Mary Nasarenko

The Mystery Kidnapper It started on a cold, night. It was the night before Halloween, and the town couldn't be any creepier. Already I knew tomorrow was gonna be a tough day, figuring it was 2 in the morning and I still couldn't fall asleep. A crisp breeze was now blowing through the autumn air. As I was just falling asleep I heard the shutters bang against the wall, creating a horrid sound. I recognized the fact that the shutters couldn't have moved by themselves. That's when I realized it. My mother's kidnapper had broken in, looking for his next victim.

I couldn't move. I could only imagine what he had done to my mother. I could hear the floor boards moving under him. Suddenly, I don't know why or how, I sprung out of bed. Unfortunately, I hadn't thought about what to do next. It was dark in my bedroom, so I couldn't really see the person that was in my room. All I could see was big arms coming at me, reaching for me, trying to grab me. The only thing I knew to do was run. I ran and ran until I had no idea where I was. I realized that I was out in my back yard. Finally, I had lost him.

The next thing I know I was blind-folded, probably in a car or something. I started putting the pieces together. I assumed that once I got outside he found me and captured me. I had cuts on my legs so I would think that I had attempted to fight him off. I tore off my blind-fold and realized that it was worse than just a couple of cuts. I tried to scrap up any spare cloth I could to dress the wounds. "No! I can't do this right now. I have the girl, right? That's what you asked for? " Unfortunately I couldn't hear the rest of what he was saying, but I had a feeling that whoever he was working for did not favor me very much.

"Please, pleaseee don't do this to her," a familiar voice said. "Look, does it seem like I want to do this? It's either her or me, who do you think I'm gonna chose." At first I was terrified. Were they actually going to... But then they finished the conversation. "Look, I'm sure that she'd rather disappear and be safe, sure. But honestly, out of the 2 of us, I'm the one who needs the protection." They continued to ramble on for what, at the time, seemed like an eternity. The next thing I remembered was being carried into the trunk of an old convertible. "Oh dear, what if they see us, what if they're on their way now?" My mother's voice trailed off as they were closing the trunk door. The whole night seemed like jumbled up, on and off memories. I wake up, remember a couple things briefly, then don't remember anything else for the next 2 hours.

What woke me up next was what sounded like gravel being rubbed against sand paper. I sat up, realizing what that sound was. Apparently we had a flat tire and this mystery  man was attempting to fix it. I kept trying to figure out who this man was, I knew I had heard his voice before, but I just couldn't quite get it. I had a million thoughts racing through my head at once. Who was this mysterious man? Where is he taking me? What is he going to do with me? Unfortunately I had absolutely no idea what any of the answers were. "She's awake," I heard a man in a deep voice say. It wasn't the same man who put me in the trunk, he seemed bigger... scarier. "Look, I know you don't want to do this, but you know what will happen if you don't." I only focused on one question now, where on earth were they taking me?

Moon Walkers

Chapter 1"Abort, abort. This is not safe for you," said the man in charge of the Moon Walkers facility. Moon Walkers was developed by an astrophysicist from NASA. He decided to build a new outer-space facility after NASA was shut down. No one really knows why it was shut down, but the public was hysterical when it happened. "I can't... It's just like nothing in here is working. I-I-I'm trying to shut it down but-," "beeeeep". There goes the connection. The Moon Walkers have always had a problem with their connection to the astronauts. "How did we lose him again?!" shouted the captain. He was a very elderly man who wasn't too nice. "Gosh, I thought I hired professionals, not amateurs." Now he was angry, really angry.This was a life or death situation, and they just screwed it all up. By this time the astronaut, Captain Joe Smith, had already tried all of the troubleshooting tactics to relapse the connection. "This is soooo not good," said the second in command. "Well panicking will not help us at all. What we need is faith, brains, and maybe some actual food." Unfortunately, most of the people back at the base were unexperienced, fore the old group was fired, and a new group came in. "Now, tell me, who's fault is this exactly?" The chief was very agitated now. "No one?! Wow, I at least thought that someone would fess up!"

Back in space, the shuttle was not doing good. "Look, if we don't do something soon, this shuttle is going down," said Captain Smith, as he was beyond worried. "Yes, thank you Captain Obvious. But worrying and panicking will not help us, and neither will fighting." This situation really couldn't get worse. All the power had just shut down and they now have no way to control anything anymore. Unforunately, this situation was so distraught that the crew panicked and started going against protocall. "Listen up people! I know that we are in a tough postion right now, but that does not mean that we can go against everything we've been taught since day one. If we handle this like we know we should, then everything will be okay. But if not..." His voice trailed off. Now, all the crew was hoping for was survival, no matter what happened they  needed  to survive. If not, they'd never be able to to reach the planet, they might not even get to report the problems. This was dead serious, this could possibly be a huge break through for humans, and if they don't live to complete it, there is going to be a huge issue. Chapter 2 As you know, the crew was in space at the time of this catastrophe. But what you don't know is where exactly they were trying to reach. As you heard, arriving at this one spot would be a monumental deal. If humans were to actually build a home for the people so they could survive, that would be beyond phenomenal. See, the scientists had discovered that Mars would be most suitable for a colony. Unfortunately, as you can see, it didn't really work out as planned. How would we be able to build a colony and live there if they couldn't even make the trip? Moon Walkers had been working on this plan for ages now, how could they not have perfected this it? All of these are worthy questions, but if you knew the true story, then these questions would be have no value. It was April 25, 2033. All of Earth's people were aware that something bad was going to happen to the planet, only they didn't know the complete scale of it. In fact, it was a completely normal day. "So today's weather is going to be  very  sunny. Actually, the temperature could reach up to 123 degrees Fahrenheit!" Now, this may seem completely insane, but this surprisingly just a hot day for the people. All the people would whisper- "Oh, did you here about how the sun has a plan to kill us all, yeah it's pretty crazy," Now obviously this was a but overdramatic, but still not to far off. Earth's sun was rapidly moving towards us. We all knew that eventually, some day it would be to hot for man to bear. Everyone was just hoping that they wouldn't live to see the day. "You know what we have to do, right?" This is what the space agency said the day before it all went white, the day before everything went up in flames. Imagine the Great Chicago fire times 45. That was about the magnitude of maybe the weakest fire on the planet right then. I am saddened to inform you that when this so called "massacre" developed, at least 2,300 people immediately burned to death :(. At this point, people's imagination got the best of them. Some people went mad, saying that it was "the end of the world". Fortunately, there were some people who realized what was going on, and attempted to fix it. "I would like to announce that Moon Walkers are launching a new program called The Settlement into the Future". Moon Walkers announced this program about 2 months after the burn. Although the thought was good, most of it was corrupt. Since they were on a time crunch to get this to work, they scanned over some things to quickly. Not only did they go over things to quickly, but they also completely missed some things. They didn't have a back up plan in case anything went wrong, they have good materials to build the buildings with, heck- they didn't even have trained passengers in the shuttle. There was at most a 1 in a million chance of this working, and by no means was any one surprised when things started going wrong. Chapter 3"We're going down," the Captain stated, obviously very frightened. "What do you mean we're going down? There is no 'down'," replied one of the passengers. "If we don't do something now, we are gonna die. Now when you guys first stepped in this shuttle, I'm sure you didn't think you would be taking your last breath in it." Despite the fact that their shuttle was about to get destroyed, most of the peole were pretty calm. "How are you guys not flipping out!? I mean we are about to die!""If we don't get to our destination, then just us are gonna die. Some things are bigger than just us." By now, the odds of surviving were very low. The crew was attempting to contact anyone in reach, the station, there families, anyone. "Look, this has been a great trip, I just wish that the company tried a little harder to-" "No. Stop acting like this is the end, because you never know. There could always be a miracle." At least one of the crew members were still helpful, even though it didn't really make a difference now. "I get that there isn't much of a chance, but let's be hopeful that we can get out of th-"A plane crash like sound erupted from outside of the shuttle. "What was that!?," yelled the captain. "I think that the engine just broke," replied one of the somewhat-tech guys. "Is that bad or something. Is the shuttle okay?""Well...um..." In an instant the vibe in the shuttle changed. It was like the so called "inevitable" (what the station had said to the press), had become reality. In those few silent seconds, the crews whole world unraveled while the shuttle crashed. It was over- the mission, the time put in, it was all gone, along with the crew members...

2nd Marking Period wiki

The   Heist

The wind was icy, which made sense, figuring that it was mid-January. My scrawny blanket, of course, hadn't help very much either. At least I wasn't suffering from frost-bite, like last year. By this time of night, there was no one out, and everything was pitch black. I had so wished that I hadn't refrained from stealing that nice, warm winter coat. But, on the other hand, there was always the chance of being caught, which absolutely couldn't happen again. The last time, I was only 16, a minor, so they held back from anything serious. But this time, at 18 years of age, they could put me in prison for all they cared. Unfortunately, a young, immature girl with a habit of becoming friends with the wrong people didn't have much appeal to many police officers. The wind kept howling around me until I just couldn't bear the cold anymore. I decided to go check if the women's homeless shelter allowed any stray visitors at this hour. Sadly, the answer was a no, exactly how it had been for the past 8 months. I then tried to find any place warmer than 15 degrees. Again, I wasn't to lucky in my findings. It had been long overdue that I had had a substantial meal, I needed to get something to eat. Luckily for me, I knew of this place that "accidentally" leaves there doors unlocked after hours. I snuck in there to steal some food, but instead discovered a lump on the ground. I didn't know what it was, so I went to go check it out. I wish that I had just left it alone and turned around to leave, but....

I strolled over to where the lump on the floor was, expecting it to just be some uncooked meat or something. It smelled so unbelievably deplorable that I had to hold my breath just to get close enough to see what it was. I walked toward the pile lying on the floor, expecting little to nothing to be there. I stood there, unable to move from that spot. I don't know how long I stood there, not capable of fathoming what was actually in front of me, the oppressive truth that lay in front of my own two feet. I saw the knife, I visualized the numerous ways it could've been inserted into the skin over and over and over again through my head. Eventually I had done it so many times that it was almost like I had been the one stabbed, not the man there, who was lying dead in front of me. The pool of blood eventually reached my toes. All at once, I released all the emotion I had inside. I dropped to my knees, into the blood. I sat next to the man. I just sat there for hours upon hours, tears streaming down my face like a waterfall. I didn't know how to control them. I had been on this earth for 18 years, and not once had I ever dealt with this much pain and agony. Death. What a miserable concept. But there I sat, apparently close acquaintances with it.

Arthur McLennon, a father of 5, had just had his life taken away. Not only had it just been taken away, no. His life had been stolen, by Malcolm Andrews, my father.

Soon the police consumed most of the small shop. I never moved, even after being told that I could be arrested for resisting the policeman and his demands. I just couldn't peal myself from the man, Arthur. This poor, afflicted man. He had died alone, in the middle of the night, with no one there for him to even spend his last words on. It was incomprehensible how grief-stricken I was. Once I was psychically removed from the shop, I sat on the damp sidewalk, right next to the door leading into the building. I remained there for the rest of the day, and the one after that, contemplating what had happened. I came upon a cruel thought, one that I hope that no one would never think of themselves. I thought about how my father, the one who did this, should have to pay. How something bad, really bad should happen to him. What the heck is wrong with me? He's my father, decent or not. I cannot comprehend why in the world I would ever have such a thought go through my mind. At that one moment in time, nothing mattered more to me than my father feeling as much misery and pain as I did. I had cringed at the thought of me becoming this thing, this person who was willing to hurt someone because of the pain they were in. I sat up, mostly because I couldn't suffer while being so close to this man any longer than I already had.

I didn't know what to do with myself. I had spent too many days in the dark, sitting in silence, grieving. Sometimes I crept around the McLennon's house, to see how they were doing. It just made me even more miserable. Night after night, day after day, I would watch Arthur's wife come home from work, normally with tears running down her cheeks. She would then go home to her crying and whining children. In the morning she would walk outside, and sit on her porch, again, tears streaming down her face and onto the wooden floorboards. She would drive her kids to school, and wouldn't come back until late at night. She spent most of her work nights either at a bar, or in her car, sobbing. Finally, I couldn't stand walking around with all that guilt. I stopped doing things, eating, going places, sleeping. I would just stay up at night trying to think up a reason why my father would do this. The only outcome I could come up with was that he was a sick human being. Arthur McLennon used to be my baby sitter, before I ran away. Since my parents were... disconnected from my childhood, Arthur and I spent a lot of time together. When I decided to run away, Arthur tried to talk me out of it. Of course, neither my mother nor my father cared much, but Arthur genuinely cared for me and wanted me to stay.

I knew my father had killed before, I had even seen him do it. He was in the black market, selling drugs and other illegal products. He had the power to end people if they got on his bad side. One day, somebody didn't do their job. I witnessed my father stick a knife through the man's neck and chest, like he had done the same thing many times before. That's when I decided my parents were not good people and I didn't want to take after them. I moved out when I was 16. It was the hardest thing I ever had to go through. My second week on my own, I broke my leg. Since I didn't have any money or medical coverage, it didn't heal for a while. I lacked a high pain tolerance, but got through it. Living off on your own, on roads and sidewalks, abandoned alleyways and under bridges, was different than anything I have ever experienced before. It was a dangerous place to be when you were only 16. Right before I turned 17, I got involved with this one group of people. I trusted them and I trusted their judgement. That was a very big mistake. They asked for money from a near homeless shelter, which was low on income and responded with a no. This group of mine got upset and attempted to set the whole building on fire, with people still in it. I begged them not to. They responded with, "If you don't shut up now, we'll lock you in the building with the rest of them." I was terrified, I didn't say another word that night. I soon left that group and went onto another. These people had all come from difficult backgrounds, and weren't exactly the poster children of Ohio. One time we were at a store, one of the cashiers saw one of us walking out with some of the store's merchandise. He confronted them, and in response Margaret, the one who was stealing, pulled out a gun and shot him in the leg. I realized that this wasn't any better than living with my father. I left that group and from then on was on my own.

It was becoming the ending of January, and I knew that if I didn't do something with my health, I could possibly end up the same way Arthur did. I got up out of the alleyway and started toward the meat shop. I walked over, and saw a notice that they were closing up. I guess finding a dead body on their property wasn't good for business. I couldn't live like this anymore. Someone needed to pay for what they did, that somebody being my father. I went to the abandoned factory on 23rd, where the black market meets on a regular basis. I found Jimmy, one of my father's friends. I asked him if he knew of a death at the meat market. He had said, "Oh yeah, of course I know. In fact the whole building knows," I didn't understand, I asked him to elaborate. "Your father was... let's just say a little 'out of it' at the time. He was coming from the bar, on his way to get some meat for lunch tomorrow. He saw his old pal Arthur, picked up a knife and, guess what. He stabbed 'em! When we heard, we made fun a him for days!" I was so crushed when I heard this, my only response was a simple "okay, thanks Jimmy." My father had killed an innocent man because he was what, drunk! I had to find someone who would make him pay for this. Arthur's wife has to go to a depressed and pain-stricken house every night, filled with sad children who just want to see their dad. My father has taken away these kids happiness, their way of life, because he was "out of it". At that moment, I honestly didn't care if my father died in a horrific event, whether it was an accident or not. He needed pay for his actions.

The following morning's sky was filled with sorrow. It's like it was going through the same thing as me. I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew that my emotions could easily get the best of me, and I could end up doing something just as bad as my father. I knew that I might not be able to handle the consequences of what I was starting. I now know that I was just on the tip of the ice berg with those possibilities. I first set out to the nearest weapons/artillery shop, which happened to be close to the bridge I was sleeping under. I bought the most convenient gun possible. I felt the urge to break down in the middle of the quaint little shop. I had so much emotion built up inside of me, I didn't know if I could bottle it up anymore. I was already crying myself to sleep every night, like a lullaby. I couldn't stand the thought of anything joyful. Unfortunately, I felt like everyone should feel the same pain as me, not just my father. It was, again, another horrible thought. I could not believe what person I had become in the past three weeks. All day, every day, I thought about the knife He was stabbed with, the blood gushing out, onto the floor, the stain that it left, the way he was able to just walk away like it was nothing. My clothes smelled vaguely of blood, like the day I found Him, his death just kind was burdened onto me. I walked out of the gun store, even more heart-broken than when I walked in. Back, under the bridge, I sat there, silent. I couldn't believe what I was thinking. I mean I've been thinking some pretty awful things lately, but this was just  horrid. I thought about how I could end this, all of it. The pain, the agony, everything. I had the tools. I had the feeling. Did it really matter if I got revenge, if I was the one who got revenge against me, by my own self. If I just pulled the trigger.... No, I couldn't that wouldn't be fair to Arthu- Him. I decided not to speak of his name the day after I... found him. I needed a way out, whether that be my father's pain or some other sort of pain, I needed it. Maybe the way out was through death. Now a days, the answer to everything was death. What happens when you're under the influence of alcohol and you are a trained killer? Death. What do you do when you just can't bear the pain any longer? Death. What happens when you're so depressed to the point of death, that you feel you need the worst form of revenge? Death. Everything. Everything lead to death. But the only way out of it caused more death. There were no loop holes, no ways out. This was the life I was given. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by death, mentally and physically. I didn't realize it at first, but I had walked to the morgue. I guess I thought I could see Him. I don't know if I wanted to. If it would make me feel better or worse. Happy or suicidal. Suicidal. That word, along with death, has such a miserable, depressing concept. Who would want to take their own life from other people, let alone them self. That word echoed through my head for hours, like my own little abominable drum. I was tempted everyday, thinking  Just one bullet, come one, end this, it's not worth it any more. I walked over to the space where His body was held, making sure my gun was tucked into my pants. I opened up the filing cabinet drawer looking thing to find His cold eyes staring at me. His body looked icy, like they had just taken him out of a freezer. "Excuse me, you can't be here ma'am. This is a restricted area, no visitors." After no response from me, he slowly put his hand on his gun, as did I. He started to go for my shoulder, to drag me out. I panicked, thinking he was going to hurt me. I whipped out my gun. Before I knew it, I was covered in blood. There are no words to describe what I was feeling in that moment. My brain hadn't kicked in until a little while later. Three of my bullets were missing from my gun, yet before I even thought about what I had just done, I knew where they were. One in the leg, two in the chest. I was just sitting there, next to yet another victim of death. Except this time, I was the one who took it away. It's kind of funny, how when you take someone's life, you only lose part of your's, not gain their's. I dropped to my stomach. I was laying in blood, now completely soaked. I didn't know how to process this. What was going on. What had I done.

I was laying there for what seemed like 2 minutes, but I knew it was much, much more. The guilt started to kick in. I had just killed a man. I could go to jail. I needed to get out of there. I snuck out the back entrance. Before I knew it, I was back under the bridge. Before I left home, I was a nieve little girl who wouldn't even be able to imagine the sort of pain that death was able to cause. I needed therapy or something. Was killing a form of therapy? I mean, I had only killed once, but I felt more in control than ever before. I craved the same rush that flooded me as the bullet was released from the gun. I have never been so sure of what I wanted. Death. Blood. Adreniline. I longed for these things, these awful, yet thrilling things. I began making a plan of how to kill as many people as possible. A thought popped into my mind. Something I had never thought of before, in my life. Hostage. If I were take hostages, in a public area, than I would have numerous people to kill. First, I had to find a place to take over. It had to be somewhere that tyhere would be many people. But, it had to be secluded from the main town. I wanted to have as much time with my victims as possible before the police showed up with their tear gas. At first I had thought about the meat shop that He was killed in. But that option was soon off the table. Maybe a bank, I thought. If I were to stage it as a robbery, I wouldn't get in as much trouble. But that was too generic. I wanted this to stand out, to be different from the rest. I finally settled on the music shop west of the town square. It was popular, and the people who worked there were jerks, so it would be easy for them to die. I took a trip there to check out the area, like where I should stand so that they can't escape. I also needed to ensure where the store's gun was located, and I was sure they had a gun because it was a new law. 3rd Marking Period

Once I paid a guy to find those things out for me, I started to plan out every little detail and action. I would walk, like a normal customer. Then, I would quickly walk behind the desk, grab the gun, and tell everyone to get down or else I'll shoot. Now, with most hostage situations, what the people want is money, but in my case, I want death, unfortunately for the people. I will scan the pepople for any sort of weapon, and make sure no one makes a move. After that, I will take the store's money (it's better if it looks like a robbery). I will one by one grab people out of the room, have a quick chat, then do my new favorite hobby. It scared me how easy it was to make this plan. Wouldn't you think that taking people hostage would be a very difficult task? I had a feeling this wasn't going to work out. But I had to try. I had to have that amazing feeling again. I had to get that rush... That feeling of righteousness I get when I plunge the knife into the heart-- the place where it hurts the most, physically and mentally. The place where everything starts and everything ends. The place that can cause an individual to die because of it's disfunction, and because of someone else's disfunction. So it was clear what I had to do.

The following day I visited the music shop, just to make sure there wasn't any setbacks. Nothing. I went back to under the bridge, and that's when it hit me. What if I didn't get any satisfaction out of this? What if I get caught without getting to kill anyone? What if I can't go through with it? All these questions and more rushed into my brain at once. Finally I calmed down. I convinced myself that my plan would work and that I'd be fine. So, I headed toward the store. I looked over once more, just to double check. In a split second decided to not follow the plan, but do my own thing. I bursted into the shop, pulled out my two guns, and told everyone to get down. To my surprise, someone actually laughed. Within two seconds the had a bullet in their leg. Everyone shreaked. "You think I'm joking? Try me", I said to the crowd of about twelve or so people. "Unfortunately, you individuals are the unlucky ones today. I can assure that you will not be walking out here on you're own two feet, but on a stretcher, with someone asking the EMT if you have a heart beat. Well, I can also assyre you that the answer will be no." I was getting bored, I needed to start before the police showed up. "Number nine, I pick the number nine. Let's see... If I count left to right, you would be number nine. Come with me please sir." I was getting excited just thinking about my knife. I sat the man in a chair, seperate from the rest of the group. I wanted this to be personal, without others watching. "Thank you for the amaziing oppurtunity Mr., I greatly appreciate your offering of food to my starving desire." I then inserted the knife into the man's chest-- straight to the heart. I was filled with an unimaginable amount of pleasure. An amazing feeling that no one would get out of doing anything else in the world. I repeated this process with all of the other eleven. I then shot myself, one in the head, and the rest of the bullets in the gun went into my heart. Unfortunately, one missed. It went straight through me, and hit the dead body behind me. The body belonged to Malcolm Andrews. Sincerely,Elizabeth AndrewsTime: 2:47 pm (right after Elizabeth Andrews's time of death) Extra: Some may ask how Elizabeth wrote this letter, when the time was after her death. Some say that she wrote it before, and then killed herself. However, she would not have known that one missed her heart. She also wouldn't have known that the bullet went through her and who it hit. People have been making up theories from the day she died. It is a mystery to all, and it was most likely her intention to keep it that way.

Marking Period 4:

Twelfth Street, July 5, 2014. It was surprisingly cool for it being summer. We were walking along the boardwalk, it was probably about 9. There was the feeling of serenity as we placed our bare feet on the crisp wooden panels. Still woozy from the night before, we jaunted into a store along the side of the boardwalk. Summer Daze, it was called. There was one person in the store besides us. Hey, I thought to myself,  I saw that guy a little bit ago. In fact, that man had been in a lot of the places we have been. My friends had realized the same thing. "Excuse me sir, do we know you?" said Mikaela, one of my friends who I was walking with. "Uh... I-I don't think so..." he stammered back. At the time, I thought it was just paranoia, but for some reason I felt wary about this man.

I suggested to the group that we leave, and so that is what happened. I was relieved to find that the man did not follow us out, but stayed in the store as we scurried out the other way. The next people we saw were a group of young children with what appeared to be no adult, which was very unusual. At the time of night, there were very few, if any, children here. Of course, Casey, one of the more... outgoing ones, wanted to talk to them. "Hey guys," she started, "Do you guys happen to have a parent around... I um... I work with this organization and I think your gaurdian would be a great candidate for the project I'm working on." The children responded with an incredulous look and just walked away. "Guys, I think it's time to head home, this place is becoming a little weird," I said to everyone. The boardwalk had taken on a foreign strangeness, and I didn't have the likeness to continue enduring it.

We started heading to our car. As we were doing so, I realized that I had rightly been paranoid earlier. I saw the man from before waiting by our car. "Hey, You! What are you doing here?! Get away from our car!" Casey said, more ticked off than panicked. The man gave no response. I wished Casey didn't word it like that. "Excuse me, I asked why you were standing by our car." Again, the man didn't say a word. Then, in a quick moment, I got hit with shock. As I looked at the trunk window of the car, I saw the children pounding on the window, all cut up and bruised. I tried to get past the man and to the children, but my attempt failed. The man took my arm and twisted it, and I rightly gave up.

I am From Poem

I am from cheese quesidillas for lunch every afternoon in the summer,from the big tree in the front yard I would struggle to climbI am from the Beenie Babies given to me from my grandmother,and from the chest that stores themI am from Dora, and the Back-yardigans,intensely watching for how to get around the pond I am from the wind in my hair on the miserable summer day,optismistically thinking that the clouds will disapear on the "boardwalk day"I am from myself asking my dad, "What is wrong with you?",and my mother responding, "The list is too long to say."I'm from the perfect-feeling day,laying at the top of my backyard's hill I am from my bff Grape,who absolutely hates her nameI am from my "lightly toasted bagel with cream cheese and jelly",asked by me to my grandmaI am from playing the dreadful game of capture the flag,frantically searching before getting caught I am from the moments that remain imprinted in my head,from the things that I can go back to and be washed with wonderful memories,and from the rebounder in the back, with all the rubber bands snapped off