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Poetry Essay/Prose
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Short Story
So Simple

Your lips move silently,
To heavy beats,
That surface from your headphones.
People move around you like ghosts,
Their words blurred.
You observe.
You watch.
You analyze.
Smoothly making your move,
It's all planned.
Your words come from another world within your head,
A world hidden behind mysterious brown eyes,
And thoughtful expressions.
Your schemes and plans,
That no one ever sees,
Until it's too late.
Why does it have to be so complicated,
When it's so simple?

Tracy
11th grader
Berkeley, California
About the author of "So Simple":  I'm 16, and in the 11th grade. Aside from writing, my main interests are dancing, singing and R&B music.
Pulling my Strings

Am I supposed to choose my future
or is my future planned in my
parent's mind when they first kissed.
They're puppet that they can pull its strings.
One by one my choices are made
like a baby's religion.
The choices are made and i know of them
right before they happen.
Maybe I'll get some SuperKid award
but you might as well give it to my parents.
Yet all kids wonder..Do I make my parents proud?

Joe
9th grader
Greenbrier, Arkansas
About the author of Pulling my Strings. I like to write poetry. Most of its not really things in my own life. They are just things I think are interesting. I think the title is the most important thing in writing because it catches the reader's attention. I hope you like my poem.
The one that’s gone

(and simply looking
brought a glance
worth a goddess that I was not)
I could be looked at like something out of Parrish
Paintings
(like I was glittered, like I was it)
and with a downward
peer-leer
see a face worth Botticelli’s
Paintbrush
(the eyes heavy, like a Renaissance angel)

There are flecks
(within blue you could fall into)
etched in a silver pen-scratch
floating and never
finding home
So that even so drugged
Her face appears
As that of a falling star

Maggie
10th grader
New York, New York
About the author: Maggie F. L., author of 'The one that's gone' is currently a homeschooler, in the 10th grade. Recently she has recieved an award for her poetry, and attended a week-long playwrighting intensive with the Young Playwrights Institute. She hopes to find a career writing for film and television.
You See Through Me

I feel like you see through me
Through my lies and through my pain
I feel like you can feel me
Feel my pride and feel my gain
I know that you are with me
Every step that I seem to take
I know that you will love me
And support me through my mistakes

Do I understand correctly
Or am I missing the biggest piece of all
Is this love we have a puzzle
Or is this really what it's like to fall
'Cause if it is then I think I'll continue
To follow this path into eerie and giggly bliss
It's amazing how I understood
Our simple little kiss

You see through me
As we touch and as we talk
You feel my heart
And feel my dreams under its key and lock
You can follow me into my solid little room
That no one has ever penetrated before
And see my life in the lonely gloom
And maybe
Just maybe
You can turn on a little light
To guide me through my darkness
To find the love that you provide

You understood
Somehow, some way
You conquered the code of my system
And made me fall
Into this crazy thing that I fight so hard against
Only to fall more and more in love with you
And this crazy thing that you have created
This puzzle
A jumble of pieces that look as if they could never fit together
Is suddenly completed
Because of you
Because you understood

Caitlin
11th grader
Seattle, Washington
I'm a 16 year old student from Seattle, Washington, trying her luck at submitting another piece to Teenlit. My dreams are to become a writer but that nagging, insecure voice in my head tells me to keep dreaming. I enjoy writing free lance poetry (this poem is actually one I wrote off the top of my head for Teenlit) and song lyrics which have been used by my friends' bands. To anyone thinking of submitting but not sure yet, please do. Teenlit is a wonderful environment for new writers looking for advice and critcism.
My escape from the thorn

My escape from the thorn
Escape from the pain
From the torture
The throe
Ache

The evasion of the bedeviling
Evasion of the teasing
Of the harassment
The torment
Gird

The flight from the anguish
Flight from the distress
From the misery
The agony
Woe

Sara
7th grader
Orlando, Florida
 
Dear Christy

The night of the party,
We had the greatest time,
I felt as thought I were yours,
and you were definitely mine,
If only you could hear me now,
As I recite this poem,
I'm so sorry I got drunk,
And offered to bring you home.
It was really dark out,
and I was really scared,
I couldn't help the feeling,
My judgment was impared.
I should have listened to you,
Before we hit the road,
Oh my dear sweet Kristy,
I really didn't know.
Now here we are together,
these are my last words to say,
I'm so sorry dear sweet Kristy,
I wish that we could stay.
The car swerved to the right,
as the truck came on,
The car hit a tree,
and just missed the pond.
The truck hit your side hard,
not really hurting me,
I held onto your arm,
as you grabbed onto me.
Now you're almost dead,
all the pain is in your head,
Oh why must you be lying,
in the hospital bed?
I wish that I could see you laugh,
and see that beautiful smile,
Oh my dear sweet Kristy,
I guess it will be a while.
Your parents say they love you,
for the last time,
I know what you're feeling,
because so did mine.
As as we lay here in these beds,
on this very day,
Soon we'll be in Heaven,
and forget it ended this way...
Oh my dear sweet Kristy,
why didn't i listen,
or maybe right now,
we could be even kissing.
Listening to our favorite songs,
going to the mall,
Living life as it comes...
not worrying at all.
Oh my dear sweet Kristy,
please don't cry,
I will hold you in my arms...
as you slowly die.

Laura
8th grader
New York
About the author of "dear Kristy"
My name is Laura...I've always loved writing, and have been since i was little...poetry is recently what i'm into...but i also LOVE to write stories...for all of you who read this...this is just a story...but it could someday happen to you!! Watch out! Never drink and drive...because the person you kill might not be yourself...it could be you're best friend's parents saying goodbye for the last time to their child. Thanks!
IT

He took it away from me
The thing I can’t get back
Stolen a part of me
Not material, not recoverable

Given to everyone at the beginning
And meant to be eventually lost
But only by choice
But only by love

Now I look
Back at the past
And I wish that I could have
Held it in my grasp

But that was then
And this is now
I have to move on
But exactly how

He took that piece of me
A piece that made me whole
It was stolen from me
He took control

It’s my fault
It’s my fault
I should have ran
I should have screamed

I still have to see him
Every day
I still have to remember
The time he took it away

I still wish that
I could steal it back
What was usually love,
Was then, an attack.

Jazz
9th grader
The author of this poem submitted it out of rage towards the publishing company who accepted the poem for publishing, then rejected it because it was of too serious a subject. Well this happens, it's reality, it's life, so it's here.
I'm 15 and I've been writing scince the fourth grade. I've had a lot of unpleasent things happen to me in my life, but pain makes good art. I don't write because I want to, I write because if I bottled it up inside, I would self destruct.
City of Triumph

Blanketed by ancient sands and wrapped in the enigma of time
A city emerges like an omnipotent being
Sheets of white and browns marble the atmosphere
And the rare blend of a long past is throbbing with life

It is a city of contrasts;
A place where donkey carts jockey with Mercedes
And where a thousand minarets adorn the skyline -
settling amongst a sea of skyscrapers.

It is juxtaposed by what is modern and ancient
Knurly, winding streets bare the shoes of a modern tourist
And a tailor stitching with needle and thread -
would be passed by the mass commodity of Western fashions

Oriental dancers shuffle their way at night
While tings and rattles of jewels
chime melodiously across their washboard bellies
Night is the people’s point of departure

Mantles of smog pleat the atmosphere
Encumbering the archaic obelisks -
and the sauntering of locals and animals
Are mere outlines against the complexity of their surroundings

Life is an uncompromising burden
Yet attracts intrigue from the outside worlds
Embalmed in its own experiences
It really is, the City of Triumph

Melanie
11th grader
Australia
About the author: This poem is dedicated to my dream of travelling to Egypt and learning more about their extravagent past. It also was part of my entry into my school's annual competition. I hope you enjoyed it!  *City of Triumph is in fact the ancient interpretation of Cairo.
Fate .vs. captivity (or is it the same thing?)

 It always happens
 Sometimes too late
 Sometimes too early
 But always it’s fate
 The way god willed it to be
 For you and me
 It sometimes resembles captivity
 “Do as you please” they say
 Until that fateful day
 When god goes against your will
 And changes your way
 “Choose wisely, and be sure to use your heart”
 That’s what we’re told
 And it tears us apart
 We’ll do as we’re told
 And make that decision one-day
 But don’t get attached
 Because they’ll tear it away
 “This is your right, to choose, and be proud”
 Then suddenly, that day
 It’s no longer allowed

Amanda
11th grader
Greenfield, Massachusetts
About the author of Fate .vs. captivity( or is it the same thing?) My name is Amanda and Im sixteen years old from massachusetts.  My hobbies include Dancing, softball,basketball and writing. I am currently a junior in highschool and expect to graduate in the year 2002.
sometimes i feel

sometimes i feel
i want to go
to a place where angels sing
about a joyous thing

where angelic souls
walk amongst
fields of green and blue
and skies where stars shine true

where time is nothing but
what you make it out to be
where diving into your thoughts
mean sweet serenity

just sit atop
a dream
and enjoy your stay
or find yourself a memory
and be on your way

i'm heading off
to that place
so i'll just close my eyes
and kiss this place goodbye

...but only for tonight

Karyssah
10th grader
Winnepeg, Manitoba, Canada
 
Behind the Mist

Beyond the fog, behind the mist,
That bellows in the Valley Tryst.
No one knows what it may be,
Though it flows in readily.
Only the fairies of the rear,
Know the secret of this sere.
The aged tale and secret lore,
Of the fairies, nevermore.
But, they alone can tell you all,
Of the creatures midnight ball:

Dryad, Elf, a brown skin fawn,
Pixy, Unicorn dance till dawn.
Wild pets from the forest too,
Bear, Swan and Caribou.
Prance unto the Mermen's tune.
When until the sun sets noon,
Then the mist has burned away.
The mist rolled in from the bay.
Then you look upon the spot,
Not a trace can be caught.

Until the dusk in early,
The creatures they'll be surely.
Rejoicing, parading, a moonlit kiss.
Who can tell behind the mist?

Andrew
8th grader
Poway, California
About the author of Behind the Mist:
 I really enjoy writing and seeing my work published, it makes me feel great! This is my second poem and although poetry is not my favorite writing activity, I think it offers a new aspect of persecution for writing that prose doesn't. I got the idea for this poem by watching the morning fog roll in, used my imagination and wondered what could go on behind it. I think this is one of my more imaginative poems that I have written.   Thank you for reading my poem, and keep reading and writing!!!
Decisions

You a flip a coin
Ask the "8" ball
Pick petals off a flower
and then you forget about it for awhile

Come back to see...

If the coin will land on heads
Ask the "8" ball to see if it will say yes
Pick petals off a flower to see if the one you want is left
Play a fortune game to see if it tells you to do what you should
Ask a friend and hope their advice is good

But why waist time with games and coins
When you truly knew the answer all along

Some people are just afraid to go alone

Lyndsey
8th grader
Clarkston, Michigan
About the author of Decisions
Im 13 years old i play basketball and volleyball for our school and writing is my passion. My cousin plays the guitar and gets alot of "gigs" in bars and restaurants so he often will use my peoms and then turn them into songs.  I write everynight and my favorite subject in school is language arts. I normally write poetry becuase i feel its the best way of expressing yourself. Thats pretty much all i can say about me and my writing.
Sitting down wondering

I was sitting down and,
I was wondering.
Does your boo treat you right,
or are you constantly ready to fight.
 I noticed the mark on you arm,
it wasn't him.
Right??
 I can understand
that relationships will fight.
But every night?
That just doesn't seem right.
 What is it you do?
I can't imagine what would
make him do things like this to you.
 Please don't take this the wrong way,
because I'm not quite sure what to say.
 But here it goes.
You can find another guy,
a better guy.
One who doesn't look down on those
little things you do. But loves you
for all those,
sweet little things that you do.
Girl please look for a new boo,
hope to see you soon.
 Love Always,
An old companion

Brian
11th grader
Canyon Country, California
 
Annihilate

When I questioned the world
And thought I could no longer fight
I turned to you through music
Because you seemed to make it right

You understand what’s in my head
Cause you’ve been through it too
But just because of that
It doesn’t make all these feelings untrue

The thoughts inside my mind
They can’t help but drive me insane
And then I can’t help but wonder
How am I able to sustain?

And many thoughts of madness
Encourage me to end my life
While I’m standing there
Thinking, “Where’d I get this knife?”

I think back to what you’ve been through
And how can I be so pissed?
After what you’ve had to handle
And I take the knife from my wrist

Now after all those times I’ve cried
And felt like I’ve been hit
I try to picture myself as you
Could I handle all that shit?

But what I see is not okay
I look around but what I’ve found
Is not the comfort my heart needs
So once more I take another fall to the ground

 I don’t want to be like this
Feeling hatred in every way
And as if life could never have any meaning
Wishing my horrid dreams would fade away

Maybe these darkened thoughts
Are not what makes my insides hurt
Maybe I’m the real one to blame
Instead of those who’ve made me feel like dirt

My heart’s screaming with no sense of pride
But please define that for me
Tell me why I don’t deserve to be alive
Why can’t I just be?…

And now as I am feeling helpless
As I now wipe away these tears
Please show me the true meaning of happiness
Show me where to lock away and hide my fears

Something has left a hole right through me
They’ve taken away what’s sane
And I see them as crazy people
But is it me that’s really insane?

I can’t pretend this isn’t happening
My insides are choking; I feel like dying
But I’m not sure if it’s what I want
How do I know if I’m lying?

I can’t decide to go on living
But I can’t let go of this day
Inside I know that soon
For everything I’ve done I’ve gotta pay

My eyes aren’t seeing what they should
I can’t help but feel like the fool
Now all those angry obsessions
They can use them as a tool

I can’t agree to destroy myself
But I will always fall back down
And now that I know you’re there
You understand why I will always hit the ground

Danielle
11th grader
Musgravetown, Newfoundland, Canada
 
Thank you

You've been there for me for so long,
You've helped me out,
You're always there for me to lean on,
You're my best friend without a doubt,
You were there in my junior high years,
You'll be there for high school,
You've chased away my fears,
You've made me feel cool,
You're always there when I need to cry,
You're one of the only people I trust
You’ve never told me a lie,
You've dealt with my temper,
You've helped me learn things,
You've been there through thick and thin,
You know everything,
So I must thank you,
No one else could have done it,
You were there when I was happy or blue,
And I'm there for you too.

Kristina
9th grader
US
About the author of Thank you. Kristina is a 14 year old girl who loves writing poetry and stories. She is involved in her school's drill team, student council, and Habitat Council.
it is now officially afternoon

it is now officially afternoon
with five days of waiting for loving
or loving, or imagining
lifting ourselves to some sort of new height
where we hint at the future and tease
our former, single selves.

the park shows us, as we enter
paths like roads, wide and promising
gray against the green grass,
but complementary
we step through the fields, though we are not upon them.

but we feel like we are clearly suspended
but on this small scale, grounded
we have no ability to leave this place, to fly
we make do with the time, the people
the forces that bring some together, repel others.

walking on this insignificant road with you
i see what's ahead of us like it's a painting
peripherally: you, me, more paths and greenery
then sloping hill upwards to the center path of trees
no tall city buildings above them, but white, pretty roofs.

if only trees remained the tallest,
with some sort of visible authority and confidence
luckily in this park there is nothing metropolitan around us
but happy people in the pond, rowing or lying at the bows
the aviary, zoo, and people like me and you.

though we don't play football or softball
we play at something here, furtive glances
quick ironic humor and my own gullibility
i look up at your smiling face to know you joke
you play with me, and something about it is relieving.

i can only look back at that day, when the darkest cloud
paradoxically settled over the sunlit atmosphere inside us
even around us, there were few there, but all happy
perhaps we imagined they were, rubbing ourselves
off on them, praying others find a me or a you.

sometimes i think, curiously, that i could leave you
forget you ever settled above the sky above me
not like a dark cloud but a hovering bird
that wanted something i held in my hand
you pecked it out of it, flew off, but came back for more.

in the winter though, you don't fly away
you are human and can't, so you stay grounded like me
it feels heavy and unwanted to try to forget a person
imagine having to, when so little remains as the past
so i keep waiting for you to come back.

he shows me his humor, he hides his intelligence
he questions my language, he admits ridiculously
that he is English, i have revealed that i enjoy
our opposing patriotism, our differing backgrounds\
we fight over words, their meanings, always smiling.

what happened to the old ways must not be asked
i almost forget what living entailed, if not the perpetual
quest for someone to talk to, laugh with, reach out and touch
i can go on living as i once did, normally and realistically
i found one, a temporary, but a definite maybe.

Liz
12th grader
London, England
 
You mean nothing to me now

You mean nothing to me now
But it is so hard to disavow,
That my feelings are strong,
I barely have a sense of right and wrong.
I think about it all the time
And the bells in my head chime
Ever so constantly,my head aches.
You have no idea what it makes.
My life has been turned upside down
And upon my face, there pose a frown.
I try to force a smile out
But all I really wanna do is shout.
For the world, I put on a happy face,
But in reality it is such a disgrace.
I can't take this much longer,
I must be stronger.
I dont care,
But i keep thinking about it, its so unfair.
Get out of my head once and for all,
So i won't have to take the fall.

Karen
8th grader
Vancouver,BC,Canada
 
unsure what the afternoon holds

unsure what the afternoon holds
we have grasped who the other is
in the childlike stage of our relationship
we make known the difference
when fingers are clasped -
not limp and held together, in the other's hand.

so we walk on, i pick hair off my black sweater
almost silently you relax me, as you cling to one hand
then lifeblood is felt in the movie theater
as our pulses beat together in our fingers
some sort of enjoyable but off-beat rhythm
and sometimes we tighten our grips.

and sometimes we move like the earth
almost immobile, lazy but sure
our magnetism knows it must make subtle approaches
our bodies, that our hairs must first touch
then our skin, layers of it hiding our hearts
by unveiling them we may catch a glimpse on their faces
of the absolute value of our feelings.

i race forward to a futuristic point on our map
then i look back at you, still my infantile lover
i sigh at your wavering face in the distance
invisible, but i can see you chewing gum
and blinking slowly in time to your mouth's movement
and i know it is you.

you can tell as my figure gets larger
that i am walking slowly back to you, as i take
the hand that first took mine in that awful movie -
you should never see it more than once -
then again, in the park, on the street,
then once yours guided mine through your arm
linked, we felt warmer with this new kind of closeness.

i forget faces thought about too much
i cannot visualize anything but this moment,
that moment, the twilight moment on the picnic bench
we may not have been in the city
we may not have been on this earth
as four days prove to me
better than the last six thousand.

we must force ourselves, for the sake of our
recent birth
to simmer ourselves down to a more realistic level
i feel wanted by the sofa next to the silent phone,
by the punchline of your jokes,
by your receptive movements, your extra touches
but i hear you say "relax", an excuse to take my hand
and i hear it as a gentle, unspoken request
called from that spot on the map from where
i was unable to breath into your air with my air.

Liz
12th grader
London, England
 
Reflection of mine

The innocence
The strength
The devil
The weak
The leadership
The angel
The brainwashed victim
Reflection of mine
Whirl of emotions
Almost perfect
Most different
For the painte
My life I would give
Only to be reborn
In the light
I scream darkness
Oh reflection of mine

Lauren
9th grader
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
About the author of Mirror Mirror.  My name is Lauren. I have been writing since I can remember. I saved everything from when I was younger, even if what I wrote isn't legable. It's still a part of me. Writing will always be a part of me and I'll write as long as time lets me.
Little Star

Shine little star against the odds that have been placed before you

against the darkness of space

Shine little star, let nothing hold you back

Let your faith soar through time
Let your hope be your wings to fly.

Shine little star when no one beleives in you but you
because you hold your own hand and pick yourself up when
you fall

Shine little star even when your the only one left

You are your own precious jewel
You are you own only true gift

Just shine little star let nothing hold you back

Nancy
10th grader
Anaheim, California
About the author of Little Star
I have always felt that writing is such a precious way of expressing yourslf and I am thankful that I have been able to see my poetry published in books and sites and hope that I continue my love for writing.I hope everyone here feels the same for writing.
Untitled short story

Harry opened the door to his house, grabbed his button-down sweater, and stepped outside. The sun was set low in the sky making it a marvelous shade of orange-pink. Harry reached into his pocket checking to see if he had his mailbox key, but all he came out with was a used Kleenex, a nickel, and some pocket lint. He turned around and looked up at the pavement. He couldn’t make out any objects on the ground, but it was hard to tell because the last rays of sun were shining in his eyes.

Usually Harry kept his mailbox key on the necklace he had been given by Aliza, but recently she had taken it back. Although he tried to resist, Harry could not help but remember the day that Aliza had told him to take some time off from work. He remembered arriving late to the theatre where circus practice had already begun. Aliza looked straight at him with her piercing green eyes and told him he was being lazy and was taking her for granted and she lifted the necklace off from around his neck. They had a hard time getting it off since he had flipped upside down the previous week and was standing on his hands while his feet dangled in the air. Harry still felt the pain that the little trapeze artist on the end of the necklace had caused when it got stuck in his hair.

 He heard footsteps approaching him distracting him from his memories, but when he looked he could not tell who it was because tears had filled his eyes.

 “Mr. Fritzman! How are you today? I haven’t seen you around lately…Hey Harry, it’s me, David. I think this belongs to you.”

 David Schwartzenheimer held out a key that he had found a few paces away from where they were standing. Harry bent his leg at the knee, grabbed the key in between his toes, and pocketed it.

 “Thanks Dave. I was looking for this.”

 “No problem Harry. Hey, what happened to that funny little necklace you used to keep the key on?”

 “Ummm… It’s broken, broke during one of my landings.”

 Harry didn’t feel like talking about what really happened. It hurt enough just to remember. Harry stared at his old friend. He seemed laid back, but it was always hard to tell from upside down. Then Harry’s gaze was drawn to David’s face. He was frowning. In fact everyone he had seen since he had flipped upside around seemed to be frowning. He looked around them. It was dark and other than the two friends there was no sign of life except for an old, rusty truck which left behind the stench of gasoline as it passed by.

“Dave ol’ buddy, why are you frowning?” Harry asked.

 David looked up. The streetlights had just gone on. He laughed for a moment and then answered.

 “Harry, what’s wrong with you? I’m smiling, couldn’t be happier. Ever since your world turned around you’ve been having such sad thoughts. Talk to me Harry. Why are you so upset?”

 “David, I can’t. I’m fine, really. I better get my mail and head home.  There’s an early morning practice tomorrow for Saturday’s show. It’s the grand opening of the new Sunny River Circus. I’m working on a new trapeze act.”

 “Okay, Harry. Goodnight. Listen though, if you ever want to talk I’m here for you.”

 “Thanks David.”

 Harry reached the mailbox as the moon was directly over feet. In the distance he heard people arguing and noticed that it was a little boy and his father. He pulled some envelopes out of mailbox #204 and walked over to a near by bench to open them. He looked back at the father and son. Suddenly childhood memories of him and his father filled his head. He looked beyond his feet and up at the sky.

 “I’m sorry father, so sorry!”

Harry quickly erased these memories from his thoughts and sorted through the envelopes. Amongst some bills and reminders to pay bills was a letter from work. He opened that one first, slowly and carefully. As he took the thick piece of paper in his hand he began to read.

 ‘Dearest Mr. Fritzman,

 We at the Sunny River Circus are very much saddened by your topsy-turvy condition…’

 “Hey daddy, look at that man! He’s sitting upside down.”

 Harry looked up. He saw the little boy standing in front of him pointing and gawking. His father stood beside him and Harry took in the vulgar smell of sweat which he saw dripping down the man’s forehead.

 “What have we here? Looks like you found another one of those  good for nothing clowns we’ve got polluting this here city. Keep walking son, grandpa ’s expecting us at nine.”

 Harry tried not to pay attention to what the sweaty man was saying, but as he glared at him standing there with his hand on his son’s shoulder visions of him and his father once more entered his mind. He could picture it so clearly. He still felt the pain and anger that overcame him when his dreams had been shattered. He still heard his father’s deafening words as if it had only happened minutes before…

 “The circus? You want to join the circus? What kind of useless job is that? Do something real Harry. Make something of yourself. I refuse to let my only son become a clown!”

 As the man and his nosy son walked away Harry began to cry. His tears formed a puddle at his head. He remembered the letter that he was reading that was now sitting on a patch of dead grass behind the bench. He picked it up and continued reading it…

 ‘…But seeing as your condition is disabling you from performing  your job properly we are asking you to resign...’

 He dropped the letter. It all seemed so surreal. Harry felt his insides knotting. He stood up on his hands and screamed.

 “They can’t fire me. I’m the best trapeze artist that they have!”

 All of Harry’s rage rose into his throat and tears welled up in his eyes.  He let out another shrill scream. By then he had tired himself out. He reached up for the bench and steadied himself on it. To calm himself down he focused on an old maple tree across the street. His eyes had become swollen from all the crying and he felt as if there was a dark void inside of him. The wind slowly increased and some of the leaves fell to the ground.

The more Harry focused the dizzier he became. He remembered times when his father would take him for walks under a similar tree. It killed him to remember. With every falling leaf Harry saw a different image. First he saw Aliza ripping the necklace off of him with her claws. Another leaf fell and a younger version of Harry and his father fell too. Then the sweaty man, his nosy son, and the letter of resignation came tumbling down in front of him.

Harry tilted his head and concentrated on the highest branch of the tree. It towered over him…like his father had.

 Slowly at first the tree began to move to the right uprooting smaller trees next to it. Harry was moving to the right too. Faster and faster he began speeding up. The bench he was sitting on crashed into the mailbox and it fell over. Harry felt as if he had fallen over, but he was still moving, faster than ever. His world was spinning out of control and collapsing in front of him. With every nauseating turn he made another haunting memory flashed before his eyes. Harry felt his knees weaken and almost give out. He remembered feeling a similar pain when his father told him that he was ashamed of him and refused to accept Harry as his son. Harry was dizzy and hurting and although he tried to stop the tornado he had created, he couldn’t. Then it started slowing down. Harry felt as if his world was being forced to a stop like forcing a single brick out of a sturdy wall.

 “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” a voice called to him. “If you must keep spinning in circles uncontrollably at least get out of my garden. You’ re ruining my lawn.”

 Harry tried to get up but he couldn’t. He had partially fallen off the bench, but his legs were still on it. He turned his head to the side and vomited out his dinner of macaroni and cheese.

 Bringing Harry’s world to a complete stop, the mysterious man went over to him and helped him to his hands. Harry examined his savior.

 “You’re smiling and your feet…they’re up there too. We’re…but…no one else…”

 “Yeah, I know what you’re getting at,” the man responded. “Once in a while I halt people’s crazy lives and end up meeting someone upside down like myself. It turns me around every time. It’s just my luck that such ungrateful people storm into my garden, expect me to help them with their problems, and then leave. Maybe you’re different.” He held out his foot for Harry to shake. “My name’s Clement.”

 “A smile…It’s been so long. How can you smile when your world is upside down? I don’t understand.”

 Harry was excited to see a smile after what felt like an eternity. He envied Clement for his and wanted one of his own.

 “I gave up on frowning when the last guy turned me over. It’s not good for the complexion…Wait a second. You’re that trapeze guy…Harry, right? I used to go see you perform. When did you get this terrible sickness? Tell me your story. Maybe we can turn each other’s worlds right side up again.”

 “I don’t want to bother you Clement. I’ll be alright.”

 “Now you listen and you listen close. I’m not about to let some walking disaster go free to destroy the gardens of everyone here in Sunny River.  Here’s the deal. I’m not too interested in your problems, you see, it’s my own…I sit in my yard day after day and a new calamity comes by destroying my flower beds forcing me to get up to stop them. All these peoples’ worlds were turned upside down and I straightened them out, but not one of them has helped me.”

 “Oh, Clement. I’m so sorry. I’ll tell you my story if you think that will help.”

 Clement invited Harry into his house. He poured some tea which to Harry smelled like a combination of raspberry and mint. He took a small sip and put the glass back on the table.

 “It goes like this Clement. When I was 17 years old I finally told my father that I wanted to join the local circus. It paid well and seemed like fun. He laughed at me and thought that I was joking. When he realized that I was serious he forbid me so I left home. I went to school one morning and never came back. When I arrived in Sunny River I never once thought about my family or my old home. Then two and half weeks ago I got a call. ‘Harry Fritzman,’ the man on the phone said to me, ‘I’ve got some bad news about your father. He’s-‘ I hung up the phone before he could finish. I went into the kitchen to prepare dinner, but suddenly things had become so different…

I haven’t seen my father in fourteen years and now he’s dead. It turned my world around.”

 “Harry, I’m sorry. I never knew…”

 “No one knows, just you.” Harry thought he saw a twinkle in Clement’s eyes when he said that.

 “And on top of that,” Harry continued, “I lost my girlfriend and my job.  What’s left?”

 “Harry, this may sound strange but trust me, okay? Go find your father and talk to him. It will bring you peace.”

 “But he’s-“

 “He’s everywhere Harry.”

 As the conversation progressed they noticed that they were slowly rotating. The more they talked, the more straight up they became.

 “Harry, look at us. We’re standing on our feet!”

 Harry looked around him. The ceiling was above them and the ground was under them. Things were starting to become normal again.

 “Thank you Clement.”

 “No, thank you Harry. I hope you won’t be digging up my garden anymore.”

 “Don’t worry Clement. I’ll see you around.”

Elizabeth
9th grader
Quebec, Canada
 
We will meet again

Life for Alex was always depressing. He was never happy with what he had or

what he did. Nothing was ever right in his eyes. Alex was the youngest of

three boys in the Tompkins family. His older brothers, Aaron and Andrew,

always made fun of him and made him feel left out, just because he was the

youngest. Alex was also a very smart young man. His intelligence also caused

teasing. Everything Alex had or did was another reason to tease him. So,

Alex hated life.

>

>When Alex entered the 9th grade, he decided if things didn't improve in his

life, maybe he should give up. He just couldn't handle the teasing and

sadness. It was too much.

>I, Katherine, met Alex on the first day of school that year. As I walked

through the halls after 1st period, I heard yelling down the hall. I went to

see what was going on. There against the lockers was a short, skinny boy

holding his books with fear; it was Alex. There was a group of juniors

around him. They were all yelling at him and pushing him. Since they were my

friends, I went up to them and asked them to stop and surprisingly, they

did.

>

>After the crowd left, I approached Alex. He thanked me and quickly turned

back to his locker. I continued talking to him and offered to walk him to

his next class.

>

>"No, it's OK," Alex said politely. "I can find my way but thank you."

>

>"Who do you have next?" I asked.

>

>"Mr. Larkspur."

>

>After thinking for a moment, I said, "That's right next to my class! So

I'll walk you."

>

>Alex didn't refuse this time. After that day, Alex and I became very good

friends. He started hanging out with my friends and my boyfriend, Robert.

Alex began to change physically and several girls drooled over him. Everyone

knew who Alex was and everyone liked him. I even hooked Alex up with one of

my friends, Nikki. Alex's life seem to be almost perfect.

>

>On my birthday, Alex came up to me with a gift. He was acting differently

and I was confused because he had already given me a gift at my party the

day before. He told me not to open it until I got home. All through the day

I was curious of what it was. As soon as I got home I opened the neatly

wrapped box. Inside was a silver locket that said "Friends Forever" on the

outside. Inside was a picture of us together. There was also a note that

read:

>

>Dear Katherine,

>By the time you read this I will be on a plane to California. I know I

should have told you but I couldn't. We had to move because of my dad's job.

I didn't want to have to say goobye; I hate goodbyes. I want to thank you

for what you did on the 1st day of school. I was considering ending my life

before then. If you hadn't done what you did, I might not be here. You were

the first person to ever treat me like a human being. So, thank you,

Katherine. You will always be in my heart. I know we will meet again,

whether it's this lifetime or another. This isn't a goodbye, Katherine, just

a see you later. Thank you and take care,

>Alex M. Tompkins

>

>I am 33 right now and I have not heard from Alex since that day. I miss

him, but as he said to me, I know we will meet again.

Kristina
9th grader
Alvin
About the author of We Will Meet Again. Kristina loves writing poetry and stories. She is also involved in her school's drill team, student council, and Habitat Council.
Untitled Short Story #2 

Have you ever wanted to just get away? Just reaching for that moment when your soul can fly and your spirit can wander with the freedom of a thousand wild stallions. To lay upon a hill with the scent of jasmine in the air on a gentle warm summer's day, by yourself, just to dream. You lay down on the soft warm bed of grass that seems to be prepared just for you and you close your eyes. You breathe in the soft scent of summer as the warm sun provides you a gentle blanket, and all the while time provides you with the world. As you lay there thinking, you are suddenly being swept up to sky in a rush of wind with a force you cannot understand. You know that this is no ordinary thing, but you don't care, because, somehow, it just feels so right. The invisible force cradles all of your limbs in a comfort you have never felt before, as you are lifted up higher into the blue cloud smeared abyss. The sensation of the freedom of life fills your soul as you rush into the clouds.  The higher you go the more warm memories your mind seems to remember it possesses, and the more it remembers the bigger the smile on your face becomes, until you feel the whole world could see it. You begin to wonder why you never remembered these sooner. Then you reach the place you believe your soul has taken you, a place where you float wingless on the clouds.

Where each breathe you take seems to be sweeter than the last and your eyes fill with a child's innocent wonder with what is set before you. You look at the sky in wonder of the picture that your eyes possess. Thousands of large red rose pedals appear, floating with an unexplainable but beautiful vibrancy in that stunning cloud filled palace. Then you see him, with a presence like a mighty eagle and gentleness of a softly flowing stream, his face with a wistful glow, and his eyes with the shine of life. He steps over to you and picks you up in his arms and without saying a word you start to dance on the rose pedals in the sky. A soft, kindly melody plays and you recognize it as none other than the music of your heart. Gliding, the two of you dance across the sky, held in the love of one another. He twirls you in his arms and brings you back close to him. As the two of you stop he holds you and you can smell the sweet scent that adorns him and to this day you cannot fully describe it. His hair feels so soft against your cheek and your head fits perfectly against his shoulder. He pulls you away a bit and you look into his stunning blue green eyes and smile with the heart swept look you possess and just stares at you with his soft, dark blond hair blows in the wind. As he looks at you and returns your smile just as sweetly you realize that he is your prince charming the one you have seemed to wait for forever, but what kind of prince charming would he be without a kiss? You both move in closer as if the unspoken bond between you seems to draw you nearer it's self. He presses his lips against yours in a flurry of innocent passion. His lips are so soft and the love between you is so pure. All you want to do is say, "I love..." and then you wake up. When you realize where you are you remember you are still on the small hill in the little park of the nosy city where you grew up and now worked as a lowly intern in an intimidating office.

Where fairy tales only seem to appear on the big screen. You get up and instead of feeling depressed that it was just a dream possess the power to feel that you have never flown higher in your life. For what would life be like without dreams? For they are what make life wanting to live and give you that reason to smile. They are what make you remember the good times.

Sometimes we get so occupied with the nightmares that we forget to remember our dreams, the ones that make us fly and never let the spirit of life and love go away.

Teah
9th grader
 
 
         
 

Last Updated
11/30/03

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