground and scurried towards the kitchen, his claws sliding on the wooden floor. Ollie’s nose led him to the door onto the porch. He could see the steak on the grill outside, just inches away from him. It was hot and sizzling like the driveway in mid-July. There was just one problem. The door was closed. Ollie whimpered and caught the attention of his owner, “Sorry bud, this steak’s not for you.” Ollie watched longingly through the glass as his owner flipped the steak- the juicy, meaty, steak, that he wanted more than anything to sink his teeth into. Drool started dripping from Ollie’s mouth as he stared pleadingly at his owner, who just shook his head. Ollie laid down in a defeated slump on the floor. ‘There has to be another way.’ he thought to himself. That’s when he noticed that his owner had left one of the kitchen windows open. With this new hope as his motivation, Ollie pulled himself off the floor. He jumped up onto a stool, and from there he jumped to the counter, knocking over a few things in the process. Now the only thing that stood between Ollie and the steak was a window screen. With all his might Ollie threw himself at the window screen. The screen popped out, sending Ollie tumbling into the bushes. It took him a few moments to get his bearings, but he soon realized that the people had left the steak unguarded while it cooled. Ollie sneakily made his way over to the grill, and there it was. The most beautiful piece of steak Ollie had ever seen. It was a perfect charred brown on the outside, and a moist pink on the inside (where it had been cut in half). Ollie knew he shouldn’t, but he just couldn’t stop himself. He sunk his teeth into the steak and dragged it into the bushes. 10 minutes later… “WHAAAAAT?!!?? Where’s the steak?!!?” Ollie’s owner was very angry, but Ollie wasn’t afraid, the only thought going through his head was, “I need a nap.”

(NEW STORY) My hands are red and cracked like the glass shards I sweep into my dust pail. It used to have such promise- this beautiful red porcelain hen. Alas, the young boy wasn’t careful, just a little nudge from his elbow and… I finish sweeping the glass and wash my hands. There’s no one in the room but me, they’re all asleep at this hour. Thinking I’m done for the day, I lie down on the floor next to the fireplace and curl up in my blanket. I close my eyes, pretending I’m in a nice soft bed instead of on the cold, hard floor. My eyelids grow heavy. It’s been a long day of work and I’m about to drift off when a shout comes from the upstairs. It’s the young boy, Samuel. “Slave!!!! Get Up ‘ere NOW!!!”, I hurry up the stairs, blanket in hand. I know better than to pretend I can’t hear him. That’ll just result in another wippin’. “What took you so long!” he spits, “ I was freezin’! Gimme your blanket!!!! Father'll surely hear of this!”. Smiling wickedly, Samuel pops out of bed and races down the hall. I slump down onto the floor and hug myself- I’m really in for it now.

1ST MARKING PERIOD

"Next in Line Please.” The nurse’s voice, crisp and sour like a green apple, fills me with dread as we enter. I take a seat in a hard plastic chair and inspect my surroundings. No one here is normal. But I suppose I’m judging too quickly because I am no different. The room smells of rubbing alcohol and I try to breath only through my mouth. I go over why I’m here in my head: I’ve been feeling sick and I’m not getting better.. It’s just an examination though. They’ll probably just say it’s a bad case of the flu.

"Katelyn Taylor” the sound of my name snaps me from my thoughts. I follow the nurse into a sterile white hallway where she measures and weighs me. Afterwards she quickly exchanges a few words with my mother and then leads me into a small room. “Please lie down on the CT SCAN table Ms. Taylor.”

20 minutes Later

The nurse reenters the room looking nervous. “We just got the results of the CT SCAN back…..” she looks from my mother to me, “You have Leukemia.”

Three words; three words can change someone’s life forever. It feels as if my whole life up to this point was a fragile piece of china, and it has just been dropped. It feels as if my whole life has shattered into a million tiny pieces. My mind refuses to wrap itself around what she has just said. The only thing I can of think is three words, a new set of three words:  I WILL SURVIVE... (CONTINUATION IN SECOND MARKING PERIOD)

( New Story)

The sweet smell of apple pie greets me as I walk into the kitchen. Plopping down at the table, I relieve my back and let my load slam to the ground with a thud. '' How was your day?” is what a normal mother would say. Of course nothing about my family is normal. “What’re ya doin’?! Get up and come help me with dinner!” my mother spits without lifting an eye from the stove.

My name is Faith Eckhart. I’m 12 years old and I live in a small house with my mother and 6 younger siblings. I know nothing of my Father except that he is missed greatly by my mother. My mother turned to drugs with the hopes of suppressing her pain but her addiction attracted the attention of authorities. The memory of that day still remains vivid in my mind. They just showed up at our door. Before any of us realized what was happening they were speaking in low voices to my mother and pulling her out of the house. Standing there, with the little ones clutching my legs, I watched as they forced her into their ominous black car. After we spent 4 months in foster care they deemed my mother to be, “sober enough to support a family”. With weekly visits of course. That weekly visit is tonight. 1 hour later The clock shouts at me to move faster as I knead, mix, pour, slice, repeat. I know my mother will soon return and if I am not finished there will be trouble. Finally everything is in the oven and the table is set. Thinking I’m finished, I slump onto the couch and close my eyes. I’m about to drift off into my thoughts when realization hits me like an icy knife. I haven’t cleaned myself up and if the authorities were to learn that I was cooking while my mother was out who knows where…The knocking on the door is as loud and rapid as my heart beat. The door swings open and my mother storms in. After looking around her eyes settle on me and widen. “YOU-” she’s cut off by the reopening of the door, “It’s not… It’s not what it looks like.. she... didn’t…”. The man just shakes his head. “NO! NO! NO! I WON’T GO BACK THERE!!!” She reaches behind her and picks up a metal pan from the stove, “YOU!!! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!!!!” “I……” I start, but before I can finish she swings the pan down on my head and everything goes black.

I feel nothing at first. It seems like I’m just floating in a sea of black nothingness. Then the pain sets in… I open my eyes and my vision is swimming and spinning. I’m in some kind of hospital bed and my mother is nowhere to be seen……...

Sadness It seeps up through my body, starting in my core. It makes my eyes watery, my thoughts darkened, my movements weighted. It’s needs not an invitation to enter the house of my mind. It doesn’t knock or call ahead, it forces open the door and storms the halls. Finding every last flame of positivity still glowing bright, and stamps it out. It plays the movie of my life, and edits out the good. All it sees is the times I’ve failed. When I wasn’t good enough, when I got the problem wrong, when I didn’t make the shot. It tears down the walls I put up to protect my self esteem. It rips apart my accomplishments, Piece by piece. It fills my thoughts with self doubt. It whispers “You’re not smart enough, You’re not fast enough. You’re going to FAIL.” It tells me not to try, it says you wouldn’t win! And so when sadness comes in and whispers in my ear, I reply with confidence, “I’m Me, and that’s all I can be.”

Trials

Taking a deep breath, I lift the cup to my lips and let it’s contents slip down my throat. The clear, tasteless liquid burns my throat on the way down and a wave of nausea follows. The room spins and all I can hear is the rapid beating of my heart as everything goes black….

6 Weeks Earlier...

Everything will be ok. I repeat my mother’s words over and over again as the ominous black vehicle grows nearer and nearer. I’ve been selected for the trials- an experiment that our government started 8 years ago. The trials were designed to make our society the best it can be and they are absolutely necessary, or so the leaders say. Every year 50 of the nearly 1 million 15 year olds are randomly selected to be put through the trials. My family was informed last night that I needed to be ready at 4:00am this morning with my few possessions. I long for the feeling of my mother’s soft, cinnamony smelling sweater as she hugs me goodbye. “Everybody in the helicopter!!”, the man in front of me’s voice is rough like sandpaper and it snaps me from my thoughts. I blink repeatedly, trying desperately to hold back the tears swelling up in my eyes. I can’t cry. Not here, and not now. I can’t show all of these people weakness. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. The line in front of me grows smaller and smaller until I find myself at the front. My wrist is grabbed and I’m being pulled roughly into the helicopter by the man with the rough voice when it happens. Without warning a sharp pain shoots from neck through my whole body. I turn my head shakily and see a man holding a syringe standing behind me. My legs feel wobbly and I put the pieces together just as my knees buckle and everything goes black.

To Be Continued…..