NaNoWriMo- Liesl

             And thus ends the great NaNoWriMo. Thirty days and nights of submersing ourselves in the great quest of writing a single novel, thirty days of words, and typing like the world will end if we do not finish.  Thirty days and nights of having words, sentences, plots and characters swirling around in our heads, driving us mad until we spew them out on paper and tell their story. Thirty days.  30,000 words. 300,000 people. NaNoWriMo.

            Thirty five days ago, my classmates and I embarked on a quest which we were not sure that we could complete. We aimed to write a novel in thirty days totaling somewhere around 30,000 words a day. That is, (if you care to do the math) a thousand words PER NIGHT. We arrived at school in high spirits on the first of November, eagerly awaiting the start of our quest. We would begin to write that night. Pumped and ready to roll, we departed school to begin working.

            I know for one, that I sat down, and promptly crashed. I had no idea what I was going to write about, no concept whatsoever of even where to start, and on top of that, I only had an hour before I had to leave for practice. I only got about 700 words done that night.

            The next two weeks were easier, I blazed through my words, writing mostly total junk with a few little jewels in there somewhere, hitting the ten thousand mark, then twenty. When I got to twenty one thousand though, I hit the invisible wall of writers block.

            On somewhere about November 21^st, I no longer felt the urge to write. When I sat down at the computer, I had nothing to say, and no desire to push through. All I wanted to do was… something else instead of write. My classmates were feeling the same way. On Friday the 23^rd, we had a sub in class, and none of us felt like writing, so we asked her if we could just hang out or read for the class, we were all so bored.

            Eventually though, we all pushed through. We jumped over that wall of not writingness, and managed to find a way to finish. After I hit that wall, climbed over it, I know that I hit the ground running. Every night, I got a little further ahead, and I eventually finished on Wednesday, November 28^th. I was done. Everything that I had stressed about, cried about, and every bad moment, (and good one along the way) seemed almost (almost) worthwhile.

            We all ended up finishing on time. On Monday of this week, we had a “Thank God It’s Over” party in class, with brownie sundaes, mac and cheese, and veggie sticks.

            My Facebook status that night? “30,000 words. Take THAT NaNoWriMo.”  

Untitled

Hey to all you loyal viewers!
We probably won't be posting anything for a while, probably not until December, just so you know! See, we are doing this thing called National Novel Writing Month, where we have to write a 30,000 (or more) word novel in 30 days, that averages out to about 1,000 words PER DAY. So most likely, unless we get to become really, really fast writers, we won't have time to post anything. "See" you in December.
Thanks for reading!
Lindsay, Noa, Phoebe, Liesl and Elizabeth

Track Meet by Lindsay

             The bus ride there is a blur. All anyone can think about are the events they will be competing in, and who their competition will be. Dropping backpacks down and hurrying to a space where everyone will stretch as a team, anticipation awakens spurts of adrenaline that send shivers down my spine. It's important that each muscle is recognized and stretched so as not to pull or tear something, which everyone pays attention to, because hurting yourself in the middle of track season can put a damper on things.
              Warm up time. The period between the different schools arriving and when the meet actually starts. If you use this time effectively and productively, it comes to good use, because if your legs are warmed up before running or jumping, or your arms are strengthened before throwing, everything will be so much easier.
               Hurdles are first, then the 100m Sprint. The 100m is a dash on the straightaway, different heats of girls first, then boys, slicing through the air, their arms pumping, to the finish line.
               On the intercom, an announcer calls out to everyone, "First call, girls, hundred-meter dash. First call, girls, hundred-meter dash!" That's me. Jogging to the starting line, I find a place in a lane in the first row within the number of other girls that are my competition. Really, you are your own competition, because it does not matter what place you come in, it's what your time is, and trust me, breaking your own personal record is one of the best feelings in the world.
                The Man With The Gun stands on the side of the track, briskly telling everyone the rules, even though barely anyone is listening, their ears clogged with mental-preparation. The first heat is up, the row of a random bunch of girls waiting to race next to me. "On your mark." The Man's eyes scan the line of runners. I take one last look out to my team, some watching, others already competing in field events, while my heart thumps, threatening to beat right out of my chest. "Get set." His eyes watch each person in their starting positions. A dreadful feeling of numbness falls over me, but the Crack! of the starting gun startles them back to life, each of my components taking off at a full sprint, some lagging behind, some in the middle, and some ahead of the others. I feel amazing-- my stride is mine, my body is mine, and I am aware of everything that is going on in this race. But it's over, a 15 second dash to the finish line that feels way shorter because that's what your mind has made you think.
                Relief, pride. The emotions come bubbling up, and you can't help but smile. Smile for your teammates, smile for yourself, and smile for everything that has built up to these meets. You just smile.

Hurricane Sandy Disapointment-Liesl

It’s all over the news. “Hurricane Sandy pounds east coast”, “Thousands out of power” “Floodwaters at record high”, and yet, I am seeing none of that. There was all this buildup for this huge hurricane that was going to wipe out trees, kill communication and make power a non-existent reality. Frankenstorm. That’s what the meteorologists were calling it. It was supposed to be this huge thrilling storm with all this wind and snow and rain but what do I get? A little rain and some wind. Irene was bigger and stronger by far. Okay, maybe it is just where we are, and maybe we got lucky, but I was sure expecting much more. When I came home from school on that unexpected half day, I filled the tub, brought in wood, filled all the pots and charged all the flashlights in preparation to hunker down for a long stay in front of the fire. Yet we barely loose power, lost maybe two trees (both of which were rotten to the core, I checked), and missed school for a breeze and a drizzle. So not worth it. Even though I am disappointed, I am beginning to think I should count my lucky stars.

Although many people weren’t killed, the NYC subways are totally flooded, the city itself is in chaos and many people are without power or heat, and the many homeless veterans and others without shelter. My father’s office in Baltimore is without power, so they have no way to contact their customers and many of the streets are completely flooded. Disappointed though I am, I realize that there are so many people out there who are much less fortunate than we were, and my heart goes out to them to hope that they find what they need soon.

 

The Game-Elizabeth

The Game

          "Sydney, Maddie, Megan, Jordan, Elizabeth."

I run the names through my head. I'm starting. I have to do this right. Mrs. Barney gives us some last minute pointers but I don't pay attention. I'm too busy thinking about the fact that this is the most important game of the season, worrying I might mess up. 

          "Bring it in for a cheer." 

Back to reality. I put my hand in with my fellow team mates but barely whisper the words.

          "Together!"

I stroll onto the court, taking my place behind Sydney. I nod to Jordan, she gives my a quick smile. I let myself loosen up. The ref blows his whistle and I snap into action, leaping to catch the ball that ricocheted off of Sydney's arm. I fake a pass to my left and throw the ball to Maddie, she scores a layup with ease. Two points. The next few minutes of the first quarter we don't play together. The ball goes back and forth between our players and the sly foxes. We race around, trying to retrieve the ball from their star player. A Campton girl passes, too high. 

          "I GOT IT!!" I holler as I zone in on the ball hurtling towards me. I bend my knees and leap into the air, claiming the ball. I stealthily land and take off down the court. I shoot the ball and let out a small grin as it falls through the basket. Swish. My favorite sound in the whole world. 

          I'm panting when the buzzer goes off, marking the end of the quarter. I jog off the court, the five of us red faced and sweaty. I gulp down some water and listen to Coach's instructions. No one utters a word, we all just nod. 

          "Together!"

I take a seat and anxiously chew on the rubber tip of my water bottle. The next two quarters dash by. I can barely breath as I come off the court before the last quarter. A few times I scored. A few times I made some mistakes. I sit and chew, wondering what I could have done better. Harder and harder. I grit my teeth. So hard, they hurt. A fox gets the ball, 3 minutes left. She scores. They are up by one basket. One basket. I chew harder. Sydney, determined as ever not to lose this game, quickly gets the ball and charges through their defenders. She scores. She scores again. 2 minutes left. My teeth hurt, real bad. We are up by 2 points. That's okay. No, that's not nearly enough. Anything can happen with two minutes left in the game of basketball. 

          "Elizabeth! Go in! Dropping my water bottle, I jump up and kneel at half court, shaking. Coach grabs me by the shoulder. 

          "Keep it," she whispers, "just keep it."

I nod. I'm terrified. The next 60 seconds are a blur. An opposing player gets the ball and breaks through Lilly on defense. She goes for a layup. I watch in horror. She misses. 45 seconds left. This is all a daze. They could still score. I get the ball. Keep it, just keep it. Those words, a stain in the back of my mind, echo through me. 

          "Keep it!" I yell. I must have looked crazy, holding the ball, yelling at myself to keep it. I look at the clock, but I can barely see through the mass of red uniforms surrounding me. 15 seconds. I panic and pass the ball to Sydney through a players legs. Ten seconds.

          "KEEP IT SYDNEY!" I shout.

I can't hear myself. Miraculously, she hears me. Over the ear piercing screams of the crowd, she hears me. She crouches, the ball at her stomach, head down, in the middle of the court. My throat is cracked and dry, and my hands, sweaty and shaking. I turn to the clock. 3, 2, 1. Wiping a bead of sweat from my face, I smile. We win. We are the Pemi-Baker Girls Basketball Champions. 

*This was my first writing on demand piece from early September that reminded me of Phoebe's last post.

The Hockey Game Phoebe

I step onto the ice for the 3rd period. My sharp edges cut against the ice making a sound that echoes throughout the rink.  The whistles blows. Getting into position, I here my coach yell, "be ready Phoebe!" The puck drops and I explode to get it.  Eleven minutes past of pure intensity. I receive a pass from my teammate. I stickhandle around a defender and now its just me and the goalie.  I here my bench counting down from 5.  I lean on my stick and fire it.  I close my eyes in hope to here cheers, and thats just what I heard.  "The game winning goal scored by number eleven, Phoebe Day!" the announcer belts out to everyone.  I go into the locker room feeling as happy as ever.

Finally The House Final by Noa

It was dark outside. The wind was blowing as Mark and Claire walked up the pathway. The house was an old Victorian home and years of being unattended left it in shambles. The wood was molding and the paint was chipped off and fading. The fall breeze blew ominously, making the house creak loudly. Red and yellow leaved trees surrounded the building. Legend had it that anyone who set foot in the house never came out. Mark and Claire were about to try their luck. Standing on the creaky porch, Claire hesitated.

"You think the legends are true?" asked Claire.

"Heck no! It's just a story to scare little kids," replied Mark confidently.

"Yeah, you're right," said Claire.

With that they opened the large, aged door. It creaked so loud that Claire jumped.

"Come on you wuss," Mark laughed.

They took a couple steps in and the door slammed shut behind them.

"Must be the wind," said Mark.

The room they seemed to be in was an old living room. It was bereft furniture and cobwebs hung in every nook and cranny. To the left there was a door and to the right there was a fireplace. Directly in front of them was a large balcony overlooking the whole area.

“I can’t believe that you would actually do this for 20 dollars,” Claire muttered as they proceeded to go up the stairs to the balcony.

“What are you talking about? This is easy money,” Mark replied.

Mark opened a door at the top of the stairs.

"Hey check it out! It's a bathroom!" Mark said laughing. “Let’s see if it still works!”

He rushed in and mocked sitting on the toilet when suddenly the door shut with a click.

"Mark?" Claire yelled, frightened.

There was no reply. Claire whimpered. Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream emanated from the walls. Claire screamed herself, but was drowned out by the horrid noise. She ran down the stairs, hands over her ears. The scream stopped. The house started to creak. She looked around frantically. Out of nowhere the walls started to squish in as if it were a scene from Star Wars. She sprinted toward the door as fast as she could. When she reached it, she turned the knob and pushed with all her might, but the door did not budge. Scanning the quickly shrinking room for another exit, she saw a window to her right. Without hesitation she slammed through it breaking the glass. She landed on the molding porch and vaulted over the railing. Claire ran as hard as she could without looking back.

Sci Fi Story Beginning-- Lindsay

                                            

                         "There's no chance."

                         "No chance of what?"

                         "Leaving." I spit out the word with grim disgust, as if it tastes sour on my tongue. Cal, my co-worker and fellow survivor, lets out a cough and he falls to his knees, and I kneel beside him while patting him on the back. As the dust and debris settled in Cal's lungs, it made his breathing shallow, his coughs sharp rasps. Helping him up, I lead him to a mound of rubble and sit him down, leaning against piled up planks of wood that come from one of the many buildings that crumbled from the nuclear explosion. Ever since the bombs went off, his eyes seem to be glazed over by dust. Everything is dust. Dust floating in the air. Dust covering our clothes. Dust blanketing our hearts.

                         Five years or so, the world was devastated by an unknown number of nuclear bombs that bombarded the planet from space. No one knows who fired the earth. Heck, there isn't even anyone left to confide in. The sun, a non-existent light source is blocked by clouds of floating grey particles while a layer of debris covers what used to be rolling fields of green and forest floors.              

                         Sometimes, on the difficult nights when reality stares back at me with its blank eyes, sheets of white with no color, I toss and turn in my agonizing sleep, my dreams just continuous reruns of the explosions, the people, and the emptyness. It isn't the explosion that sparks my insecurity, it's the painstaking emptiness that is all I see.

                        

 



The Fall of Snow- Liesl

And inexplicable sadness follows everything that cannot be saved from the ravages of time, be it the death of a friend, pet or the passing of another season. At the end of every season, every lifetime comes a time of feeling tenderly melancholy for that which cannot stay. Autumn always brings about this feeling of melancholy, I look out on the vibrant colors of dying summer and coming fall draped like a quilt across the mountains and feel a longing for this to stay forever. Soon though, the fall colors will fade, the leaf-peepers will drive home in their minivans to their suburban condos and the lake will be silent again until summer comes again.

Gazing out on the slate-gray waves tipped with foamy white, whipped up with fury by the autumn winds, the mountains and islands cast in golden sunbeams, I just want to fly across the waves and build a house on the highest peaks and never again be seen except by the bears and deer. That would be really nice, to live off nothing but the land, give, take and be one with our heritage, how we were meant to live. This is what I think as I step into the white Boston Whaler for our last boat ride of the season, the ride that will take us the short distance from our dock to the boat launch in town. 

My cousin is with us and her bouncy, exited personality soon scares the sweet sadness out of my heart, and I allow my soul to be aired out by the cold winds skating across the lake, down off the mountains.  In the boat we fly across the frigid waves yelling and whooping, because there is no one around excepting a lone bass fisherman sitting huddled in his boat with the hopes of striking lucky. The cold wind slaps my face; I have a hood but do not wear it. This is the last wind like this I am going to feel for a while and I may be freezing, and I want to savor every minute.

Soon the snows blow down from the north, the lake freezes and I am sliding across the black ice in the same places that I visited in the boat, though it is still the same lake, I feel like it is a totally different place in a different part of the world. It’s funny how snow can change things like that.

Clouds-Elizabeth

Tessie dashes through the

grassy field,

me chasing after her.

I trip and fall,

gently into a bed of pale purple flowers.

I lie back laughing as

she trots over and sniffs me

and takes off through the meadow.

I stay,

gazing at the sky.

The sun's rays, grand and bright, peeks through the clouds,

providing warmth to my face.

A slight breeze rustles my hair just as

the sun emerges

from behind a cloud.

I close my eyes, enjoying this moment.

This moment is mine,

mine to remember.

I let the wind take me on a journey,

my imagination spinning out of control.

I zoom through the sky, laughing as Tessie leaps

to catch up to me.

Together, we fly through time, smiles on our faces.

As the wind settles down, 

we begin to fall through the clouds,

falling and falling. 

We hit the ground, the pale purple flower covered ground

and lie there.

I wake up just as a large puffy white cloud

engulfs the sun, taking away my source of warmth,

and happiness.

I lie there, Tessie by my side

and we dream.

Really random thing I did that combines all of my writing from the beginning of class...

Writer's Blocks

Writer's blocks, the bane of my existence. I try to think, but my nouns aren’t specific, my verbs aren’t powerful, my phrasing is plain as day, and my starts are all boring. I can barely get a solid idea that I like. After what feels like years of thinking, I choose a petty topic, but the best I manage is this:

Pumpkins surrounded me, a field of orange, lumpy shapes, as I try to find the perfect one for carving. Being a teenager, I know that this will probably be my last Halloween, and I want to make it count. I had already picked out a costume: a generic, but classic vampire. Nothing too flashy, but I thought a vampire captured the essence of Halloween the best. Now all I needed to do was to find the perfect pumpkin.

My eyes, scanned the field come acros the perfect pumpkn. Not a pumpkin in those cheesy childrns stories, that is ugly and unwanted, but the most symmetric, perfectly colored and

A stupid piece about pumpkins and Halloween that I don’t even finish, filled with grammatical and spelling errors that I am too lazy to fix. After the last sentence, my brain becomes as blank as a sheet of paper. My usual plethora of ideas is gone, replaced my frustration and anger. My face is a mask of rage and ire. The more I think the less is there. Appositive phrases and adjectives shifted out of place. What are those again? I can’t even remember the basics of writing well. I try to make my writing better, but the turnout is that rambly junk. Just as I am about to give up, an idea suddenly strikes, a bullet of inspiration shot into my head. Grasping the idea and holding on, I write everything that comes to mind.

Heat blazing from the constant fire, a frenzy of red-yellow flames, I wipe a bead of sweat off of my face. Black soot covering my hands, I grasp the large heavy hammer and strike the glowing metal, sending a jolt up my arm. The iron rod bends to my blows gradually forming into the shape I want. Heat fades from the rod, I stick it back in the hearth. Dipping my tools into cool water makes tendrils of steam rise to the ceiling. I sit, waiting for the metal to heat up and the strain on all of my muscles relaxes. The acrid smell of the forge surrounds me and I breathe in deeply.

“One more round should do it, “ I think to myself.

I wince as the hammer hits the metal, creating a high pitched ping, a banshee’s tortured scream. Twice more I pound the iron. Finally I have acquired the shape I desire. A dagger, small and sharp sits on the anvil, glinting in the dim light. I sit back and sigh, content with my work.

I sit back in my chair and read over my work. A decent start, but It could use some work.

“I’ll do it later,” I think to myself. Right now I am just happy I overcame my dreaded writer's block.

Where?-- by Lindsay

With the 2012 Presidential election just around the corner, candidate commercials take over families' television screens, surveys are sent in the mail, and pestering phone calls drive households up the wall. And while families discuss politics at the dinner table, the occasional debate arising between adult voters explaining their opinions, it's not unusual for children, family or not, to wonder what is going on, what all of this mumbo-jumbo means. Cutting taxes? Who cares. Healthcare? Whatever. But what they don't know is that this will affect their futures, that the country they live in now may be changed, different forever in the future. Little do parents know, the conversations that happen at home concerning politics and beliefs are absorbed by the other members of the home-- in this case, kids. It isn't unlikely that what kids hear spreads beyond where these exchanges of views were intended to go. Although children have their own minds, their own ideas, they absorb their parent's decisive views and make them their own, because it seems so right; Parents know what's best, and if they know what's best, then politics are no exception. When seriously thinking about it, there is hardly a single place that children can go that gives off unbiased notions based on which political party someone is. So the question is, where can America's children go to learn the facts? The unbiased facts. The real facts.

 

Dissecion-Liesl

October 16, 2012

                Death. You can’t stop it. There is nothing you can do to prevent it. It makes me sick just thinking about it. Why do we have to kill animals for specifically for learning when it is so easy to die when you just step outside your door? Any animal’s life is just as precious to them as a human’s life is to a human, so why do we have to deny them a fair chance at life? Killing is wrong, even when good is meant by it. When I see anything dead, whether it be man, beast, or some other obscure creature, I can’t help it. The tears well up in my eyes, my hands start to shake, and I’m on the verge of some sort of breakdown. Call me weak, say “Geez, get a grip, it’s just a frog,” Tell me to take a knife and cut open that poor dead animal’s body. I won’t.  Compassion and empathy are the two characteristics of me that have given me the most trouble; I just refuse to cut open an animal for the sake of further learning. The knife freezes midair at the thought of what could have been someone’s pet.  Yet I have no problem eating copious amounts of chicken (that roam freely around my yard) and hamburgers. I just, for whatever reason, do not have a hard time differentiating the chickens in my yard, and the chicken on my plate, but have an extremely difficult time separating in my brain, the frogs in my stream, and the frogs on the dissection table. I guess I just need help sorting my feelings out.

*This is sort of like a diary entry, I just need some help making it more diaryish... 

Winter-Elizabeth

Winter is Approaching

A sigh of comfort escapes my lips as I pull on my baggy Holderness sweatpants, their cottony warmth instantly heating my legs. Skipping down the stairs, I try to decide what I’m going to write for my blog post tonight. I've done too many poems, too many short stories. My faucet of ideas, usually forming a raging river of inspiration, runs dry as I log on to my computer. I open Word and sit, thinking. I think for a while. My mind goes off on a spree, a wild adventure through nowhere, about everything I could write about. I think and think of all these ideas but they are too strong to put to words. Time ticks by and still I sit here, blanket wrapped around me, sipping a cup of tea, trying to think of something. Anything. Maybe a good time in my life? A fun time over the summer? My mind wanders around, pointlessly. It sets on my summer vacation, relaxing and carefree, full of camps, swimming, new friends. Smiling, I close my eyes and set my whole vacation in front of me. I reach another obstacle. There’s too much. I don’t know what to focus on, it was all too good. My thinking strays from its path, all these happy days of summer, over.

How is it that those days of swimming at the town beach or skipping rocks in the Pemi with my newly acquainted friends are over? Those days when I would splash my canoe mates while gliding through Squam Lake, clear and glassy, in the evening, laughing and singing songs are already two months away. That time I visited Cape Cod or the day we went to Whale’s Tale? Gone. I no longer have time to lounge on my couch, watching TV for hours or to call up my friends every other night, planning sleepovers and parties. How is it that we have already had weeks upon weeks of school and that the teachers no longer go easy on us, because we are 8^th graders? How is it that I’m a big kid, that I will never be in kindergarten or 2^nd, 5^th, or 7^th grade again? That there will never be a 1999 or 2001 or 2003 or 2005 or 2007 or 2010 ever again? How is it that they are already selling Christmas goods in stores? How is it that 2012 is almost over? How is it that I’m a teenager? A teenager! How is it that I’m growing up?

Shivering, my teeth chattering, I stop to wrap the blanket more tightly around me. I take a sip of tea and look up, realizing that all those thoughts are there. 201 words, I didn't realize I had been typing all that. I also didn't realize I was crying. I sit back, my eyes engulfed with tears, threatening to emerge at any given time. Thinking about my past, my future, I give in and softly weep. How is it that I’m growing up? 

**Sorry guys, I posted last night but when I went on today I realized it didn't show up so here it is!!

Untitled by Phoebe

I stepped onto the stage and a spotlight immediately froze right on me.  I glanced around the audience for my family, but they were nowhere to be found. They're late again; I thought to myself.  I heard whispers traveling throughout the confused crowd. I opened my mouth to sing the first note of my solo but nothing came out.  Sweat started dripping down my face, a salty orb of water sliding down my cheek. The piano assisted me and played my first note.  I cleared my throat and looked down. I faded into a world where there were no fears. I started singing; closing my eyes slowly, hearing the crowd exploding with cheers and whistles I knewI had made it through the song. I gradually opened my eyes to see my family in the front row standing up with all video cameras, phones and iPods out. I bowed and ran off the stage to greet my friend waiting to give me a giant hug! I had done it!

Untitled by Noa

I kneel on the cold, damp grass. I stare in disbelief at Tom, my friend of ten years, lying in a mangled heap on the ground. Flames crackling, the car we were in sits in an unrepairable mess, hood in the trunk of a large redwood tree. The autumn wind blows, carrying my friend's spirit into oblivion.

"This can't be happening," I think to myself as tears stream down my face, frozen in shock.

Minutes prior, Tom and I were having the time of our lives. Having graduated from high school, we were of to a post-grad party. While outside the car it was a torrential downpour, we were thinking of the good times to come -- not only at the party, but at Johns Hopkins University, where we were to attend next fall. Tom and I had bright futures ahead of us. We both were straight A students and were the stars of our respective varsity sports teams. Both of us wanted to get degrees in medicine, and we were on our way to success. While I was the more pessimistic of one, Tom always had I smile on his face that seemed to infect everyone who looked at him, including negative me.

We were laughing and listening to our favorite music as we sped through the almost flooded roads. Suddenly, on a sharp turn, the car slipped and we headed straight for the large trees off of the road. Screaming in fear we braced ourselves for impact. As the car hit the tree, we were thrown forwards. The airbags deployed I was safely stopped, but Tom who hadn't been wearing his seatbelt, violently flew through the windshield out of the car. Hurriedly opening the car door and ignoring my own wounds, I hobbled out and began to search for my friend.

"Tom? Tom!" I shouted desperately.

Then I saw him lying on the grass, limbs bent in awkward positions. You know what happened next.

Shortly after, an ambulance came to take us to the hospital. They already knew Tom was dead the second they saw him.

It was raining the day of the funeral. Everyone dressed in dark attire and wore grim expressions on their faces. Many cried, but I cried the hardest. I knew that he was never coming back, but I also knew that he would want me to move on. It took a long time, but after many weeks I finally managed to put a smile back on my face, like Tom always had on his.

Big Day, Big Worries

Each step I take

my heart rate multiplies
by what feels like
one million
times ten.

Subconsciously
I drag my feet
forward
to possibly the most important
day of my life
the arms on this worried body
weighed down
by mentally attached
cinder blocks
one on top of the other
with no other purpose
but to make things
more difficult.

Doing your best
speaking with confidence
can make or break
this
in front of
so many
people;
so many
people.
But
how  can I speak
with any confidence
any at all
when I feel
like I’m going to
vomit
or faint
or possibly
worse?

Come on, stay strong
nerves can’t hurt you
but they stand in your way
of what might be
your big day.

Trust me

the hollow thuds
of my
numb feet
on this wooden stage
pound
in my ringing ears;
crossing to that podium
where a microphone sits
waiting, waiting, waiting
to amplify
my suddenly shy
voice
awakens more
butterflies
living in my stomach
fluttering their wings
nonstop.

And out it comes

this enthusiastic speech
that the audience has been waiting for
and guess what
I have fun.
Fun.

I don’t think
I even knew what was
coming out of my mouth
or that I was
smiling to the crowd
as I walked off the stage
and those stupid butterflies
decided to migrate
somewhere far away.
Away.

Come on, stay strong
because nerves can
stand in your path
but they won’t stop me;
No way.

Who am I (3) by Liesl

How far do I have to go
to find out who I am?
how far am I willing to go?
What can I, a normal
(sort of) teen
from a tiny town
in a tiny state
do in the way of self-findoutishmenship,
or whatever?

Do I travel the world?
I can’t though.
I’m too young,
and I don’t have the money
It would be like
trying to run a marathon
up to my knees in quicksand.
maybe in another twenty-five years or something.

Do I play twenty questions with myself?
Even though I feel like
I don’t know myself well enough
to even begin
to know where to start?

What do I like?
er.. reading and nature, stuff like that
What do I feel strongly about?
What do I want?
I want the world to be this way forever
Who do I love?
Who am I?

I have a feeling that
I am going to find out soon.
It’s like that poet guy William Thompson said:
“When we come to an edge,
we come to a frontier that tells us
we are now about to become more
than we ever have been before”

And I think I have reached that edge
I’m guessing I have reached that frontier
and I am going to take the leap of faith
I am going to jump
fly into oblivion
and find out
Who
I
am

An Ode To NECAP Testing by Elizabeth

I squint and chew on my Jolly Rancher

wondering what to write.

I try my best to stay awake

I got no sleep last night.

Why do they all hate us so?

Why must they force this torture upon us?

Is it something that we did?

It makes me want to cuss.

I stress and cry and worry

about this dreaded test.

The teachers tell us not to fret,

they tell us “Just do your best”

But how would the teachers know

the terror that we go through?

All they do is sit and read

while we all feel so blue.

I battle my way through the questions

and try to get the answers right.

But when my brain fails due to boredom,

I guess I lose the fight.

I look at the clock and frown

and that frown turns to a grimace.

I only have 5 more minutes

to wrap everything up and finish.

I quickly finish my prompt,

unhappy with its quality.

 It really is quite bad,

So bad I’d consider it comedy. 

This horrible time once a year

really kills my pleasure.

Let's rid the world of NECAP Testing

for we can do it, together!

Poor Guy by Noa

Floating high in the sky, the sun, the source of all my pain and misery, shone its bright and hot rays down onto my feeble, tired body. I trudged alone in the desert sand, miserable. My clothes were in tatters and I was completely dehydrated.

Four weeks ago my plane crashed, leaving me the lone survivor. Hoping that I chose the right direction I walked, hoping to see the bright lights of a city or at least the houses of a small village. Desperate to find food, I ate whatever came across my path that was edible. Occasionally I would run into and drink from a pool of water, left by one of the scarce rainstorms. Those were lucky breaks, and I knew I would most likely not find food or water again.

As I trudged miserably, I began to see a line of green on the horizon. "What is this?" I thought to myself. Hoping that it was anything that could help me, I dashed for it, using the remainder of my energy. Panting and wheezing, I looked and saw a miracle. A line of trees was directly in front of me. A jungle. I knew there would be water in the jungle somewhere, so not caring about what dangers I might face within the lush forest I rushed in. Finding a small pool of  the precious H20, I drank greedily, water dripping of my chin. I felt revitalized.

Energy coursing though me once again, I got up and scanned the area. Choosing a random direction which wasn't towards the dreaded desert, I hiked. Ecstatic, I started to skip through the jungle. Then something terrible happened. I woke up.

I gasped for breath, wiping my hand of sweat after awaking from the vivid dream. I looked around and sighed, miserably. It was all a dream. I was still stuck in the desert with no food and no water. Knowing that I had almost no hope of surviving, I started to weep into my hands.

Lake Life by Lindsay

                       My mother hangs my wet towel, just used after a dip in the lake, while I flop on the couch in the sunroom. Rays of light filter through the windows, warming my face with its beams, and I close my eyes. It can't get better than this, I think. After today's events, waterskiing in mid-morning, kayaking after lunch, and taking a walk through the small harbor to get some ice cream from my favorite shop on the corner, it is nice to finally lie down and relax.
                       I wish I could live this life forever. 
                       But by the middle of August, the wind picks up and the waves are no longer smooth and gentle, lightly lapping up against the dock, but powerful white-caps that push you with their everlasting currents. This time of year, off in the distance sailors find their wind, and, with their sails scooping the airflows, they move swift and deftly, the boats slicing through the water at great speeds.
                       Moving to the window, I scan the lake and find that there are numerous sailors out there. I wish I was out there with them, the wind in my face, whistling in my ears and my legs getting sprayed with mists of water. Before I leave, I want to sail.
                       I stand and slide open the glass door and run to go find my dad in the boathouse.

My New Life-Elizabeth

I stare out the window, watching nothingness roll by. Mom has tried to start some conversations. I shut them all down. I’m not in the mood for her usual cheery chatter. As we progress down the winding New Hampshire road, the landscape becomes dotted with more and more trees and less and less civilization. There isn’t a single car in sight.

            “So are you excited?” she cautiously asks for the fourth time.

            “No” I plainly spit back. My eyes stay focused on the same smudge on the window. I squint, using every ounce of energy I have to not shift my eyes towards her.  Despite my silly efforts, I still look and find her catching glances at me through the mirror. She keeps sighing and she has that “concerned mother” look on her face, the one that she has when she’s worried for me. My face burns with guilt and anger and every other sick emotion I’m feeling right now. Why does she always have that look on her face? It makes me feel worthless. Stupid. I try to ignore her and go back to my smudge on the window. The last thing I remember is staring at that smudge until my eyes drooped and I couldn’t hold them open any longer.

…

            I wake up later and right away I notice it is dark outside. I strain my neck to see the clock. It reads 12:37. I was asleep for five hours. My mom sees  that I’m awake. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something but then decides better and closes her lips. Her eyes shift back to the road. Thank God. I press my forehead against the cold window. I see cars and a few small houses lined up at the side of the road. We are no longer on the highway but instead, we slowly cruise through a small neighborhood. The area is so stereo-typical; Perfect little houses, white with light blue shutters. Flowers planted out in front, complimenting the perfectly green grass. Sprinklers feed the growing plants, chig chig chig. I open the window just a crack to hear it better. Chig chig chig. It’s stuck in my head. I close my eyes and listen to the slow steady pattern of the sprinklers. The cold air sneaks through the cracked window and slips around me. I shiver and quickly close it. I huff on the pane and draw an "A" and "J" with a heart around it.

            “Get your things together,” I jump at the sound of my moms’ voice, “We’re almost there.”

I angerly scribble out my masterpiece. We are almost to the location where my new life will begin.

The Writer- Liesl

I quicken my stride and hear my footsteps against the linoleum, sharp and brisk. I come to the cafeteria and find it empty, except for a redhead girl sitting at one of the tables alone, bent over a piece of paper writing intently.

“Darn it,” I think. This is my first week at Holderness Central School and I’ve missed lunch. I moved here a month earlier and enrolled late, so have spent the past twenty minutes trying to get organized and find the lunchroom. My stomach growls hungrily and I sigh. It was going to be a long day. Startled, the girl turns around, her red hair flying and a blue pen gripped in her right hand.

“Um, hi…” I venture. God. What a stupid thing to say, couldn’t I have managed something more? How lame am I?

“Hi” she says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, are you new?” she asks curiously

“Uh… yeah. I just enrolled last week; I’m in the 7^th grade. My name’s Jessie” I stand there awkwardly as she runs her eyes up and down my petite, 4’ 11” frame, brown hair, and totally normal, boring outfit.

“Hey, that’s cool! There are two girls in the eighth grade with me named Jessie! Well, Jessica really, but neither of them like that name, so they go by Jessie. Geez, it’s gonna get pretty confusing around here…, Do you need anything? You look sort of lost. I’m Elizabeth by the way.” She seems genuine, not at all like the other girls who I met today, the ones who were trying to brainwash me into joining their petty clique.

“Err, yeah. I am confus- I mean, yeah, I am lost. I don’t know my way around, and now I missed lunch because I couldn’t find the lunchroom.” Oh. My. God. Could I have screwed up any worse?

“Well, I don’t know how you feel about spaghetti, but that was what was for lunch today, and I don’t like it, so you can it” she motions for me to come sit down next to her and pushes her untouched lunch tray to me. “It’s a little cold, but it should be better than nothing.” She clicks her pen shut and tosses it down on top of a journal decorated with a cupcake and some other random doodles.

“What were you writing?” I ask as I devour the cold, congealed noodles, that actually weren’t half bad.

“Oh. Just a poem for my writing class. You can read it if you want, but it still needs work” Elizabeth pushed the paper covered in notes to me, “It’s this part right here,” I glance down at the paper and read.

 

Time slips between our fingers

Like water in cupped hands

Trying to stop it

Is like trying to stop the tide

And no matter how much you want to

No matter how much you pray

Children will grow up

The elderly will die

We will drown ourselves in pools of tears

Entire nations vanish

In the minute of a god

Yet time keeps pushing

On

The planets spin

The earth revolves

The stars trace

Their never ending passage across the sky

And time keeps pushing

On.

 

When I finish I am stunned “Wow,” I say “I mean, wow, that’s really good, I love to write, but I can’t do anything that good!”

“You really think so?” Elizabeth searches my face for any sign of falsehood. “I still think it needs work.” She suddenly glances at the clock. “Crud, 11:50. Time for class.” She packs up her stuff in a hurry and dashes out the pair of metal doors. I look down at the remains of my lunch, and wonder if I have found a new friend.

 

 

Phoebe Day

Mrs. Miller

Publishing Class

September 30, 12

Birthday

The most important date I will always remember is, 9/29/00.  My birthday was last Saturday. I was looking forward to this day for months and months. I was finally 12 years old. The age of everyone else in my grade. I woke up early and I felt older. I was with my friend and I was ready to take on the day right as my alarm went off.  We walked over to breakfast and I ate a big meal. While eating, many people complimented me by saying happy birthday. 

        Although most people stay up until they were born, I didn’t.  I couldn't stay up until 3:44 because I had had a party that night and I had so much sugar that I was so tired.  My friend and I went to bed at around 11:00 PM and we were fast asleep right as we jumped in our beds. The whole day was wonderful! 

         Right after breakfast, we went over to the turf and played FH for about 3 hours. We then waddled over to my mom’s office, very sore.  Right  after that, we went over to lunch where we, again, ate a big meal.  Time flew and it was already 1 o’clock. Mariah and I sprinted over to the turf to watch the varsity FH game to learn a thing or two.  It was a very fun time! She eventually left and I was left at the turf. Then my other friend popped out of know where and we hung out at the gym. I was at the gym until 5:30 PM. The night went by quickly after eating popcorn while watching a movie at my neighbor’s house. The day was AWESOME!!