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Creative writing
Submitted by your fellow students here at Pickerington Central
By, By Peter Planisek The urgent knocking at the door summoned her back to reality. Grace’s mind was slower to react than her body. Not strange given the nature of her job, but still it was a surprise when she realized that she was already almost to the front door as the prescient knocking resumed. Grace breathed deeply as she paused before turning the lock. What time was it? Her eyes drifted to a nearby clock – 3:23 A.M. More alert, she tried to look through the peephole, only to retract instantly as the hasty banging repeated itself. “Sheriff’s department,” a gruff sounding voice declared from the other side of the door. Something in the tone stifled her inclination to verify the speaker’s identity before opening the door. Heart racing, Grace beheld two uniformed men dutifully waiting before her. A strong smell filled the night air as a host of shapes moved hurriedly behind them. “Miss, you need to evacuate everyone in this residence now,” the taller of the two deputies stated without perfunctory. Grace opened her mouth but her question was answered before she could give it voice. “Wildfire. Spreading in quick from the west,” the shorter officer rapidly explained. “How long do I have?” Grace asked. Suddenly both of the men’s radio speakers erupted with an overlapping cacophony of orders and numbers that they were somehow able to distinguish. 1 “Unit 7, acknowledged. We’re done here,” the taller man reported to the dispatcher. “Not long. Leave your belongings and drive east – hurry.” the shorter officer instructed Grace a moment before both men sprinted to their idling cruiser and vanished into the darkness. As they left, Grace noticed the unnatural glow ebbing and rising to the west. Even in the dark she could tell that a significant number of the court’s residents had already left. Those that remained were racing between their vehicles and homes, cursing and honking at each other as they tried to leave, or helping other neighbors pack. Her skin felt clammy. She shifted uncertainly as a man ran in her direction. “Do you have a car? There’s room with us,” he alerted Grace. Her eyes tracked back to the unwelcome glow just beyond the western ridge of mountains. “I have to call an ambulance,” she began, “Mrs. Newbrandt can’t ...” She stopped as the man nodded and fled back across the lawn to his own family. Grace turned from the door just as the power to the house flickered into nothing. She fumbled awkwardly to the spot on the ancient end table where she’d left her phone. Should she call 911 or the service first? It didn’t matter. Grace punched numbers in but nothing happened. She studied the screen only to discover the phone reporting it was unable to connect. The towers must be damaged or gone and the landline had been disconnected the past five days. 2 The house was becoming rich with the scent of smoke. Grace ran to the door in time to see the man who’d come to check on her driving away with his family. The court looked deserted and the ominous glow now threatened to explode on top of the ridge. Grace shut the door and began to grope her way towards Mrs. Newbrandt’s master bedroom. She hated this job. They always stuck her with the terminal patients or those suffering from any number of dementias. Why? She was too nice, too pure. The older home healthcare assistants said she was just paying her dues, which is all Grace ever seemed to be doing. Four years ago she’d moved from Hawaii intent on launching her acting career here. Her current job was meant to be a temporary means to an end but slowly it was becoming all she had. The pursuit of her dreams now rested on her ability to tolerate the long, lonely hours of caring for other people’s elderly relations. Of bathing them, feeding them, issuing medicine, even ensuring they kept breathing. Essentially she spent more time living in service of the dying then she did living her own life. It was cheaper to live with her patients and more convenient. But it left little time to go to auditions, hang out with the few friends she’d been able to meet, or even date. She rarely managed to get away from the house and her invalid patient. The house smelled of disinfectant and decay; of stale, re-circulated air too long trapped by closed windows. She lived in service to people who could afford not to be burdened by caring for the older members of their family. In most cases the relatives of her patients never visited. Grace spent hour after hour either alone or listening to her charges’ incoherent babbling about people and places she would never know, if they’d ever even existed. 3 Grace stopped in the doorway, suddenly aware that the normal hiss of the oxygen tank and regular pulses from the other monitoring machinery were idle. But the shallow, rattling breath of her patient remained constant. Mrs. Newbrandt’s mysterious family refused to pay for a generator since they were selling the house and had disconnected the landline and cable, afraid the home healthcare worker might financially abuse such privileges. If not for paperwork delays, the old woman was to have been in a hospice center two days ago and Grace far from here. But they remained. The young woman darkly pondered her options. She couldn’t move Mrs. Newbrandt alone. The older woman was too physically fragile and the medical bed she rested in was too wide to fit through the doorway. Grace coughed as she tied a wet bandana over her mouth before doing likewise to her patient. Resentment flashed through her as she beheld the wizened figure on the bed. Why was this her problem? She didn’t know this woman or her family. Mrs. Newbrandt, among a host of other lethal ailments, suffered from dementia. She was completely incapable of remembering or conversing with Grace despite the fact that the young woman had been her sole companion for nearly eleven months. Caring for this woman all that time only kept Grace further and further away from achieving her dreams, of living. What would happen if she died tonight? She was already terminal. Did it matter? No one else seemed to care. Grace could still escape in her car. All she needed to do was walk into the other room, retrieve the keys, and shut the door behind her. The family would probably be relieved the whole affair was over. The fire wasn’t her fault. They couldn’t really expect her to stay. Grace began to back away from the bed. But what if she lost her job? What if they sued 4 her? She couldn’t even afford to fly home right now. Maybe she should stay here, hope the house was spared. The momentary flicker of a flashlight from the main room attracted her attention. Her pulse quickened. Maybe the officers had returned. Perhaps the neighbor who’d fled was back. Grace froze as she stepped out of the bedroom to find a gun pointed at her. “On the ground,” a man’s authoritative voice commanded. “Please don’t shoot,” she cried as she swiftly sank to the floor. It was easier to breath down here. “I’m a home healthcare worker. My patient, Mrs. Newbrandt, is in the other room. I need help moving her.” “Stay down,” the man responded. “The money, the valuables, where are they?” “What?” “I don’t have time for this. Tell me before I count to three. One,” the voice began. “There aren’t any valuables,” Grace asserted. Were there? “Two.” “I swear!” “Three.” 5 Her words tumbled out rapidly in a trembling plea. “She’s dying. She’s supposed to be at hospice. The family’s left nothing here. I swear. Please!” Each precious, silent moment that followed was punctuated by the thundering pulse of her heartbeat. She could feel the floor vibrating beneath her with each pulse. The light was shown down directly into her face. She wanted to vomit. “You’re crazy,” the man’s voice said. “Leave her and go.” Grace’s fingers stretched out. “I can’t just leave ...” The light was taken away from her eyes. “If she’s dying already just leave her,” the looter intoned. “Or stay here and die.” The weight of the suggestion echoed in her soul as she looked up to the masked face of the looter. He lowered his gun and flashlight and held out a gloved hand to help her up. He was strong. The smoke was thicker now as she stood; the glow from the fire more intense. “You could help me. Help me move her,” Grace said hopefully. The man immediately turned and began to walk toward the door. She must make her choice now. “I’ll help you. I’ll help you!” she cried running after him. He raised the gun. She stopped. 6 “I’ve been in this neighborhood for months. I know the houses you should loot. I’ll help you,” she desperately asserted. “I’ve lived here for years. I don’t need your help,” the masked figure coolly replied. “I’m nearly broke,” Grace confessed. “All this is about to be ash. I’ll help.” The looter studied her a moment. “Okay,” he said, waving the gun toward the door. “We keep what we find,” she declared as he joined her outside. The stranger nodded. “We keep what we find,” he repeated. Both noted the flames now visible on the mountain side. Grace pointed to four houses. The other indicated which ones he was taking and headed off to search them. How did he intend to escape? There didn’t appear to be some type of vehicle ready to outrun the steadily approaching fire. She dismissed the issue. Time was short. Grace entered the first of her two houses to search. She stopped only a moment to remoisten the bandana over her mouth. Smoke was stinging her eyes, which were watering constantly now. She wished she had a pair of work goggles like her obscure criminal counterpart. His earlier remark made it clear that he must be a local. Would she recognize him? Her eyes involuntarily tracked to the open door. Maybe he intended to abandon her while she searched or rob her after. What if they survived, would one turn the other one in? Desperate 7 for money she’d pocketed a few items from patients homes before and never been caught. She was clever enough to deal with him. Grace could claim he’d forced her to do it. Or she could deal with him now. Maybe she could scare him off or get away in her car before he was done with his own crimes. Grace managed to find some cash but left most of the heavier valuables untouched. The second home, however, yielded a small fortune in silverware and jewelry, which she shoved unceremoniously into a bag. Her search also yielded one other noteworthy find – a handgun. A kitchen knife would have been sufficient but now she was on equal footing with the looter. As she descended to the first floor, she paused only a moment to study the family pictures in the stairwell. They would have lost all of this anyway, Grace decided. It didn’t matter who they were. Why should it matter if she took it? If her job paid a fair wage she wouldn’t even have to resort to this. Upon exiting the second home, Grace discovered the fire was much closer. One of the homes at the opening to the court was now smoking as flames began to eat into it. Smoke hung dense over the area and she was compelled to remain low to the ground in order to breathe. Grace slunk toward Mrs. Newbrandt’s house but paused. A human form was moving out there, as if it were searching for her. She checked her weapon. It held two rounds. If she was going to reach her car she’d either have to confront the man or trust him. The smoke would hide her. Maybe she could fire in his direction and scare the looter off. She raised the weapon as her mother had taught her. It was hard to aim. Grace coughed and blinked involuntarily as she shot into the smoke. She couldn’t see the figure. Better to save 8 the last shot in case he was still lurking. Fixing the safety in place, Grace began moving forward again. She could feel the heat from the fire behind her, greedy to consume her life. A moan attracted her attention before she reached it. She sought out the noise expecting to find the looter. Instead, to her great surprise, the moan turned out to be from a partially conscious wildfire fireman. His eyes widened visibly at the sight of her. If he was here there must be others Grace decided. “Help! Help!!!!” she screamed, choking on soot. The fireman tried to speak but only a sick gasp escaped before he collapsed into unconsciousness. “No, I wasn’t aiming ...,” she couldn’t even finish the thought as she noticed the red stain on the side of his shirt. “No,” Grace said numbly as her fingers pressed into the warm blood on the pavement. She cast her eyes about for some means of salvation. They found one in the radio he’d dropped. She inched toward it. She could feel the flames from the towering wave of fire as it steadily engulfed more of the court’s homes. Her fingers gripped their prize. “Hello. Hello,” she yelled into the radio over the noise of the inferno. She covered her eyes as the buried gas line to a house ignited. The roar was deafening. Had she heard a reply on the radio? “Three persons. Firefighter. Ten Acre Road and Canyon Court. 471 Canyon Court. Three persons! Help us!” she yelled before breaking down into a crippling coughing fit. A 9 hailstorm of smoke and debris shot past her overhead. She tried to find Mrs. Newbrandt’s house but was unable to see much of anything in the shifting maelstrom. The searing winds stole her breath and her senses succumbed. *** “Good morning, hero,” a voice said to her. Grace’s mouth tasted like ash. “What? What happened?” she asked as she fought to resolve the stinging sensation when she attempted to open her eyes. “You made it. You’re a hero,” the voice repeated. “Nurse will be here in a moment.” She could make out the sound of a button being clicked. Memories returned. “I’m not a hero,” Grace whispered. “Well, the media says otherwise. You stay behind in a wildfire to try and save an old woman, end up saving a firefighter who’d been attacked by a looter. Yes, Grace, you’re a true hero. In fact, you’re famous. The media can’t wait to come in here and talk to you.” Grace tried again to open her stinging eyes. “The others are alive?” “Unfortunately the fireman is in a coma but Mrs. Newbrandt is resting comfortably at a hospice center right now. Thank goodness you were able to drive them down the mountain in time,” the man observed. 10 “I never drove them down the mountain,” Grace said as her vision began to clear. The uniformed officer rose and began to head for the door but paused to fix her with familiar eyes. She could not remember ever seeing his face before but she knew this man. An unwelcome certainty gripped her seconds before the man spoke. “I’ve taken care of the evidence. I’m sure we’ll be speaking again, Grace. Fame is sure to have its financial benefits and after all, we keep what we find.” “The Inner Fire” by Pete Planisek Published by Enceladus Literary LLC ©2013 All Rights Reserved Published by Enceladus Literary LLC 2013 11
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Rebecca Crane That question is always hard to answer Imagine ballet, plus drill team Plus gymnastics Plus cheerleading Multiply all of that by Marching Band Now add flying swords Sweat, Blood, Tears The season never seems to end Flag, Dance, Sabre, Rifle! Band Camp is often a week of torture But in the end, it is worth it Jazz Walk, Jazz Run Pointed Toes, No Flexed Feet 8 by 5 is ideal marching technique Pile to Releve Saute and and Chasse and Pas Marching Band and Winterguard Drop Spins and Conservatives are always the beginning We spin everything, even pencils if it is necessary Performances at football games and band concerts is where we show off what we can Hours and Hours of practice makes a clean show Very few have ever had a perfect show 45 tosses and flat tosses Singles, Doubles, Triples, Quads, Fives! Flutters and Backscratching Pop Tosses and Prayer Tosses Spin, Spin, Stop and Drip, and Out Memories get created from guard Laughs and Smiles Even if Colorguard is complicated to understand we love it We are a family We didn't choose the guard life The guard life chose us Helena Savannah From the age of 13 things begin to change, you realize that everything you thought you knew is no longer the same.. you watch your body change, your emotions, Your sexuality, things that happened before start to affect you in different ways, and then there is high school.. the world of young adults this is where we watch society evolve, things get into our heads and tears begin to fall, some of us fall into a deep depression where we wish to feel nothing at all, some people make cuts that leave scars or take pills to suppress all the feelings that their life involves, anxiety is also a thing the feeling and makes you overthink the thoughts that already carry heavy weight. You make friends but quickly find out that some of them are fake. With relationships half of the time you either play or get played, in the relationships promises are made that might cause your break, these are when your first attachments come into place.. we learn how to love in all the right but also wrong ways, we learn for that for the people we love we will do bad things, we often learn after a heartbreak that we must love ourselves before anyone else because in the end all you have is yourself. We are often told that love can leave you feeling more dead than a deadly weapon but when feelings arise and we being to fall we often go into things with our hearts our minds are no longer worrying about the problems that may transpire. We are no longer thinking about the result we just know that we are happy and the moment and that’s all that matters. After all the pain this person will still remain on your brain,we believe we will never love the same until someone new comes along and we realize love is a good thing. Some people start question their sexuality when they begin being attracted to a sex of the same, as much as we hate to admit it we discriminate against race, gender, sexuality, religion, socioeconomic status and we even body shame.. we point out all the ways that people are different and turn them into a “bad thing”. We are not born with hate in our hearts, this is not something we carry within us from the start.. we are born with innocents but as we grow older our innocents gets influenced we hear “he’s queer so he’s weird” or “she’s too fat so she’s ugly” everyone in high school lives with these things, these things that make a lot of us break, but some of us break in worse ways.. while you’re here please try enjoy these years.. they are supposed to be the best ones of our lives. You let me know if your opinion changes.
Oluwashola Adegoke You think the attention is thrown at you but people only look at you from a different point of view
Sorry to say you aren’t greatly portrayed in fact the line you walk is a little frayed I don’t wear a halo, I’m not claiming perfection I’m just simply inspecting the character that you seem to be reflecting. Guess it’s kind of hard to create your own exit in the roundabout of society. You have a brain but when it’s been washed to only see the reflection of the such a false idea of how to be accepted in the media’s election how can we simply move to any other direction. Such lie we were told that life comes with no instruction because it seems to be pretty mapped out. Do I look okay? Here’s my opinion. Your hairs not that great. Guess you should lose a little weight. Are those your teeth because I’m not comfortable with them not being perfectly straight. Why do we complicate every step that we prepare to take. Now I think what is true. Is it me or is it you. Dear yours truly, here’s my complaint I’m tired of your mind games. I will go my own way and I’ll sit above the clouds and make it rain. By then you’ll see between you and me that I wasn’t the mistake. I was simply singing my name to an outline that you didn’t make. Again, I must claim that there’s a darkened sun with tinted rays so that bright light that we think is so great is all just a misconception, though our hands are imprinted on the wheel continuing the drive, continuing to stray. Judgment is overrated, what happened to facts being facts. There’s a timeline we can clearly see what’s a repeat so any denial can be deleted from the conversations that insist that we are just haters. I’m sorry but you can’t pick and chose what is true and the truth is that the truth hurts, absorb it now and understand how you act was implanted in the dirt and your a seed that will continue to grow in generations that a forest will be seen too bad by then will have no trees and this world will fluctuate with deserted souls that were dead in the first place. Donovan Little Where my head is today.
In a year and a half, there have been 4 deaths in my family. September 20th, 2018, on my step-father’s side, his grandmother passed away from dementia. It broke my heart then, and it still does today. October 3rd, 2018, the day of my birthday, on my step-father’s side, his stepdad's father passed away. It broke my heart then, and it still does today. October 15th, 2018, on my step-father’s side, his step dad’s mother passed away. It broke my heart then, and it still does today. March 25th, 2019, on my mother’s side, her grandpa passed away from a tragic fall. It broke my heart then, and it still does today. And now I’m worried, that my mother’s grandmother might pass soon as well; being married to my grandpa for 67 years, and also suffering from dementia. My heart has suffered from too many relatives passing, and for the longest time, death has bothered me. I’m not scared of it, more or less, it’s about how I die; I would rather die in my sleep. On the outside, I may seem happy. As if I just received some grant award. But, on the inside, I feel depressed. I’m happy, but not happy. Although, I know it probably doesn’t make sense, but if you’ve ever felt that way before, you should know. Death won’t stop me from pursuing life though. Death won’t stop me from writing poetry, singing songs, living life, and achieving a higher education. Although it’s a tough topic to talk about, it’s the circle of life. My life has changed in a year in a half as well. I’ve found my passion for music, I’ve achieved many feats in academics, and I’ve discovered myself as a person. That’s what we should find at the end of high school. Although I’ve witnessed death in many forms, death hasn’t caught my tail yet, so I’m going to live life while I can. In a year and a half, life has changed. Where my head is today. Danicka VanMeter The light steps of John Finley sank into the thick, muting cushion of snow without the faintest snatch of sound. The flakes settled softly in his wake, swirling flurries of a gentle blindness, slowly, sweetly tucking away all slips of sound in the deep caress of forgotten dreams. The late hours of evening had yet to pass over the day, and Finley’s worn leather soles, peeling and brown-black from the snow, halted their steady procession, paused, and settled their weight firmly to both feet, as their owner craned his head, one hand subconsciously clutching an old tweedy hat to his head, as he stared, squinty eyed through the snow at the large, red “Condemned” letters spelled out across the cracked and dusty windows of the old building. Marked out against the expansive white banks, the fresh new sign peered out from the midst of swirling snow flurries as a trace of unwanted color, in a world comfortably black and white.
A stray, still form in the midst of bustling bodies, collars up to the chin, cheeks flushed with cold, eyes beady and black, Finley painted a queer picture in the middle of the shabby street, an oddly clear figure frozen in time, surrounded by the grey-blurred outlines of rushing passerby. Stepping closer to the building, the sound of his own footsteps crunching in the snow seemed suddenly more solid, and, as he pressed a weathered hand to the frozen bricks of the towering old Grand Hotel before him, a shiver ran down his spine, an empty echo sounded down the street. Hours, or perhaps minutes later he still sat, hunched against the rough stone wall, his patched, wet coat drawn up to his ears, his once fine face paled with the cold, tinged blue around the eyes and lips, pale blue eyes sunken deep into their sockets, fine wrinkles the only outline of what had once been. He had placed his hat before him, weighted with rocks to keep it from being blown away, and as he sat half in, half out of the world, a man who had once opened doors to him dropped a coin in his hat without looking at him. Finley remembered that man, the superb quality of his tailored suit, the look of respect in his eyes, the way his eyebrows lifted in barely concealed surprise, the quirk of his mouth as though unsure whether he was permitted to smile. But perhaps it had only been a dream after all…the days of golden arches , of strings of pearls wrapped around swan like necks, of glittering jewels presented for his, the largest, grandest parties, the awed whispers of his hotel, present under even the most insincere and same-standard cordialities. Black Thursday as it was called had shattered those dreams…or begun them, for reality now faded into sublime, and sublime faded away with the snow. The next morning an irritated demolition worker leapt angrily from his crane to see what had caused the delay, cursing as he pushed through the small crowd of workers around the condemned building. He stopped as he saw a man curled and small at the base of the old hotel, and paused. Soon however, the crowd dispersed, grew disinterested, resumed their tasks, and with the aid of a couple fellow workers, the body was hosted unceremoniously down an alleyway, and buried in a makeshift grave of snow. As the building fell in crumbling ruin, and the carefully crafted might of the hotel crashed to the ground, empty echoes streamed down the snow-muted streets, lost on the ears of the deaf-toned passerby. Helena Savannah To the girl who sends cries high and wide and they are left unheard, I hear you.. Hold on you will thrive. At this moment you are just blind to your prize that lies at your fingertips.. hold on, I hear you.. it’s okay you cry.. you are just trying to find your place in life.
To the girl who lives on the north side surrounded by guns, drugs, and fights you can make it out.. you can succeed in life. To the girl who gets bullied at school and comes home to no food, her mother not in sight and her father watching her from the clouds, angelic like but not the actions followed through by a demon who took his life, she sits at the end of her bed with pills that could poison contemplating suicide, please hold on baby these struggles that you endure are not worth your precious life. To the girl who’s never had a father in her life and seeks attention from men of all kinds, she feels as if she must give her body to those who don’t deserve her mind and beauty let alone her skin. Your body isn’t worth anything if you don’t use your mind, if you don’t see what’s inside. To the girl that has been raped, whose body has been taken advantage of they now feel broken, worthless and the thought of it being their fault it wasn’t the shirt that fell off her shoulders ... or her skirt with the slit exposing the skin of the one who was innocent, the man who took her sanity shouldn’t have touched her in ways her first love would’ve begged for, still remembering the chills that ran up and down her spine and the tears rolled down her cheeks, as her nails dig into his skin implying to him that she does not give consent. It wasn’t her fault. Her skin was dim, but please don’t let that light burn out, don’t give it to him. To the girl who is insecure, you are beautiful beyond words, don’t let the thoughts and the words of others hurt.. I know it’s hard.. when the words burn and cut so deep, they can leave scars. But the wounds are from the battle, you won, still living and staying strong. They shine bright even in the darkest times of the night, the nights you are at your worst. To the girl in the hallway at school getting yelled at by kids telling her that she’s been “ran through” but know nothing about the things that she’s been though, the places she’s been to, the things she’s seen, those people have never seen her battle and will only see her shine, that makes them filled with envy, but the girl that is quietly watching is going through the same thing as her. To all the beautiful, brilliant and amazing girls please let this be a message to you, even with your scars you are beautiful too.. you shouldn’t have to go through a time where you are unsure of living your life, you will prosper and be so proud of the things you have accomplished. Please let your mind and heart be at ease when I tell you, you will survive this even if that means at one point time you didn’t want to live. Nathan Bauer When telling people who I am, I almost always describe my love for the art of film before most things. Back in 2013, I saw the film Iron Man 3 and with that film, started my interest in how films are made and actually wanting to make them myself. After I saw Iron Man 3, I looked up the reviews for the film and what I found was a whole world of different perspectives on the art and all of the of the films that are out there. I began to expand my movie-watching from big superhero films and cutesy animation films(animation is great and superhero films aren’t bad, mostly) to more mature and thought provoking films with real voices and themes. I began to delve into the popular films that I hadn’t seen before or obscure films that I had loosely heard about such as Swiss Army Man, a film about a man lost at sea who finds a dead body that can talk and becomes best friends with him. I had also begun to make short films in my free time. As I learned more and more about writing, film making techniques, story elements, camera tricks etc. I began to act on the ideas I would get in my head everyday even if they were really silly. I can’t say that these films were any good, but they were fun to do for everyone involved and provided me with a chance to learn from past mistakes. When I was in sixth grade, I took an interest in stop-motion animation and the stories I could tell with that style of film making. I started pumping out videos that I made with the superhero legos that I owned because it was fun and I got to create stories that I never would have seen or had wanted see without any budget or legal restrictions. At this point in my life, I had been making more shorts than I had previously just because they were easy to do and as I got older, I wanted to actually make things that people could actually take seriously, so I ditched the superhero lego videos and dumb little shorts and began to plan out everything that I would be making from shot lists, to multiple drafts of scripts, to location scouting etc. I’m nearly sixteen years old and my knowledge of film is greater than my knowledge of anything I’m knowledgeable about and I couldn’t be happier. I have taken inspiration from such filmmakers like Christopher Nolan for his more thought-provoking films and his wonderful cinematography, Quentin Tarantino for his old way of making films and memorable dialogue, and Denis Villeneuve for the same reasons for Christopher Nolan and for his emotional themes in his films, and Shane Black for his dialogue and wacky characters in an intense situation. I am currently working on a western short film that is in the process of being written and I am taking the inspiration from the various filmmakers I have just mentioned and using it as a jumping off point, and I am so excited and I think it’s going to be my best work. In the future, I hope to attend college to study film and the different aspects of film so I can get a job where I can take what I have learned and present the world with something new and unknown. I love film because of the creative ways you can express yourself and make people feel something. Nothing other than life itself can give you the experiences that film can provide whether it be about people surviving an alien aboard their spaceship, fighting crime, or going through the trials of everyday life, you’ll surely find something that’s just for you.
Violet Fisher Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Jackie and she had a dog named Faisy it was a 2 headed dog. She also had a sister named Jayda, she loved her phone. So much so, that one day she got sucked up into her cell phone. Jayda has been on the internet before and she had emailed her sister Jackie. Jackie would receive the email two days later. Her and Faisy would set off on a long quest to go free Jayda from the internet. She had packed up her bags and left her little cottage on the mountainside.
First, on her journey, she would head off to the village of Lezelia to pick up the tool of faith the Reedle it was a long stick with a hook on the end to pull Jayda from the internet. Next, on her quest, she would go to the mountainside to meet the troll named Donovan he was all mighty and knew the way of the mountains. So Jackie had asked for him to join her and he had declined. But while he had declined he had given her a map that would show here the routes of anywhere she asked. Next, on her journey, she had wanted to call in for the night and her and Faisy had gone to a little cottage on the side of a mountain. The owner of the Cottage was a pixie named Charlie. She rarely gets company since she does live on the mountainside. When staying their Jackie had a weird feeling because Charlie had told them that they did not have to pay for anything. But she went on to her room anyway. In the morning she had left with Faisy and nothing weird had happened. So they went along with their route and came along a group of 3 knights named Brianna, Caden, and Lauryn they had asked Jackie if she wanted asistance with her Journey with a small fee. But what the fee would be her soul what she did not know was that the knights worked for the demon named Rubix who has ruled the underworld for 500 years. She had declined and left in a hurry with making sure that she can see them till she is to far. She then headed on with her quest. Later that day she went on her quest and saw this shadow in the distance it was dark but yet bright in some strange way when Jackie had gotten closer she saw it was a tall looking figure she was a bright pink shadow from a far as she had came closer. It was a witch her name was Cadence and she had also been greeted by the 3 knights but had gotten lost by running away from them. Unlike the knights she was from above she had used to be an angel but had lost her halo to help friend in need and was put back on earth to come help a person in need. If she accomplishes this task then she will receive her halo back and can go back to heaven. So Jackie had told her about the quest. Cadence was flabbergasted she was so happy that she had gotten lost if not she would have been lost and stuck on earth for another 100 years. So Cadence and Jackie started back on the quest. They had needed to re-supply and get some rest so they came along on this little village called Ellaburg it was a small town of elves they are very smart and know there way around potions and magical elixers. So Jackie and asked if they could spend the night somewhere and an elf named Pursia was living in a birght yellow home. Cadence would then knock on the door. Pursia answered with a funny grin her and a friend Emily were cutting each others hair because they were going to a ball that night. So Pursia had said that she did not care so they had gone inside and went straight to bed. The next morning they had left Ellaburg and thanked their host and where off. While on their path out of the mountains they had came along the troll named Donovan once again. He had looked cranky and vexed look. Jackie asked what is wrong and Donovan cried with a loud growl. Donovan was in pain he was lonely their were no other trolls around so he had asked Jackie if he could join and apologized for his behavior. They had soon been out of the mountains and into the crops of fairys they had known they were getting close to where Jayda was being held. The sky had been getting darker and everything had been upset and everyone around them had have blank zombie like stairs on their face. Almost like they had no soul or brain. They had came along a tall black building is had large black rain clouds above and a bridge dividing it from land. There were 2 guards outside of the building. Donovan walked up to one of the guards his name was Jarvis. He had not said a word but Donovan had a whole speech with Jarvis. And Jarvis still had not moved and inch while talking Jackie and Cadence went inside. The other guard had not noticed them going in. Once inside they had looked around and saw that on the inside of the building it was cubed shaped it had 4x4 squares almost like a rubix cube. What they had not realized was the building was owned by Rubix the demon. They had found where Jayda was being held and took out the Reedle and stuck it in the portal. She had felt a tug and pulled it out and it was Jayda she looked a bit tired but other than that she was fine. They wanted to get out of their quick before meeting Rubix himself. They were less then 10 feet away and then was stopped by Jarvis. Donovan had forgotten what he was talking about and walked away. Jackie knew they were in danger and called Faisy to come help she had tackled Jarvis to the ground and she screamed RUN her Cadence and Jayda ran out to the forest and never looked beck by that time Faisy had caught up and lost Jarvis and found Donovan. Cadence had then gotten to go back up to heaven. And Donovan had just decided to buy a Fluggel named Planisek. And Jayda learned her lesson about being on her phone for to long. And Jackie had the adventure of a lifetime. THE END...or is it? Rebecca Crane It was snowing lightly in London, England as a black car pulled up to a black gate with a building on the other side. Abigail Smith glanced up at the building with a sad look on her face. She did not want to be here. Abigail’s father received her trunk from the car, and opened her door. Abigail just sat there, staring at him. Her dull green eyes looked at him emotionless, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“I do not want to go in there.” Abigail said, bluntly, still not moving. Her father grabbed her hand and pulled her gently out of the car, He lead her inside, not wanting to deal with her stubbornness right at the moment. Inside of the building was a lobby with the sterile smell of cleanliness. Abigail stood by her trunk as her father checked her in. The sterile smell made Abigail wrinkle her nose, she hated it that smell. Her father and a nurse came over to her. “Hello, Abigail. I am Nurse Bianca, I am in charge of your room and will be your guide to Londanian Asylum.” The nurse said, smiling. Abigail looked at her with her arms crossed. Nurse Bianca lead Abigail, pulling her suitcase with her. Abigail waved goodbye to her father, she had a sad smile on her face, she would miss her father. The door closed to the lobby, revealing a room filled with a TV with the movie of the Sisterhood of Travelling Pants playing, the room was empty but one girl who was watching the movie. “Hello, Nurse Bianca.” The girl greeted. Nurse Bianca and Abigail walked through the room to a series of doors on either side, Abigail was lead down to the last door on the left side. The door opened, revealing a series of books lining one side of the room and a TV was in the room as well, many dvds lined the wall behind the TV, it was like a perfect paradise. There were five beds in the room, each with a different color of sheets and pillows. Abigail was instantly confused because her father had asked for a private room. “Nurse Bianca, I thought that, my father had asked for a private room for me because I have severe night terrors and I would not wake up the other girls.” Abigail said, Nurse Bianca chuckled. “I am sorry, Abigail, we require other patients are in rooms with other girls their age so they can support each other. I think the girls are the perfect match for you. They are an interesting bunch. Now I must check through your suitcase.” Nurse Bianca explained. Abigail handed her suitcase over. She sat on the couch in the middle of room, near the TV. She grabbed one of the pillows, holding it close to her chest. She had hidden a few things in her suitcase, and now they would be taken away from her. After about ten minutes, Nurse Bianca was finished. Abigail looked up at her. Her green eyes were still emotionless, as Nurse Bianca placed her suitcase on a bed with black sheets, with white and green pillows with a black and white comforter. The bed was her three favorite colors. “The other girls will be finished with group therapy soon, so they will return soon. I will let you get settled in, Abigail.” Nurse Bianca said, and left the room. She watched as Nurse Bianca left the room with her phone, and her medication, and her secret pouch that she had tried to hide. Abigail looked around the room and noticed on the ceiling, they were four signs, with the names of Samantha, Sophia, Ivy, and Elisabelle. Each sign was a different color of cardstock with each girl’s name and some pictures, which had to describe who each of them were. Samantha’s was a bright red with pictures of a camera, a softball and bat, while Sophia’s was a light bronze color with pictures of books and pens, with scripts of poems. And Ivy’s a bright pink while almost all of her writing was done with black sharpie with pictures of roses and random drawings. And finally, on the end was Elisabelle, was a light blue, almost like the sky. There was pictures of animals, The Eiffel Tower, and a pair of ballet shoes. Abigail had a feeling, those signs reflected who each of the girls represented. Abigail was still afraid to meet all of them, Soon, the noise of girls came from the room, the door opened and four girls walked in. The girl with blue hair instantly came over and sat next to Abigail. Abigail sat still, wanting to move from the strange new girl. “Hi, I’m Ivy, who might you be?” The girl asked. “I’m Abigail.” She said, still clutching the pillow. This girl had many weird vibes coming from her and she did not like it. “Ivy, it looks like you are scaring her.” The girl with a plaid headband and skirt say, and came next to Abigail. She had long dirty blonde hair and looked like she was dressed like a private school girl. Abigail noticed her french accent as she spoke, but she spoke in perfect English. “Hi, I am Elisabelle, this is my second time here. That is Samantha over there, and sitting by my legs is Sophia. ” Elisabelle spoke. She pointed over by the books, a girl with black and red hair with muliplte pierings, two in her ears, a nose one, and a belly button piercing. “I can speak for myself, Elisabelle. I am Samantha, but I prefer to be called Sam. And Sophia can speak for herself. Even if we both have anger issues, she is the calmer of the two of us ” She said, She looked like she has a very wild personality. Sophia looked up at Abigail. “Hi, I’m Sophia, this is my fourth time here.” She said with a soft tone. Sophia had dark blue eyes with light blue long sleeved crop top with a black skirt. Ivy looked back at Abigail, her dark brown eyes, glazing into her own green ones, Ivy had something very strange about her. “This is my sixth time here, as everyone is saying here. As you heard Sam and Sophia have been here four times already, and Elisabelle has been here the shortest time here.” Ivy said. She stood up, brushing her blue hair down, her outfit was so bright with galaxy blue leggings and a black top with black heeled boots. “So what are you all in here for?” Abigail said, trying to break the ice. “We are not supposed talk about our disorders.” Elisabelle warned. “Oh, shut it, Elisabelle, you have to live a little on the edge.” Sam said. “Fine, I guess Nurse Bianca wants to feel like a family. Family never keep anything from them. Elisabelle said, sitting in a chair next to the couch. “Who wants to start?” Sophia said. “I’ll start, I am not afraid to say what I have. As I have said before, I have been admitted six times before here, since the age of seven. I have Schizophrenia, I see things that are not there, as well hurt people without even realizing it. Normally. I am kept in a straightjacket, but I have been on good behavior recently, so they took me out of it. But normally escape from it.” Ivy said, She pulled down her top to show a scar from her jacket. Abigail was taken back by what Ivy said, she was crazy. “Yea, Ivy has a severe case. I have ADHD, but the real reason I am in here is for my anger issues, they think I might be developing bipolar disorder like Sophia. It must be the family genes.” Sam said with a laugh. “Wait, you two are sisters?” Abigail asked. “Yes, we are identical twins. As Sam said, I have bipolar disorder. I can go from happy to angry, screaming and throwing chairs in a second.” Sophia said. Abigail did notice that Sam and Sophia looked like matching dolls besides from their personalities and their choice of clothing. “I have OCD. That means Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, which means I get obsessed with a certain things like doing the same thing over or over again. At first, my parents just thought I was perfectionsot until I went for my annual checkup a year ago, and I could not sit down on the table until the paper had no wrinkles.” Elisabelle said. She looked down, a little embarrassed to be in the Londonian. “Well what about you, the mysterious Abigail? How did you end up here?” Ivy asked. “I have Anorexia and Bulimia, Constant Panic attacks, Anxiety and Depression.” Abigail. The four girls had a look of shock from all of Abigail’s disorders. “Wow, I think I found the final girl for The Psychotic Project.” Sam said. “What’s the Psychotic Project? Abigail asked. Sam opened her mouth to explain, but Nurse Bianca walked into the room, “Girls, time for dinner.” She said. All of the girls got up to go to the caferina,Abigail was left sitting. “Come on, Abigail. I have to monitor you.” Nurse Bianca said. Abigail followed her down to the caferina, when Abigail entered, her stomach instantly felt sick. The smell of food made her queasy. Nurse Bianca lead to a line of different food, it was like a buffet. Abigail saw some things, she considered safe. She got some steamed vegetables, mac and cheese, and some grilled chicken. She got an apple, but no desserts, she hated sweets. “Nurse Bianca, am I allowed to sit with the girls from my room?” Abigail asked. “Of course, you can. I will stand near so you do not leave and try to discard your food.” Nurse Bianca said. Abigail took her tray over, seeing a table with a black and white tabletop with Elisabelle, sitting there with Ivy. Abigail headed over to them. She took a seat next to Elisabelle. She stared at her food, but she could not leave if she did not. She slowly begin to eat, when a boy took a seat next to her, which was uncommon because boys tended to stay away from her because they thought she was scary. Abigail got a good look at the boy, next to her. He had longish dark locks with pale skin, just like her skin. “So, Abigail, I know you have only been here a few hours, but do you like it here so far?” Ivy asked with a wide smile. “I can not tell you yet.” Abigail asked. “Oh, hi Lukas. This is Abigail, she just got here today.” Sam said, sitting down at the table. “Hello, Abigail.” Lukas, Abigail was taken back by his strong British accent. Abigail continued to see eat, taking qiuck glances at Lukas, she noticed he had the same eating habits like her. He would cut his food up very small before eating as if it was never there. “Hey, we should play naming teen movies from alphabetical order.” Sophia suggested. “I’ll start. Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging .” Sam said. “Bring It On.” Elisabelle said. “Carrie.” Abigail said. Abigail heard a little hum come Lukas at her answer. “Dead Poets Society.” Lukas said. “Ella Enchanted.” Sophia said. “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.” A girl with long brown hair said, who was sitting next to Sophia. “Ginger and Rosa.” Ivy said. As the game continued, Abigail was not surprised when Elisabelle said Pretty in Pink, but then it was her turn. “All I can think of is the Disney Channel Movie, Quints.” “Revenge of the Nerds.” Lukas said, speaking a little smile to Abigail. “Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants.” Sophia said. As Ivy said, Xenon. Dinner was over, and the girls were in send back to their rooms to spend relaxation time together. When Elisabelle unlocked their room, Sam hurried inside. “Abigail, come see my massive DVD collection.” Sam called. Abigail walked into the room, crossing her arms over her chest. She saw Sam pull out four different cases on DVD holdings, that were all full to the capacity. Abigail saw The Breakfast Club, Harry Potter, Twilight, Dead Poets Society, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Bring It On, and so many teen movies. “Wow, Sam that is impressive.” Abigail commented. Sam opened one and put in a movie in the player connected to their TV. After going through all of the previews, she saw it was Freaky Friday. “Sam, you watch this movie too much, you are always quoting it.” Ivy commented from her bed, writing in a diary. Abigail believed it to be a diary from the red and black splatter cover. Abigail sat on her bed, since she had not unpacked yet as the movie was playing the background. She saw the closet and went inside, it was a walk-in! Each part of the closet had each girl’s clothes, Abigail found the empty spot next to whom clothes were Ivy’s because it was dark and bright clothes. She hung up her various black skirts and black dresses and sweaters. She stored her black heeled boots and flats underneath them. Abigail would describe her style as very formal and gothic, which fueled her interest in persuading fashion in college. After Abigail was finished, Ivy informed it was time for bed, Abigail was not surprised, it was late afternoon when her father checked in. Abigail gathered her pajamas and bathroom supplies, she saw that it was a personal bedroom for each room. She saw Charlie walk out, her hair dipping on the floor, dressed in a band shirt and red plaid pants. Abigail entered the bathroom, she was in love with the grand decoration, the colors being white and gold. After her shower, she tried not to look in the mirror, to see the monster that laid behind her delicate face. Abigail gripped the counter, crying. She felt sick to her stomach. She wanted out of here. She opened around to see no windows in the bathroom, they were smart. Abigail wiped her tears, pulling her clothes in a laundry shoot. Now dressed in a thick black sweater and black shorts, her skinny frail legs showed as she walked back to her room. Before she went to sleep, she took her medications, five in the morning, three at night, It was a constant cycle. Serena laid awake, while the other girls, a book opened on her lap, not just a regular book. Her sketchbook, the one that kept all of her secrets under wraps. Abigail soon fall asleep, her sketchbook fall on the floor, the words, “Welcome to the Londonian." In fancy cursive, it was written on a blank page. |
Contains Fiction, Non-fiction short stories, and other pieces of writing. Brought to you by your peers.
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