2 book reviews to be posted.
Last updated on 05/29/02



Short Story


I hide beneath your bed,
I play games inside your head.
I'm the one from whom you run,
I'm the one who can't be out done.

This cavernous abyss in which I hide,
Could never possibly be denied.
I'm inside the depths of your soul,
Here I play the starring role.

You shall never overcome,
The hate that I have succumb.
You will never feel the joy,
That I have been sent to destroy.

11th grader
Newark, Ohio

 About the author of "Pain". Jessi is a junior at Licking Valley High School in Ohio.
Six Feet Under

It started when she was barely old enough to talk, this hate of confined places. When she was two, her older sister locked her up in the ornate old wooden chest that their mother kept for winter clothes and blankets with holes. Rissa could still remember the numbing terror she had felt as she watched the lid slowly close, taking all the light with it. When her mother finally found her, twenty minutes later, she was in such a state of hysterics that it took hours to calm her down. She didn't open her mouth for three whole days afterwards. As time went by and she grew older, her fear grew with her, even traveling in a car or bus was an ordeal.
She was a timid child, and even more timid as a teenager. She had one best friend named Ethan. He had lived next-door to her ever since she could remember, and he was her constant companion. Ethan wasn't scared of anything; heights, the dark. Nothing fazed him. Once, he picked up a huge spider with his bare hand, held it to his face and crooned at it as if it was a small child, then took it outside to set it free. Rissa shivered whenever she thought about it.
Her mother worked in a big department store downtown. Every day, after school, Rissa met her there and together they walked the short distance home. Her mother worked on the top floor. Nothing short of a miracle could ever persuade Rissa to take the elevator.  She walked the seven flights of stairs, up, then down again, while her mother waited impatiently. She had considered taking her daughter to a psychologist many times. This fear. It couldn't be healthy.
Then Dr. J. Webber came to town, known widely for his eccentric and alternative ways. Rissa's mother, after a little deliberation, made an appointment for the following Monday.
Rissa, being timid, wasn't very enthusiastic about her upcoming visit to Dr. Webber. Strangers, she didn't like. She didn't like people who were strange either, and from what she'd heard of Dr. Webber, he fit into the category perfectly. She did not like strange strangers.
But Monday came and, obediently, she went with her mother that afternoon. Dr. Webber was a small balding man who appeared to be in his forties. He wore glasses with thick-lenses that made his eyes look like an owls, large and intimidating.
Overly cheerful, he ushered Rissa's mother out of his office, saying to come back in one hour and that Rissa was perfectly safe in his capable hands. Then, sitting down of the edge of his desk, crossing his legs in a feminine pose, he smiled at Rissa until she grew wary and looked away. "Well, Rissa Delaney is it?" he said, consulting a folder that he had perched on one knee. At Rissa's jerky nod he continued. "Well then, your mother tells me that you have an unreasonable fear of enclosed spaces. You know then, that the medical term for this unreasonable fear is called claustrophobia?"
Rissa gave another jerky nod. She wished he would stop calling her fear an 'unreasonable' one. To her, there was nothing unreasonable about being scared of enclosed spaces, it was just common sense.
She straightened her shoulders and braced herself for the flood of questions that she had thought would then ensue. "Good. Now, your mother also told me that this fear started at a young age when you were accidentally locked into a wooden chest for a period of minutes."
"It wasn't an accident," Rissa said softly, "my sister locked me in there on purpose."
Dr. Webber smiled humorlessly. "Of course," he agreed before going on. "Rissa, I want you to know that this sort of fear, developed through an unpleasant childhood experience, is completely normal and also completely curable." He smiled again. Rissa squirmed in her seat. "By the time I'm finished, your claustrophobia will be a long forgotten memory in no time."

"What do you mean you fell asleep?" Rissa's mother had asked, an edge to her voice, "I'm not paying almost fifty dollars an hour session so that you can take a nap, Rissa."

Ethan had said mostly the same thing. "How could you fall asleep Rissa? You have enough trouble falling asleep in your own bed much less in some strange doctors office where you've never been before."
Rissa shrugged helplessly, they were sitting outside Ethan's house on the front steps. Ethan had a tiny house with low ceilings, small windows and narrow doorways. She didn't like to go inside. Beneath Ethan's penetrating gaze, she shrugged again, "I didn't mean to," she said, "He asked me if I'd like a drink, and then I must have dozed off. Then next thing I knew, he was shaking me awake, and said he'd see me on Wednesday."  She let her voice trail off and stared into space, there was no use telling Ethan about the sensation of moving she thought she had felt while asleep, the suffocating feeling, the coldness. He would just say she was being paranoid, like always.
"Come inside," Ethan pleaded with her, "I'll show you the telescope I got for my birthday." Ethan was enamored of the stars, he wanted to be an astronaut when he grew up. Rissa couldn't think of anything worse than being stuck in a tiny spacecraft in space with no air, so far away from the rest of world.
"I can't," she answered, "I feel like the walls are crushing me."
"C'mon!" he said, "Only for a minute, I'll open all the windows. I promise the walls won't try to eat you."
Rissa smiled but shook her head, "Really, no."
Despite her protests, Ethan grabbed her wrist and started to pull her towards the door. Her laughter quickly turned to fear as he managed to get her through the door and into the hall. She dug her heels into the carpet as best as she could with shoes on, feeling the familiar feeling of suffocation and terror slowly sneak up on her. "Ethan, don't!" For a moment she couldn't breath, she covered her eyes, feeling as if a dark cloud was enveloping her body, choking her.
"Hey, don't start hyperventilating on me," she heard Ethan say, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison on manslaughter charges." He grabbed her around the waist; she felt a rush of cool air on her skin as he pulled her quickly back outside again. "I'm sorry," he said immediately, "I should have known better. You gonna be alright?"
Rissa slowly took her hands away from her face, "Yes," she said, smiling weakly to reassure him. She felt such overwhelming relief at being outside again, that her legs buckled slightly and she sat down on the step with a thud.
Ethan sat down beside her, still worried, "Are you sure? You're really pale."
"I'm fine," Rissa said with more certainty. She sighed, "Let's hope this doctor I'm seeing on Wednesday will be able to help me this time instead of putting me to sleep."
 Ethan set his jaw, looking serious. "Yeah, let's hope so."

"How did it go this time?" Rissa's mother asked, that Wednesday after Rissa's second appointment with Dr. Webber.
Rissa forced a smile; she didn't want to tell her mother that she had fallen asleep for the second time during her session with Dr. Webber. She had apologized to the doctor profusely, embarrassed. What was the matter with her? But he had waved her apologies away with a shake of his head, saying not to worry. Something about Dr. Webber made her uneasy, it wasn't like her to just nod off in the middle of the day, or in the presence of a complete stranger. Dr. Webber seemed entirely content with her showing up to his appointments, only to fall asleep within a few moments of getting there. Maybe he was just pleased that he was being paid for virtually nothing other than baby-sitting her while she slept.
"Fine," she said, when her mother peered at her expectantly, "I think it's really helped me."
And strangely, it had. She wasn't half as jumpy as she used to be. Today, even, she had consented to a trip on the elevator when her mother, complaining of sore feet, begged her to skip the last floor of stairs. Once seeing the metal doors slide close, she had felt a small stab of panic, but had remained completely composed and calm, while her mother, still surprised that she had agreed to get on in the first place, stared at her, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. Rissa had smiled, her mother had probably expected her to slide to the floor of the elevator, banging against the door with her fists like lunatic. Actually, she had wanted to, but she held herself in check. Who would have thought that a few naps could cure her claustrophobia?

"You actually got on the elevator?" Ethan asked later that day, disbelieving. "Wow, that's great. That Dr. Webber guy must be really helping you."
Rissa smiled dryly, "Hardly," she said.
"What do you mean?"
 They were sitting on the front steps of Ethan house as usual. Ethan lay across the steps, which didn't look at all comfortable. Then, Ethan seemed to be comfortable no matter what he did. He stared at her, one elbow supporting his head as he waited for her to answer. Rissa reached out a hand to pat the family cat, Jinks as he slunk past. "I fell asleep," she said. "Again."
"Huh?" Ethan said, confused.
She glanced at him, "I fell asleep," she repeated, "Same as last time."
"What did your mum say?"
Rissa sighed, "I didn't tell her. If she knew, she'd just get mad and stop taking me to see him. And the thing is, even though the only thing I've been doing is sleeping, I haven't been so scared. I mean, I got on an elevator, Ethan, do you have any idea what a huge milestone that has been for me most of my life?"
"Of course I do, you know I do. I think its great. And listen, if you really think going to this guy is helping you, then go see him and stop worrying about it. Still, I don't get how you can fall asleep just like that," he snapped his fingers and grinned. "Maybe he's using some sort of hypnotic suggestive thing on you. Maybe, when you're asleep, he stands in front of you and just says - 'You will not be scared of enclosed spaces anymore' over and over again. Your mind absorbs a lot more things subconsciously when you're asleep," he added, matter-of-factly.
"I doubt it," Rissa said, shrugging as she did so. She wrinkled her nose hesitating, "I have these dreams."
"What do you mean dreams?" Ethan asked.
"Well, dreams. When I'm asleep. Bad dreams."
Ethan sat up and propped his back against the side railings of the stairs, "Nightmares?" he repeated, gray eyes skeptical.
"Yeah, about being trapped inside a box."
"What? You mean like when you were little?"
Rissa nodded, "Except I'm the age I am now. I feel like I'm being moved, and then I'm lying down and it's freezing."
Ethan was silent for a moment, frowning. "Weird," he said. "When do you see this doctor next?" he asked.
"Saturday afternoon." Rissa said, her voice slightly muffled as Ethan's mother called out of the door.
"Ethan? Would Rissa like to stay for tea?"
Ethan glanced at Rissa uncertainly, "You want to? We can eat out here on the steps."
Ethan's mother stuck her head out the door and Rissa flushed, it was almost winter, and eating on the steps seemed silly. "No," she said, "Let's eat inside your house, it's warmer." She smiled at his surprise, "Then you can show me your telescope."

"So you say, that you went into that young man's house? The one that you only days ago could not bare to be inside? And the elevator too?"
"Yes," Rissa said, feeling uneasy at the excited tone of the man's voice.
"Excellent!" Dr. Webber exclaimed, "You have made wonderful progress Rissa. I am very pleased with the way your treatment has been going. I think after this last session you may be completely cured."
Treatment? Rissa wanted to say, what treatment? I haven't received any treatment. The only treatment I've been receiving is a bad dream and a bit more shut-eye than usual.
Dr. Webber thrust a blue and white striped mug at her, "Now, here's your drink."
Rissa reached for it, then stopped. "Doesn't it bother you that I always fall asleep?" she asked.
"No, of course not. Why should it? Drink up please."
Rissa stared at the liquid in the cup, just tea, the same he'd given to her twice already. She'd drunk it because she was too polite to say no, but now she hesitated. Why was she always falling asleep? "I'm not thirsty," she said at last, holding the mug back out to him.
Dr. Webber frowned, "Rissa, please," he said, "It is crucial to your treatment that you drink that. It relaxes you, which is why you have such restful sleep. That is why you have noticed such vast improvements in your condition."
"But how?" Rissa asked him, "How can sleep be helping me?"
Dr. Webber laughed, "My dear girl! Who is the doctor here, you or me? You have no idea how sleep affects the subconscious. Your subconscious is where the aversion to enclosed places is so stubbornly buried. In order to help you, I need your cooperation. You may well have heard that my ways are unusual, but they have a 100% success rate. Your mother knew my intentions before she even made that first appointment for you."
Rissa chewed her lip, she found that hard to believe. "What." she said, "What exactly do you do while I'm asleep?"
"My dear girl!" Dr. Webber said again, "Does the grand chief give away his ancient family recipe to just anyone?"
Rissa bristled, "It's hardly the same thing," she said, surprised at her own boldness.
Dr. Webber was silent for a moment, staring at her with an intensity that made her queasy. "Are you not better than you were less than a week ago?" he asked in sudden anger, "Are you not doing things you were too afraid to do before? Is my treatment not working?"
"What treatment?" Rissa practically shouted.
Dr. Webber shook his head and clucked his tongue, "I can see this is not going to work, Rissa. And we were so close. I cannot work in this environment, with you constantly pressuring me with these questions, when all you need to do is cooperate. I'll call your mother and tell her-"
Rissa sat back in her chair dazed as Dr. Webber rattled on. Despite her dislike and distrust of him, she wanted her fear to go away entirely. This seemed the only choice. "Alright," she heard herself say finally, "You have been helping me. I'll cooperate." Under Dr. Webber's watchful eyes, she slowly drank the warm tea.

Lovely feeling this, almost like floating. Suddenly, that sensation of moving. Then cold, so cold.

Rissa awoke with a gasp, tried to sit up, couldn't, tried to sit up again, couldn't. "Ahh!" she cried, sucking another breath into her lungs in a rush. That suffocating feeling, again. And it was so dark. Trying to calm herself, she thrust her arms up, only to have them hit something hard, flat and cool about half a foot above her head. Blindly, she tried to turn, only to hit another smooth, unmoving surface. She was in a box, she realized dully. A dream, its just a dream. But it felt real. The rough wood beneath her back, that felt real. The lid of the box, which was so low that she couldn't turn her body to the side, that felt real. The slow lump of terror that was creeping up her throat, that felt real too. It was numbing her whole body, paralyzing her. Suddenly she was two again, curled up and crying in that old blanket box where her sister had put her, watching that last slit of light disappear into nothingness, except this time there was no light. This box, she had to ge!
t out of this box. No, not a box. A coffin. She could feel the way it tapered at the end towards her feet, and widened where her torso and shoulders rested. "Six feet under," she breathed suddenly, like a chant. When people died, weren't they buried six feet underneath the ground? "Six feet under, six feet under, six feet under." She placed her hands up flat against the lid of the coffin, "Six feet under, six feet under." She began to scratch at the underside of the coffin lid, scratched until her fingernails began to soften, break, and bleed. "Six feet under, six feet under, six feet under." So this is what Dr. Webber had been doing while she was asleep. "Six feet under." Maybe Dr. Webber couldn't measure properly. Maybe when he dug this hole, he was rushing and he only buried me five and a half feet under. The thought struck Rissa as hysterically funny, like a half foot less of earth piled on top of her would make any difference. She began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, !
while she scratched her nails ragged on the underneath of the coffin lid. "Five and a half feet under, six feet under, five and a half feet under, six feet under." She started to draw in another breath to continue her chant. She couldn't. She tried again, couldn't get a full breath. The airs running out, she thought. The air is running out and I'm going to die. She laughed again, but it didn't seem as funny. That's when the tears came, warm and fast, pooling down around her neck. "Oh, God!" she sobbed, "Let me out! Let me out! Oh, please! Anybody! Let me out! LET ME OUT!" her voice rose to a shrill scream, then slowly trailed away to nothing. She pushed helplessly at the lid, then tried to draw her knees up to her chest so that she could kick. Exhausted, she finally lapsed into a still, motionless silence.
So this is what Dr. Webber has been doing while I'm asleep, Rissa thought again, breathing shallowly. So this is his treatment. He puts people to sleep and then makes them confront their worst fear. Except this time it's going to be different. I made him mad. He's going to leave me here, let me die in the worst way possible. Tell my mother that I didn't show up to the appointment, and while she, my family, and Ethan all think I'm dead and mourn my passing, I'll be here, rotting away into nothing while worms eat my eyeballs. "No!" she whispered aloud. She refused to die like this. Not that she had much choice. She tried to laugh again, but could only manage a smile. Not a real smile, just a painful contraction of her face.
She was starting to feel sleepy.
It took her a second to realize that she wasn't scared. Of dying, yes, but of being crunched up in this small box? No problem. After the initial surprise, she couldn't have felt more at ease. The fear of dying is what had disturbed her.
 So, he had cured her after all.
He had cured her of her claustrophobia, just like he said he would.

11th grade
Hobart, Tasmania, Australia

Soccer Champs

Inside the stadium there was not an empty seat to be found,
For in ninety minutes, a champion would be crowned,
The two teams competing, Barcelona. Real Madrid,
Had been bitter arch-rivals since they were young kids,
Now playing again for what seemed like the one-millionth time,
This above all, was truly show time,
All throughout the stadium, fans screaming, chanting, dancing,
With hopes that their team would soon be advancing,
As the players and coaches walked onto the pitch,
They hoped with all their heart, they would soon strike it rich,
The referee's whistle signaled the start,
Both teams prayed they would defeat their hated counterpart,
For ninety minutes plus overtime the rivals battled it out,
But neither could score. They were headed to a shoot-out,
Kluivert of Barca stepped up first,
His penalty kick goal was definitely not the worst,
Next came Figo of Real Madrid,
When his shot sailed over, he went and hid,
For three more rounds the tension was high,
This was truly do or die,
After regulation and overtime two shooters remained,
Guardiola and Raul would decide the game,
All of Barca's fait was on Guardiola's shoulders,
If he scored a goal, Madrid would have to surrender,
Calm and cool Guardiola stepped up,
He wanted to be champion, not the runner-up,
Determined and willing he approached the ball,
As Barcelona's fans engaged in a brawl,
The soccer ball was struck straight and true,
Another championship for the Scarlet and Blue

8th Grade
Palatine, Illinois

One is Born

Life is started anew each day,
One is born,
Another taken away,
Life continues as it always has,
Time is here,
And it always will last,
Here forever each and everyday,
While one is born,
And another is taken away.

11th Grade
Sesser, IL, USA
About the author of One is Born, One is taken away: Hey wassup, My name is Justin Mandrell I am a 17 year old male, and I go to Sesser-Valier High-School, I am interested in all art from Literature to Computer Generated, I love to write, paint, draw, and just about ne thing that has to do with art.

comments: I have always wanted one of my poems to be published on the web, not everyday does someone get the credit they deserve for their poems I am hoping my poems w ill help others and by getting one published I hope to get many more.

What is Love?

What is love?
Is it a feeling?
Can you catch it like the flu?
Does it just pop up inside of you?

Is love just in your head?
Or does it really mean something?
Is it like the game of war?
Leav of you?

Is love just in your head?
Or does it really mean something?
Is it like the game of war?
Leaving scars that will always show?

Why does it hurt?
Why must love break your heart?
Is it supposed to feel like one hundred stabbing knives?
I just don't understand.

8th grade
Inverness, IL
Do You

Do you wonder where your life will lead you?
Do you question what will be a year from now?
Will the world toss out your dream,
like a pebble in a stream?
Will the ripples roll for years to come?
And how?

Do you ask the angels why they haven't helped you?
Do you challenge God to give you reasons why?
Will you search for other things?
Will you open up your wings
to leave the world of sorrow
and fly?

Do you thank the people who have saved you?
Do you give the credit where it's truly due?
Will you make a point to live
for those whose love they give
for happiness in your life, and
for you?

Do you think that there will always be more questions?
Do you see the day when finally you'll move on?
When you no longer have to try,
When you are free from wondering why, . . .
when your wings will open freely, and
you're gone.

11th grade
Newark, OH USA
About the author of "Do You?":
   David is a Junior from Ohio. He has been interested in writing for several years. He has written numerous poems and short stories since he first began writing in Junior High. his love for writing is accompanied by a love for acting and music which he hopes to pursue later in life.
Harsh Light

within harsh light of reality
see a shocking pink of fantasy
i forgot your long face and sharp jaw
i forgot what i saw in the beginning

or was it the middle, the end
the popcorn or the key chain dangling
or speaking French and saying your name
or saying i can't bend from this position

or remembering i had crumbs all over my shirt
picking dirt off of my blurred reputation
wanting to go into your room and shut the door
turn the music louder so it drowns out the other

and discover that near-perfect is perfect up close
and those i thought felt hot are cold and dead
on arrival you would be smooth and rippling together

and the music is not deafening but blinding
because no one can see what looks so wrong
and no one but you sees me looking at you this way
and i will never leave unless we leave together

12th grade
London England
My Life

My life is a mess.
No where to go.
Stuck in a hole.
No way  to get out.

the pain is to strong
And i am to week.
To week to go on,
To week to stay strong.

My stomach in knots.
My heart on the floor.
Been used and broken ,
But that was before.

Before i was like this ,
Broken and scared.
Of love ,
Of life ,
Of pain ,
Of fear.

Can i go home ?
Back where i was ?
When life was so simple ,
With God up above !

11th grade
Toronto Ont.
i am a 16 year old female from Toronto ont and have had a lot happen to me in the last couple of years.  Life is to short, live it

I'd mix your words
into my kool-aid
if i could,
lime or passion fruit
your soft consonants
your semi-precious vowels
i'd make a whole pitcher
and drink it myself; all
till the last devastating drop.

Oh with them, every drop would be sweeter!
Every sip would be more quenching
The thirst that longs for you
And your words
Breakfast, lunch, dinner!
I would drink, drink and be merry.
With your words in my glass
Sweetening every sound

if the touch of your hand
was eternal
i'd sew it into a blanket,
with it always
i would sleep
feeling your gentle fingertips
snuggling in your warmth
so comforting, so you.
you're practically perfect

so perfect indeed,
that it pains me to write of you
do you justice I don't
for all words wrong you except
those of heaven
the very words that formed me, you
that formed all that is beautiful and great!

But indeed I will write
I will write to satisfy my earthly ways
For if I can not have you in my arms
I will have you in this poem
Trapped naively for eternity
Mine to cherish whenever I see fit
On a paper, in my notebook

Perhaps you are just the same
Writing and trapping
And I am all of the less knowledgeable
Trapped in your note book, on your paper
And none of us are any of the knowledgeable!
And the energy, all of the energy
That goes into writing and trapping
All of this energy spent on the ignorance
Of meaning, of feeling, and of being.

10th grade
Great Falls, Virginia
Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
--Charlie Brown

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in
                         which you yourself have altered.
--Nelson Mandela

Dress Up

Her face was as delicate as a porcelain doll. Her hair was yellow as sunflowers just in bloom. Her dress was the color of sunset. As she puts on her canary suede shoes, That could fit a doll, She imagines it is her moment to shine and to amaze the world with her innocence. Among her hoop dress she carefully positions her petite lace gloves, surely she will remember the significance of this moment through all of her days.

8th grade
Hi, it is my pleasure writing i love to write. this piece is about of friend of mine, when she was a young girl and how we used to play dress up together

Don't assume you know me
when you've already lost yourself
assumption get confused
with your desire for dominance
you can't control me any longer.
Amidst your intimidating exterior
you seem to be the weaker
and although I may be timid
my soul will be the victor.
Don't assume you own me
because I've already escaped.
Your obsession with yourself
has been your downfall,
your warped, perverted mind
no longer torments me.
Don't assume I love you
even though I still do.

11th grade
About the author of Assume
16 years old and loves to write poetry! Would appreciate any feedback.
Undoing Pressures

Mango fame whispering towards a mouth made of money.
Lemon wealth shouting behind the edges of wilting trees.
Black clothes chewing their way towards the essence of bones.
Friends tip-toeing towards seashells clogged with sand.
Purple beauty talking in a silicone voice.
Blue door ways trimming my ways of confidence
like a beach of high rises that swallow wind.
Midnight muscle slouching towards the neon teeth of television
Peach pain climbing the hairs of my ripe stomach.
Grey raindrops hugging smokeless chimneys.
Green space sleeping in antique gutters.
Tan lips itching the cracked window panes I am unable to open.
White shoes closing over the distance like a clock run out of time
Violet thread hitting the ripples of my mistakes.
Maroon suitcases licking the world of metallic rumors.
Red wires becoming our tangled thoughts.
Lavender noise becoming a refrigerated heart.
Space jumping like youth left behind.
Weight tickling the calories of my conscience.
Minutes waving, silver destiny falling.
Flight swimming towards a soul I do not want to find,
Undoing pressures.

mpls, mn, usa
About the author of Undoing Pressures. I am currently at my 17th school. I have moved all of my life because of my father's job as a professor and writer.
 My mother is a young adult writer and I have been raised writing. I speak three languages, am a teen counselor at planned parenthood, act, sing and play the guitar.
Writing is my passion as well as my therapy. I hope one day to publish a book.
School Skipping

School.  Who needs it?  I'm smart, I'm funny, I'm athletic...I don't need to go to school.  I kicked a rock as I trudged slowly toward the torture chamber they kindly call school.  My best friend, Rachel, walked beside me, staring at the ground and kicking pebbles with her sneakers.  Finally, she turned to me.
" Why don't we ditch, Christopher?  It's not like anyone would notice."  I almost laughed, when I realized she was serious.
" Um, Rach?  I don't know how good an idea that would be..."She shook her head, as if disappointed.
" You wuss."  I shrugged.  No matter how much I pondered and considered it, Rachel was right.  I was a wuss.  She punched me in the arm, and flicked one of her blonde braids.  I swear, if she would just put on one of those Swedish mountain outfits...I could call her Heidi from now on.  I shoved my hands in my pockets and felt around.
Gum, pen, rock, hackie sack, cash, safety pin.... EW...what's that?  I pulled something slimy and sticky out of my pocket.  Rachel wrinkled her nose.
" Ew... what's that?"  I shrugged, and wiped it on a mailbox as we passed.  Rachel shook her head disapprovingly.  I raised my hands in mock defeat.
" I suppose maybe you had a better idea?"  She rolled her eyes.  She always rolls her eyes when she knows I'm right. 
" Christopher, please.  I don't want to go to school today, and I know you don't either."  She stopped walking and looked at me with puppy eyes.  Incredibly gorgeous, very attractive puppy eyes.  I sighed, running a hand through my unruly brown hair.
" I don't know... I guess..."Rachel squealed with delight and hugged me tightly, then turned and began walking quickly in the opposite direction from school.  I jogged to catch up to her, and began thinking.  " Didn't we have a science test today?"  Rachel shrugged.
" I don't know and I don't care.  We're free!" 
" Yeah."  Rachel frowned at me.
" Why aren't you excited?  Come on, you psycho, we're ditching school!  That means no test, no homework, and no teachers!  That's great!"  She punched me in the arm again.  " Be excited!"  I groaned.
" Um...yay!"  She rolled her eyes.  Not because I was right, because I was lame.  I am lame.  I will always be lame.  But that's part of who I am, and I guess you could say I'm proud of it.  It's mostly kept me out of trouble during my life.  Until now.  My lame gut had a lame feeling that we were going to get into big trouble today.  I didn't know the half of it, to tell the truth.   Suddenly, as we walked along in the rapidly heating sun, I realized that we didn't know where we were going.  At least, I didn't know where we were going.  Who knows about Rachel? 
" Where are we going, Rach?"  She shrugged, and continued walking.
" I was thinking maybe the aquarium, then lunch and a movie at the mall...and then..." 
" And then...?"  She grinned.
" And then we'll go to...the carnival!"  I raised an eyebrow at her.
" You sound like you're five."  She punched me in the arm.  She knows I hate that, and that's why she does it.  You might be wondering what I'm doing hanging out with a person that's so rude.  Rachel's rudeness is her way of showing how much she likes you.  I know, I know, weird, but I really like Rachel.  In a lot of ways. 

Everyone kind of looked at us funny in the aquarium.  Like they were shocked at seeing a couple of seventh graders skipping school.  I think one lady wanted to call security, but we got out of there before she could.  As we walked away, Rachel looked at me.
" Well, so much for that."  I smiled and shrugged.
" Yep."  I looked at my watch.  9:55.  " We'd be in... Science right now," I said to her, trying unsuccessfully to hide my relief.  I never study for tests, and today's science test was no exception.  She smiled at me.
" We would be in Science, but we're not.   We're on our way to the mall until lunchtime, right?"  She put a fist dangerously near my already sore arm.  I nodded.
" Yep."  She smiled sweetly.
" I knew you'd see it my way." 

I can't believe I'm afraid of being beat up by a girl. 

Rachel grabbed my arm as we passed a clothes store window.
" Oh my God, look!  Christopher...isn't that the cutest?"  I raised an eyebrow, and pulled my arm away from her.
" Oh, yeah, how cute!  Rach, we just have to get it!  I simply can't live without it!"  I raised the back of my hand to my forehead dramatically, and she stuck her tongue out at me.  I made a face back at her, and kept walking.  She stayed at the window, looking at the outfit longingly.  I went into a CD store, figuring she'd be along soon enough.  After ten minutes, though, I got worried.  When I went back to the store she had been, I couldn't see her.  " Rach?  Rachel, where are you?"  I frowned when she didn't reply, and went into the store.  She probably decided to buy those clothes.  But she wasn't in there, either.  I walked up to the cashier and leaned on the counter.  " Have you seen a girl, about my height, blonde hair, in braids?"  The clerk shook her head.
" No.  And if you don't have anything to buy, please step out of the way."  I sighed and moved back.  I circled around the store one more time, then went back to the CD store to look for her.  I found her with a bag, sitting on a bench and reading the back of a CD she had bought. 
" Rachel!  You scared me half to death!"  She stood up, and dropped the CD back into the bag.
" Did I?  I'm sorry."  She laughed.  " I'm disappointed, Christopher.  When you went back into that store, I was sure you were going to buy me that outfit."  She punched me in the arm.
" Will you stop that?" I cried, rubbing my arm.   I turned to walk out of the store.  " Anyway, don't hold your breath.  It's not like I would buy you anything that expensive."

You know and I know that I would. 

" Okay, it's 11:30, lunch time," Rachel said happily, and we turned to walk toward the food court.  I stopped and bought a newspaper for $.25 so we could look up today's movies.  We got hamburgers, fries, sodas, and shakes (my treat, of course), and sat down at an empty table.  I unfolded the newspaper.
" So what did you want to see?" I asked her, looking over the paper.  She shrugged, and my stomach flipped.  I buried my face into the newspaper to hide the blush that crept up from my collar. 
" Oh, I know!  How about we see that horror one...what was it called?  Oh, yeah, Midnight Mayhem II: Pete Returns!"  I shook my head.  Remember when I told you how much of a wuss I am?  Well, when I was 10, I went to see the first Midnight Mayhem.  My mom had to take me out in the middle because I was crying too hard to breathe.  No one knows about that, but I refuse to see the second one, in case there's a repeat of that little incident.  Rachel glared at me.  " I want to see Midnight Mayhem II!  Come on," she said, grabbing my arm.  I took one last fry off my tray before she dragged me toward the theatre.  We-I-bought tickets, and we got really good seats (the movie didn't start for an hour).  I went and bought snacks, then excused myself to the bathroom.  I sat on the counter by the sink and panicked.
" I can do this!  It's just a movie!  Oh, man, no I can't!  But I have to for Rachel!  ARGH!"  I splashed my face with water, and finally went back to the theatre.  The previews began as I slumped into my seat.  Rachel handed me my popcorn and soda.
" I thought you'd never be out," she whispered.  I smiled weakly, and turned to watch the previews.  I didn't risk a single sip of the soda.  I already had to pee. 

Well, the movie went mostly without any hitches.  I almost grabbed Rachel's arm, but I managed not to.  I just know that I'm not going to be seeing any other horror movies anytime soon.  After we left the mall, we caught a city bus and went to the carnival.  As we walked into the gates, Rachel touched my shoulder.
" Hey, look, Christopher, it's Tyler!"  She narrowed her eyes.  " Oh, and Trina too."  I rolled my eyes.  Tyler was head over heels for Trina, and she hated him, but loved the attention and the goodies.  The person she did like was me, Christopher.  We tried to avoid them, but Tyler grabbed Trina's hand and ran up to us.
" Hey, guys!  Looks like someone else ditched the Science test, too!"  I nodded, looking at Rachel for help.  Trina smiled at me, and batted her eyelashes.  Rachel just grinned, and grabbed Tyler's arm.
" Hey, Ty, let's go get some ice cream for the four of us, hmm?"  Tyler shrugged.
" Okay, be right back, guys."  They walked in the opposite direction.  I began to walk after them, but Trina grabbed my hand.
" Let them go," she said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.  I sighed, and turned to face her.

Trina is by far not an ugly person.  Her dark eyes, long, raven hair, and pale skin are a mystery to any guy.  She's just...kind of quick, that's all.  I admit, I did like her for a while, and she had me under her spell, and I would have done anything for her...and I do mean anything.  But then I saw her kissing Tyler behind the gym.  I don't like her anymore, but she pretends that I do.  That she's irresistible to anyone of the male gender.  She even flirts with our teacher.  Personally, she makes me sick, but what're you going to do, you know? 

She smiled at me, and wrapped her long slender arms around my waist.  She pulled me close and was about to press her mouth to mine, when I heard Tyler and Rachel coming back.  I pushed away, and jogged over to them, offering to help.  Rachel gave me my ice cream cone, and Tyler handed Trina hers.  She looked disappointed.  I glared at Rachel.
" How could you do that?"  She hid a smile by taking a bite of her ice cream.
" What?"  I rolled my eyes, and pulled one of her braids.  She punched my arm.  I wondered what my parents would say when I came home with a cast.  We went on a few rides, and played a lot of games.   Trina kept trying to get me alone with her, but I was careful to stay near Tyler and Rachel.  Finally, as it got dark, Tyler and Trina left.  Rachel and I wandered around, and as we were about to leave, Rachel grabbed me and pulled me behind a booth.
" Hey, let's stay until after it closes.  Then we can have the whole place to ourselves!"  I stared at her, wide-eyed.  My wussy and lame instincts were kicking in. 

We waited behind that booth for about three hours.  She slept.  I worried, thought I heard cops coming.  When the last light finally turned off, the last ride stopped and the gate clanged shut, I woke her up. 
" Hey, Rach, c'mon, let's just go.  It's really late."  She grinned, and stood up, pulling me up by the arm.
" That's the idea." 

We spent the entire night there, and as we were about to go home, Rachel took my hand in hers.  My heart fluttered, and my stomach jumped into my throat.  I swallowed, and weakly smiled at her.  She grinned back.  As we walked out of the gates of the park, we were met with sirens growing nearer.  We looked at each other in terror, and away from the park.  Unfortunately, we ran right into a parked police car.
" Oops," I muttered.  She rolled her eyes.  The lame one, and I guess a little of the whenever-I'm-right one.  The cop stepped out of the car, watching us through narrowed eyes. 
" Hey, what're you doing out so late?"  I sighed in resignation.  My mom had sent the cops out.  God. 
" We-we were at the carnival.  We--"I looked at Rachel, and she shrugged.
" We got lost," she said quickly.  The cop nodded. 
" Why don't you get in the car, and I'll drive you home, hmm?"  I nodded sullenly, and Rachel and I got into the police car.  As I sat dreading what my mom would do to me when I got home, I could feel Rachel looking at me.  My heart pounded so loudly I was sure she could hear it.  I looked over at her, and she kissed me on the cheek.  Her face lingered near mine, and she whispered in my ear.
" Let's do this again real soon."

8th grade
Dan's Tale

A long time ago in a far off land, there lived a beautiful princess named Kathryn.  Kathryn was both very beautiful and very intelligent, and was very popular with all the men.  She was very independent though, and always ignored the flirtatious remarks of all the knights.  Her father hoped that she would one day marry, but it looked very uncertain that she would ever find someone. 
"Kathryn, you really should think about settling down with someone.  You've had more than enough time to look," King Henry told her.
"Father, I know, but no one impresses me.  Like you always say, I deserve the best, and whoever the best is he is hard to find."
"How about this, I will set aside one day next week for a contest.  All knights will be invited and whichever man impresses you the most, you may marry."
"If that's what you think is best Father.  Excuse me, I have a headache, I will see you at dinner."  Kathryn exclaimed aloud to herself as she hurried down the hall to her room.  "Why do I have to get married?  Why does it matter?  I can rule just as well as a man, I probably would be able to do a better job too."  She opened her door and went to her bed.  Her head hit the fluffy blue and white pillows, and after awhile she fell asleep.  She dreamt that a handsome knight was taking her from her room.  His armor was polished so well that she could see herself in it, and he was tall and strong with dark brown hair.  He carried her to his horse, which was the exact same color as his hair, and set her on it.  "Funny," she thought.  "Why am I not scared?"  She looked down at him at the exact same moment he looked up at her.  Their eyes locked and she knew he was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.  His square chin and brown eyes captivated her.
"Are you ok?" asked the knight.  "You look like you're going to be sick."
"Huh?  Oh, I'm, I'm fine," she stuttered.  After a few seconds of silence she finally asked, "What are you going to do with me?"  She couldn't tear her eyes away from his face.
"Take you back to my castle."  His tone was not harsh and she still felt that this type of situation should scare her, but she wasn't afraid.  It's like she knew what was going to happen, but couldn't exactly see what it was.
She suddenly sat up in her bed.  "Oh," Kathryn exclaimed, "That was a weird dream."  She quickly changed into her favorite red dress, and left her room for dinner.  As she neared the dining hall the smells of the feast that was just cooked met her nose and made her mouth water.  Standing next to her father was a tall dark haired man wearing shiny armor.  As she got closer she suddenly realized he was the one in her dream.  "What is going on?" she thought.
"Kathryn, come here dear.  I'd like you to meet our neighbor, Prince Robert."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Kathryn, you are even more beautiful than I imagined you," Prince Robert said politely.  His voice was deep and full, and made her melt, just like in her dream.
"It is very nice to meet you too, sir.  Will you be staying with us for some time?"
"Well, your father sent word today of a contest that is going to be held next week, and I had to come.  By the way Henry, what exactly will this contest involve?"
"Actually," King Henry chuckled, "I just figured that out.  Why not have a pie-eating contest?  I think that would be fun!" 
"Father, you're asking me to pick a husband out of hundreds of men just by watching them stuff their faces?"  Kathryn exclaimed. 
"How a man eats dear tells a lot about his character.  Besides, what else would we have them do?  Duel?  That's silly!"
They sat down to eat, King Henry between Robert and Kathryn.  She listened to the musicians that were playing, and sometimes tuned into what Robert and Henry were saying, jumping in every now and than.  Still being upset about the contest and upset that she wasn't able to get Prince Robert's attention, she left the table headed towards her room.
She sat in her chair by the window and looked out at the night sky.  The stars shined brightly and the face in the moon seemed to be smirking at her.  The clitter-clatter of horse's hooves sounded on the drawbridge and soon disappeared having entered the castle.  "A week from now I will be married," she muttered, remembering how handsome Prince Robert was and how uninterested in her he seemed.  "I need to get some sleep," she crawled into bed after changing and pulled the soft blue blanket up to her chin.
The week passed quickly.  Knights and princes from all over the country made their way to the castle.  Many of them introduced themselves to Kathryn and they all told her how brave and strong they were.  She had tried to get Robert's attention all week, but nothing she did seemed to make him notice her.  She tried bumping in to him hoping to strike up a conversation, but he would always apologize quickly and leave.  He had said that she was beautiful hadn't he?  Maybe that was just his way of being polite. 
The morning of the contest came, and Kathryn woke up to the birds singing and the sun shinning onto her face, as if to tell her that the day was for her.  She dressed in an emerald green dress and had her hair done quickly.  She ate the breakfast that her lady brought her and then decided to find her father.  She looked for him all over the castle but could not find him: his room, the throne room, and the dining hall were all empty.  She wandered into the garden that was located in the middle of the castle.  There was her father, shouting commands to the servants that were trying to set up the last of many tables that were going to be used in the contest. 
"Perfect, just in time my dear.  Are you ready to pick out the man whom you will be spending the rest of your life with?" inquired King Henry.  "The men will be gathering soon."  Sure enough the men started to file into the garden.  They made their way around the tables and stood behind their chairs.  Prince Robert ended the long line of men.  The king waved his hand and they all sat down in unison.  The pies were brought out on huge carts.  Each man was given four. 
"Now for the rules!"  Shouted the king.  "In front of each and every one of you are four pies.  You do not have to eat them all, but you will be disqualified if you stop before they are all gone or before Princess Kathryn has made her choice.  When Kathryn gives the signal you may start eating.  Good luck to all of you and may the best man win!"
"Here goes nothing," whispered Kathryn.  She lifted her arm and gave the signal.  All the men instantly tore into their first pie, hands and faces were covered in blackberries.  Kathryn walked around slowly watching the men eat.  She finally came to the place where Robert was sitting.  She tried not to laugh when she saw him.  He was eating one bite at a time, being careful not to make a mess.  He looked up at her and smiled, as if to say, "I'm sorry."  She made the signal to her father and the men stopped eating. 
"Thank you very much to all of you that came today.  May you have good luck in the future in everything you do, and may you find happiness in marriage.  I would like to have Prince Robert as my husband," Kathryn announced.  Immediately he rose, took her in his arms and kissed her.  They were married that afternoon and there was a feast held in their honor that night at the castle.
"Dear, why is it that you never seemed interested in me?"  Kathryn asked her new husband. 
"One thing my father taught me when I was growing up: when you like someone that you really want to impress, play hard to get, it'll drive them crazy.  I knew I loved you the moment I saw you, and I kind of got the feeling that you felt the same way about me."
The two were brought together thanks to King Henry and his pie-eating contest.    They lived happily ever after.  To all the men out there trying to win the heart of the woman you love, act uninterested in them, and they'll want to be with you even more.
11th grade
St. Joseph, MI
Hollow Eyes

The image you see is exactly that...an image.
One I have created to satisfy my surroundings.
A colorful mask, vibrant and energetic.
You do not hear the painful echoes
of another day plagued with lies.
You merely see a smile.
a falseness that hides my misery.
Yet when the day is done and the mask is removed the hollow eyes stare back.
Not at you, but at me.

12th grade
Franklin, Oh
About the author of Hollow Eyes.
I am a high school senior. I have been writing for the greater portion of my life. Good luck to all!
Free Lunch

The office was certainly an unfamiliar habitat.  What made him think that Steven's Construction company would even consider a former rock star like him?  Tom was accustomed to amplifiers the size of small foreign cars and bass that made the roof bounce up and down with every note.  This elevator music seemed to play tricks on his mind while he sat in the lobby.  Tom Jackson started to feel dizzy.  His brain seemed to slowly flop over inside his head with a long slurping sound as it collided lethargically with his skull.  Butterflies danced in his stomach as he swayed gently from side to side.  Life in the office was definitely a change from sold out crowds in Milwaukee or small time talk shows in Dallas. There was no turning back now.  He had a quick flashback to the tattoo removals and horrifying sessions of night school.  He would miss his old self. 
Tom was beginning to regret what he had done that morning.  Perhaps it wasn't the best idea right to drink a bottle of whiskey and triple burger right before an interview.  Tom could picture the bottle and the burger's wrapper lying next to each other on the seat of his car.  "Mmm, triple burger, auuuuhhhhh."  He then noticed he had drooled on his sleeve.  He wiped it off just as the secretary was calling him into the office for the interview. 
"So, tell me Mr., uh, let's see here. . . ah, yes, Jackson.  What special qualities do you have that would help you succeed as a structural engineer?"
"Well, um, I like math, I guess. . .  and I have a set of Legos at home that I played with when I was five, and uh. . . ."
"Good.  You're hired.  Can you start tomorrow?"  Tom Jackson was flabbergasted.  These guys must be pretty desperate to hire him.  He said yes and was introduced to his new office.  As the tour progressed, he wasn't exactly sure what, but something seemed to put up a red flag in his mind.  Maybe it was when they mentioned the guy that he was replacing, Mr. Arnold.  After about a month on the job, Mr. Arnold burned his stack of work and killed himself because he couldn't handle it any longer.  Or maybe it was just the stale donut they gave Tom.  Whatever the case, he wasn't convinced he had made the right decision.  But lets face it, it was money, right? 
The only reason they had money to give seemed to be the lack of money they spent elsewhere.  His office was more like a shed than a conventional office.  The walls, if they were fit to be called so, appeared as though sheet metal had been haphazardly nailed together without any apparent pattern.  The floor had buckled in several places and was coated in sawdust and dirt.  His chair broke into several pieces when he sat in it.  "Well, I suppose that's the first thing I'll get to work on," thought Tom.   
The next morning he made an effort to get up on time.  It was important to impress the boss, no matter how stupid, insane, or under-financed Mr. Baker was.  And by the look of things, those might just be some of his better points.  Tom might always wonder how much of a jelly donut Baker would actually get in his mouth, and how much would be lost in his beard.  That was a tough question.  Baker probably had enough hair on his face to give a family of woodchucks a decent home.  And then there was his enormous Afro. Tom wondered why Baker didn't have his own wildlife channel.  Tom threw one of his pens at the back of Baker's head to announce his arrival.  It didn't get his attention.  The pen became lodged in the Afro, stopping it from ever actually reaching his head. He punched in and sat on his desk.
Jackson had found a job that was incredibly simple, even for him, a former rock star who had spent more time on tour than in school.  It paid fair, and he had a boss that was dumber than a brick. He had to look up a few things in the dust-coated books that partially filled the bookcase behind him. Tom spent a good deal of time doodling and deciding on which school to put on the fake diploma he planned to make.  Maybe they made up that story about Mr. Arnold having a lot of work to scare Tom.  Or maybe Steven's construction company really accidentally killed Mr. Arnold while building a parking lot, and made up the suicide story to cover up the murder.
All this thinking was making Tom hungry.  He sent the office's lone secretary out for a pizza.  When she returned three hours later, there were no black olives or sausage like he had requested, but pepperoni. He started to get angry, but decided it was a small sacrifice to have his lunch on the company tab.  
The next day, he carved some elves out of wood he found in storage.  As he was amusing himself with the dolls, Baker walked in.  "I have something to tell you Tom."
"Well, what is it, Jim?" he replied.
"Actually, the name's Bob."
"No, no, no.  It was Bob yesterday.  It's Jim today, remember?"
"Oh yeah," Baker answered.  "My fault.  Anyway, I thought I might fill you in.  As you can tell, this isn't a normal construction company."
"Are you talking about the fact that half the employees are idiots or the illegal activities that go on out back?"
"Well, it's a little like that," Baker said.  "You see . . . well, let me put it this way: you'll move if you don't want to get hit."  Baker pulled Tom out off his desk as a sports car burst through the wall.  The wall instantaneously broke away, revealing a small hoard of illegal drugs and money. Sirens sounded in the background.  One of the company executives had been caught, and inadvertently led the police to the evidence in the high speed chase that ensued (which led to the sports car going through the wall). It turned out the company had planned to eventually frame Tom for these crimes. Tom Jackson was lucky. A slight change in fortune prevented him from having seven life sentences of jail time placed on his head.  He might not have been out on parole for an entire year.
The moral of the story is there's no such thing as a free lunch. 

11th grade
St. Joseph, MI
 I have been writing almost ever since I could.  But until recently, I hadn't thought about the possibility of getting published.  This is just one small taste of my writing, that I did just this year.
The Super-Student's Tale

It seemed to be a normal morning as I casually strolled into Mrs. Hunfer's first hour
Honors English class, the same way I do every lovely school morning.  I sat down at my desk
next to a fellow student, Biff, who immediately began rambling to Pat behind me about the latest
"project" he was working on.  Biff was always up to something.  I was convinced that someday
Biff would rule the entire world; if he didn't blow it up first.  I smiled to myself as he tried to
explain something about rocket science and gummy bears to a very interested Pat. 
"Good morning everyone!" Mrs. Hunfer cheerily greeted us.  "Today is a great day!
Today we will be learning about the devices of satire, such as parody!" 
"Oh joy!" we all sarcastically exclaimed.  Bob, another student in my class, was sincerely
excited.  So much in fact that he jumped on top of his desk and began to sing the Mr. Roger's
theme song at the top of his lungs.  He kept singing something about it being "a beautiful day for
satire" until Mrs. Hunfer coaxed him down, using an annotated satire reference book.  Bob
jumped at the book as quickly as a cat jumps at a mouse and sat down to read his new favorite
companion.  We all laughed hysterically at the look on our teacher's face.  She appeared to have
seen a ghost as Bob jumped like that.
"All right, all right!  Time to get down to business,"  Mrs. Hunfer said as she passed out
75 worksheets on satire to each of us.  "We have a lot of exciting things to learn today, and not a
lot of time to do it."  Bob let out a muffled shriek of excitement at this information. 
"Yep, another normal day in English," I thought to myself, "I wonder if we . . . "
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Biff muttering something to Pat.  I couldn't
make out everything that he said, but I caught something about nitroglycerin and the 75th satire
worksheet.  This made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever, so I just ignored it, as I usually do
with Biff's mutterings.  I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined that this muttering
might have cost the entire Jaint Joseph High School population its life.
Mrs. Hunfer started her lesson by giving us examples of satire.  She used The Cadbury
Bunny Tales as examples.  The tale of the talking fox stealing all of the rabbit's chocolate eggs I
found to be especially exciting, so I was thrilled when our teacher used that story to show what
overstatement was.  I was really into the lesson now, and I didn't even notice when Pat replaced
the last satire worksheet on my desk with a fraud worksheet.  Mrs. Hunfer kept talking until she
had discussed all the devices of satire, and Bob had asked about 2 million questions and read to
the class the exciting things he was learning in his new reference book.  We were then instructed
to break up into groups and work on our worksheets.  I quickly gathered my things and ran over
to my friends Raquelle and Taren.  I sat down in a desk next to them, and we began to work on
the first worksheet, which was about mockery, when I noticed Biff kicking poor Bob out of a
desk near me.  "What is Biff doing over here?" I wondered.  "He never sits over here, and how
dare he treat little innocent Bob that way!"  But I completely forgot about Biff and Bob when
Raquelle and Taren yelled at me for not helping them with the work.  We then got down to
business and finished the first worksheet in no time at all.  "This will be a piece of cake!"  I
exclaimed, "These worksheets are not that tough."
"Yeah, that one only took us five minutes, and we only have 74 worksheets left to go,"
Taren graciously reminded me. 
"That's like six hours and ten minutes," Raquelle calculated.  "We better get busy or we
won't have time to finish, and we'll miss our next class!"
So we worked, and we worked, and worked, and worked, and worked, and worked, and
worked some more, and worked, and worked, and worked, and worked harder, and we were
down to the final worksheet with only three seconds left of first hour. 
"You girls better write really fast to get that worksheet done," I heard whispered in my
right ear, "and make sure you write BOOM! for the last answer."  I looked around, but no one
was there.  There were only my fellow students around me trying to finish their work. 
"Hmmm . . . BOOM!?  That's not even a device of satire.  How could that be an answer?"
I asked myself?  It didn't make any sense, but the voice sounded so convincing, that I was sure it
was the right answer anyway.  I asked Raquelle and Taren what they thought about BOOM!
being the last answer.  They both said that they were having trouble with that last one, and it was
possible that was the answer, so they went ahead and marked it on their paper.  I was still really
confused about this last question and the possible answer, so I asked Mrs. Hunfer about it. 
"BOOM!?  No, that's not the right answer," my teacher told me.  As she said that Biff let
out a huge scream and ran up to Mrs. Hunfer and started debating why BOOM! was the answer
to the last question, number 187.  His argument was so strong that he actually convinced Mrs.
Hunfer that his answer was right.  She told the whole class this, and everyone erased their
answers and wrote "BOOM!" by question number 187.  As I put my pencil to my paper to write
"BOOM!" on it I noticed that it was ticking.  A ticking paper?  Now talk about being thrown off
track!  I just figured that the ticking meant that class time was running out, and I had to hurry
and turn my paper in.  So I quickly wrote "BOOM!" by question number 187.  As I did that my
paper began to smoke, and Biff and Pat began to laugh one of those hysterical mad-scientist
laughs as they frantically ran out of the room. 
A second later we saw them running outside the window at lightning speed toward the
lake, which is about a block away from the school.  Just then something clicked inside my head.
A smoking paper, Biff and Pat running away from the building, the answer BOOM!, and Biff
whispering nitroglycerin.  My paper was a bomb!  The school would explode at any second if I
didn't do something.  I didn't have much time to think; I had to do something quickly.  So I did
the first thing that any normal person would do.  I stuffed the paper into my mouth and
swallowed.  Next thing I knew I let out a gigantic burp that smelled of dynamite, and I had a
monstrous case of heartburn.  As the light went on to dismiss first hour, I asked Mrs. Hunfer if I
could go to the nurse; I wasn't feeling very well. 
Everyone found out about my heroic feat, and I became a hero at Jaint Joseph High
School.  They even named the new table in the lunch room after me.  People would forever be
eating off something in my honor.  I was thrilled! 
Biff and Pat were never heard of again.  I don't know where they ended up.  There's a
rumor that they are still hiding in the lake near the school where they were last seen running.  I
don't know if I believe that or not.  All I know is that I don't swim in that lake anymore, just in
case it might ever happen to explode.

11th grade
Saint Joseph, MI
About the author of The Super-Student's Tale.  Amy is 17 years old and a junior in high school.  She enjoys writing, singing, dancing, and snowboarding in her spare time.

I saw an angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.
It had the purest wings of heavenly silk, and the eyes of sliver, green.
It had a halo of perfection, a light about his gown, a softness in his eyes that lifted my sorrowed heart from the ground.
Tears and sweat mixed with the marble that I slowly carved away, each drop of acid that fell from my eyes landed on the figure of Heaven's great surprise.
Tears of pain and tears of sorrow, burning fires of tomorrow, gave the angel golden light, made his eyes change from stone to ocean gems, stealing my consciousness.
With every inch I grew closer, his figure became life like. 
Colors exploded from the rock, basking the darkened cave with everlasting light. 
Upon the day I finished, I felt his grace absorb through my skin as a warm fire on a winter night.
I felt the arms of love wrap around my shoulders and knew as the wings of my own soul flutter, that as I held my head high for the first time, a smile droned the face of happiness, as the angel in you took flight.

10th grade
Leonard, Mi
Not Asking Too Much

I'm not asking you to love me
I'm not asking you to fall
You never have to hug me
You never have to call
But, when I see you passing by,
pretend to look me in the eye
Or maybe fake a little grin
Where I know that one has never been
So muster up all that you can,
whatever it takes to be a man
Or, if that is too much for you
Please, treat me like you always do
And when your face can feel the wind
Just think of what there might have been
If you hadn't let this flower die
And hadn't made this world so dry
So think about me for awhile,
Until you finally learn to smile.

11th grade
Jacksonville, Florida
About the author of Not Asking Too Much.
   My name is Sarah and I'm 17 yrs. old. This is the first time I've ever tried publishing anything, and I have no idea if its good or not. I just really love writing, and hope to be an English teacher one day.
Thank You
By: Josie 
(for: her)

I'd never cried so much before
than that day
my birthday.
It was hard to believe-
I was turning a whole year older
and no noticed, no one cared.
I sat with my back against the school bathroom heater
It was getting hot, but I didn't care,
because no one cared.

With tears streaming down my face,
I heard the door knob turn-
It was you.
You sat down next to me
and held open my hand.
You pulled a thin, shinny piece of gum from your pocket
and put it in my hand.
Then you walked to the door-
"Happy Birthday" you said- and then left.
Like an angel going back to heaven.

When no one cared, you cared.

I've never cried as much as I do now
I don't know who you are
or how you knew I was alone
....or why you cared.
I don't remember what flavor of gum it was
or if I even chewed it, I didn't care.

All I know is
there will forever be a hole inside my heart
For letting you walk away
before saying
what I wanted to say
what I needed to say
what I'll never forgive myself for not saying...
Thank you...
for the best gift any one could ever give me.
8th grade
Mercer Island, WA
About the author of Thank You:
Josie started writing only because it was a requirement in her Language Arts class, but after awhile, she began to really enjoy experimenting with different forms literature. This is her first submission to teenlit.com, but she has written a few songs she would like to submit at a later date. She is currently studying her lines for a play she will perform in in March and training for a $250 vocal scholarship. 

Smell my skin
   Burn your eyes
Feel my fingers
   Trace your thighs
Search my soul
   Find your mate
My grinning skull
   Mouth agape

10th grade
Drakes Branch, Va., USA
About the author of Devoured... I woke up one morning with this short poem in my mind...Here it is...

The poem takes a lot of explanation for others to understand it.

here i stand
all alone
pressed into a corner
secluded from the world
i cry out in loneliness
but no one hears
yet i can hear them
their laughter strikes my silence
their voices carried in the wind
i wish to join them
but would they point and laugh
would they say mean things
would they turn me away
working up my courage
i slowly walk to them
they notice as i step into the light
i hold my breath
on their faces are smiles
welcoming me in
as they make room for me
i chide myself
over the tears lost
and the time wasted
why did i only wish instead of doing
9th grade
St. Louis, Missouri, United States
About the author of this poem:
This poem is kind of what I felt going into high school.  I was worried, will they accept me or what if everyone hates me.  But as I soon realized that those thoughts were wasted energy, I easily found great friends who i can be myself with!
My Pain

You walk hand in hand,
and I try to busy myself
by fidgeting my fingers
as I watch you linger down the hall.
The tunnel-like corridor resembled time
and its merciless journey in and out of lives.
Your backs turned,
he slings you around
and misses the glance
we hurl at each other.
Only this time,
I didn't mean for you to catch it.
But you did
And for the first time,
you saw through me
and into my pain.

I froze,
Or did I overheat?
Either way I expected you and your smiles
To spare a minute of your time
and recover years of my life.

But you wouldn't
and the stare in your eyes
will always haunt me
Because it was apathetic and uncompromising.
I fought for composure
and went back to fidgeting my fingers.

10th grade
LiMp BiZkIt
By: rIcKy 

Chocolate Starfish,
Three Dollar Bill
Both records sold
More Than A Mill.

you Know their Record
"Significant Other"
Was A Big Disgrace
To Their Mothers

They Make hit songs like
 Rollin and faith.
Both at the top of the charts,
In First Place.

My man Fred Durst
Is the Lead Singer,
Can't keep his Voice Down
Or his Finger.

Witt, the Guitarist
And His Tight Clothes,
Is the number one
With all the bros.

DJ Lethal Scratchin'
his records Away
He can never just sit there
And Let them play.
7th grade
No One Understands

No one understands
It's not just words on a screen
There's a heart and feelings writing them
And those words are what they mean.

No one understands
That the way we feel
That our hearts are warm with happiness
Is really truly real.

No one understands
That although we've never met
Never shared a kiss or hug
There's time for that yet.

No one understands
Our love is meant to be
The distance that separates us
Is a test, we'll pass...you'll see.

11th grade
About the author of No One Understands. This is one of the first ever poems I've written and it explains my feeling about my boyfriend who I met over the internet. I live in Queensland Australia and I'm about to go into grade 11 at school. I like going to the beach, writing poetry and short stories, talking to my boyfriend and playing sport!
Even God Cries

Sometimes, when I think about her,
I wonder if God cries too.
I wonder if he guided her,
with her hand in his.
Does everyone cry when they think about her?
I also wonder, does she think about us,
while sitting upon a star?
Pictures of her swimming,
riding her bike, drinking a vanilla coke flash through my mind,
I look out my window, and see rain,
then I realize,
Even God Cries.

7th grade
About the author of Even God Cries. I was inspired to write this poem when my good friend died unexpectedly at the age of 12. It shocked us all, and i didn't know any other way to show how I feel, so I wrote this. Since then I have been showing my feelings through poems and short, fiction stories

What secrets do the wind hide?
Songs of countless years
Cries of forgotten memories
Tender tragedies hidden from our eyes

Songs of countless years
Tales we shall never know
Tender tragedies hidden from our eyes
Our minds cannot compass the hidden stories

We shall never know all
The wind could never show the truth
Our minds cannot compass the hidden stories
The wind stays silent

The wind will never tell
All the cries of forgotten memories
It knows all, yet tells nothing
And we will never know the secrets that the wind hides.
7th grade
Eagle, Idaho USA
Lorren has been writing as long as she can remember.   This is the first work she has tried to get published.  Some of Lorren's other interests include playing piano, dancing, swimming, and reading. 
Morning Clouds

The rising Apollo opened His eye upon the world.
Such glory shines in Apollo's rising eye,
a tip of His golden gaze touches the layer of lumpy pillows
before Him.
The light purple mass has turned an iridescent pink in some places.
An odd, calming effect to an human's eye.
The exuberant patch of pink amazes me in such a way, that I myself looked and felt surprised.
Apollo kept rising, the pink flies away ever so gradually.
Morning Clouds, might I ever get to see you once again.
11th grade
St. Louis, Mo.
About the author
She is 17 and is part of the Literary Club as one of the editors. She is currently writing a book series, which has real life characters. Ironically, Most of her friends are creative beings, such as writers, poets, and illustrators. She is also trying to publish her books and hopes to make it one day as a successful writer in the big market
Creation of Cats

A long time ago in Greece, there lived a girl named Feles. She was a beautiful and graceful girl. She was one of those people you couldn't help but love. She was, however, a brilliant manipulator. She had this look and this voice that just made people give her what she wanted. If she wanted something, she didn't give up until she got it. She was lazy and a terrible procrastinator. She got into all kinds of trouble, but somehow always managed to land on her feet. Figuratively speaking, of course. She would have made a great thief, if she had wanted to. Feles was also very, very vain.

Feles thought herself to be equal to a goddess. With her qualities, who wouldn't? This angered the goddesses on Mount Olympus. One day they gathered together and approached Zeus's throne. Hera, queen of the gods, spoke.
"Great Zeus, this girl Feles must be stopped! She thinks herself to be as good as us goddesses! It is simply not acceptable! You must do something immediately!" Hera urged Zeus. The other goddesses muttered in agreement.
"She is too vain!" Athena argued.
"She thinks she is as beautiful as me!" complained Aphrodite.
"Goddesses, please calm yourselves. Surely you are over-exaggerating the situation," Zeus replied.
"Feles is intelligent and has the quickest wit I have ever seen. Personally, I think she's great," Hermes put in.
"You would! You're the god of thieves! You even talked my poor servant Argus to death, which just sounds like something Feles would do!" Hera retorted angrily.
"Might I propose a compromise?" Zeus asked. "Hermes, you go down to Greece and see if this Feles is really as bad as the goddesses say she is. Then report your findings to us. If she is, we shall punish her accordingly."
"Hermes! You're sending Hermes?! Do you know how much trouble those two could get into together?" Hera asked angrily.
"Enough! I am king of the gods, and you will do as I say!" Zeus said, having heard enough of the situation. How much trouble could one girl cause? "Go, Hermes, and investigate this situation. The rest of you, out! My patience is wearing thin!" So Hermes headed down to Greece and the goddesses departed, not at all happy.

Hermes found Feles sleeping under a tree. He shook her awake.
"Oh? Hello," Feles said, looking at the man curiously. She noted his winged sandals and hat curiously. Surely this must be the god Hermes! But she couldn't let him know she knew who he was. Feles looked at those winged sandals Hermes wore. How handy something like that could be! If only she could manipulate him into giving them to her...
"Could you please help me?" Feles pleaded, looking helpless and sad, while she was actually plotting how to get those sandals away from Hermes.
"Help you? How?" Hermes asked.
Then Feles came up with an idea of how she could get those sandals!
"It's my grandmother.. She lives at least a two days walk from here and she's so very sick," Feles lied. "A messenger arrived this morning. The doctor... doesn't think she's going to last through the night," Feles sniffed and wiped away a fake tear. "If I could just find someone to get there faster, I could maybe... see her one last time," Feles purred sadly, her eyes pleading.
Hermes looked at the sad girl. Normally nothing would make him take off his sandals, but there was just something in this girl's eyes and in her voice that made him do what she wanted him to.
"You poor girl. Here, take my sandals," Hermes said, taking them off and handing them to the girl.
Victory! Feles thought to herself, but didn't let her excitement show. Instead she put on a confused look.
"Your sandals? How will they help?" She asked.
"Well, let me let you in on a secret. I'm actually the god Hermes. Those sandals are magic and you can fly quickly to your grandmother's house with them on!"
"Oh!" Feles said in feigned surprise as she slipped the sandals on and rose up in the air. Then she grinned wickedly as she drifted out of Hermes's reach.
"Thanks. I always did want a pair of magic sandals! Some god of thieves. You should let me have the job," Feles said in delight as she flew away.
"HEY!" Hermes shouted after her. HE couldn't believe it! She's tricked him! Him, the brilliant Hermes, god of thieves! She had to be stopped! He started back toward Olympus, walking miserably.

"Hermes, where are you sandals?" Zeus asked when Hermes arrived back at Olympus. All the gods and goddesses watched Hermes closely.
"That thief Feles tricked me into giving them to her!" Hermes said angrily. "She must be punished!"
"So, you agree this Feles is too vain for her own good?" Zeus asked.
"YES!" Hermes shouted.
"You may punish her yourself," Zeus said.
"Not so fast. We're coming along to make sure you don't botch this up," Hera said as she and the other major goddesses stepped forward.
"Oh, all right," Hermes agreed and together they went to find Feles.

Feles was admiring her winged sandals and was rather surprised when a group of goddesses plus one angry Hermes suddenly surrounded her. Hermes snatched his sandals out of her hands.
"Hey!" Feles said.
"Sorry, Feles, but you're too vain for your own good," Hermes said.
"Oh, please. Just because I trick you out of one measly pair of sandals, you get angry," Feles said in a bored tone as she examined her fingernails, looking as if the goddesses that stood in front of her weren't worth her time.
"You have to be punished," Hermes said as he whipped out his caduceus and pointed it at Feles. Suddenly, Feles disappeared and a new animal sat in bewilderment where she had been! The animal was as beautiful and as graceful as Feles had been. It was small, with four legs and an elegant tail. It had long whiskers, great ears, and a keen sense of smell. It was the first cat.
"This is your punishment, Feles. You have been turned into an animal. I think I shall call your species felines. They shall be just a manipulative and lazy as you!" Hermes said, thinking it was a great punishment. The goddesses were satisfied as well, and they all returned to Olympus, thinking Feles was punished and her vanity gone.

Feles, however, was delighted with her new shape. She found she could manipulate people even better in her feline shape. A purr, a rub against the leg, and a look from her beautiful cat eyes were all it took to get something. She was still very vain. To her, she hadn't been punished. If those gods had failed to punish her, surely she must be equal to them. She still had all her other qualities, too. She always landed on her feet, literally as well as figuratively now. People couldn't help loving felines. This is why our cats today are just as lazy, as manipulative, as vain, and yet as loving as they are. All because of one girl called Feles.
10th grade
Macon, Ga, USA
About the author of Creation of Cats

Katie is a 15 year old girl who loves reading--fantasy stories, especially--and writing, along with horseback riding and the Internet.
January 23rd

Your dreamy gaze is distant and reflective
as you stare quietly out the window,
tracing the flight of a single bird, floating through the swollen gray sky

You may not know it, but
I understand the purple hues of sadness that
I see within your eyes
and I wonder if I could ever roll back
the stone
that obscures the beautiful darkness of your soul,
and I wonder if someone else has already
caught the glint of melancholy
that I see in your cryptic brow, that
so intrigues me and consumes
my thoughts in impassioned flame

the wise think me a fool for loving you
the way I do
but they are not wise, they are

they have never felt the red-hot flickering tongue of passion
or the cool June breeze of summer love
11th grade
West Linn, Oregon U.S.A

I hear the crying,

                                      My soul,oh! how it weeps,
                                         But my body, it tries to be strong.
I' m dying inside.
Outside I'm living,
Trying to push
The flesh to the limit,
But the spirit breaksdown.
I'm only
Like a hollow seashell,
When the hermits, have deserted.
Pick up that seashell
Put it to your ear
It's past
Hums out to you,
It holds The memories,
That empty shell.
That empty body
With a crumbling spirit,
A crumbling spirit.
But a strong body

this is the first time i have submitted a poetry to teen lit. " facade" was written during a time when i was battling with depression five years ago.
18,000 Feet Up

The chairs spread out before me like a gray sunrise.  Between each seat was only one armrest, so people sitting side by side had to flip for who would get the plastic rest.  Yesterday's newspaper slept in a corner, and business men sat with laptops on their knees as if they thoroughly enjoyed working, even in their spare time.  I tried not to stare as a woman dressed in beaded, black leather ran past me in heels higher than my arm.***
I cringed as I thought of the flight ahead of me, but reminded myself that the only way to get to Paris was on an airplane.  And I desperately wanted to go.  The students with the highest grades in French class were going, and I had been selected.  I pictured myself taking award winning photos of the Eiffel Tower, although it would have thirty five other tourist smiling into my 35 mm and everyone knew what it looked like anyway.  I desired to eat real French food but secretly wondered if they had an Olive Garden.  There were innumerable things I wanted to do in Paris, but before that, I had to get through this plane ride!***
The click of an announcement on the loud speaker sounded, and our fateful flight number was called.  Slowly, I sauntered behind my group and climbed aboard.***
This was my first flight.***
Economy class-or better known as cheap seats-was to my right, and after a loving glance at the spacious first class seats, I found my cheap throne.  It was located in the middle section but only one seat over from the aisle.  I thanked heaven that I was not by a window.***
In a pocket on the chair in front of me was a small magazine in which you could purchase ugly, brown clothes, fine jewelry, watches, or food, all for prices higher then the altitude we would be flying.  But behind that was another smaller, laminated folder with instructions on what to do if the plane crashed.  I had time to read it five times before a stewardess announced information about our flight over a microphone.  A green light flashed:  fasten seat belts, and I did in record speed.***
We had all expected the engines to roar to life, but they sort of hick-upped into reality instead.  That was not comforting.  The engines were loud, and I considered rereading that safety brochure.  My eyes closed and I again thought over everything I would do in Paris.***
The handles of my chair felt my grip as the jet turned to taxi down the runway.  The ride was bouncy.  I could feel the acceleration as the engines sped up.  In a jerk, the airplane lifted off the ground, and I began rapidly swallowing so that my ears would be well popped.  The craft flew into a tighter angle, while gaining altitude.  Finally, the suspense got me, and I opened my eyes.***
Automatically, my gaze dove to the nearest window.  Instead of horrifying me, the sapphire horizon looked beautiful!  I snapped my seat belt off to get a better view.  The whole populace was tiny and almost irrelevant.  Whatever was happening down there could never bother me now because I was up here!  I was journeying away from the familiar and towards adventures, peril, and pleasure!  The frosted clouds were magical and seemed to be drawing pictures of things I would experience on my quest.  I'm not sure how long I stared at the light scenery, but suddenly a stewardess appeared.***
"Excuse me, miss," she interrupted politely.  Had I accidentally bumped the hostess call light? ***
"Yes?" I answered confused.*** 
"Could you please fasten your seat belt," she said with a smile.***
"Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't realize I had it off," but the last sentence was a blur, and I do not think she heard me.  My face was turning dark red, but since the flight attendant had spoken softly, no one else heard except a few people from my group.  They were adequately laughing at me, but I did not care.  On the way home, me and my future beret would get a window seat.***
11th grade
Vandalia, IL, USA
About the author of 18,000 Feet Up.  I love to read, and from that I discovered a way to express myself.  Writing!  Creating something original, and hopefully unique, is fun for me.  It's even better when someone (like you) likes what I think up.    I'm a deep, single chick in 11 grade.  Remember my name because I will one day be famous (and married to Tom Cruise). 
Dreams Of Drugs: A lost friend

And we remember her as a dream
Dancing carefree
In the middle of the street
Drugs pouring through your veins
The cause of this
Just another reality
And another casualty
Ending up in another gutter
Hear the very last utter
Pouring from your eyes
Like tears we all cry
And think why
Why her?

Spread across the face
And thinking of that last embrace
Just forget
And show
You can be happy
And get on without her

My friend
In the ground now
And yelling at the rain
To remember her
The druggie
Forgot and never forgave
For the stupid choices she made
What a pitty

My life
Was going to the same
But I was forgave
Cause I was the better of us

What the heck happened
To the bright faces
The light cases
The fun embraces
Of that summer
That cause such pain
Such hatred

And her boyfriend
The one blamed for her addiction
But they were spinning fiction
Just wanted someone to take
The fall

Now each tear that spells
Every name that tells
All the children's yells
We remember
Just us two
The one who lost her way.
9th grade
Dallas Texas
About the author of Dreams of drugs:

I'm 15, a homeschooled freshman. Writing and art are the best things in the world, and dancing is the heart of it.
For me at least. I guess thats about it.

It seemed Tragic
A sudden lack of magic

So long it's been simple fold
Pulled back covers
herbal tea by the pot full

I've come to realize:
I've grown up
I've found you

This time in a miss match of posers
It's seems almost poetic
"We don't know each other
but I hope one day we'll both stand satisfied"

It was an instant connection
Not quite attraction
But something of unspeakable worth

I know it seems trite
But you make me want to be a better person

I've been inspired
And suddenly I feel desired
For my brain my worth
My knowledge of the 12th night
10th grade
Alpharetta, GA, USA
Writing is my release. It is theraputic for me. It helps me stay sain. I write all the time, i think even when i sleep.
Stimulate My Senses

I bend over to smell them,
Their soft scent fills my nose.
My eyes see the pinks, purples, and reds,
The color of my rose.

I reach out to touch their delicately powdered arms,
In one breath my mind is filled.
They're so soft and feathery,
My bright, new daffodils.

I hear the flowers singing,
To me to smell their power.
I lean and take a deep, strong breath of
My happy, little sunflower.

I watch the flowers dancing
Across the land that's slightly hilly.
They smile and wave as the pass by.
I say "There goes my lily!"

I picked another, this time darker,
It looks a bit more fancy.
It smells sophisticated,
My favorite is this pansy.
8th grade
About the author of Stimulate My Senses.

I'm not a particularly great poet, but this piece is an exception. My name is Leah and I'm an 8th grader. I'm actually more of a photographer than a writer. This poem was a class assignment pertaining to imagery. I wanted the reader (that's you) to see my flowers as vividly as I do. I hope I've succeeded.

comments: My teacher told me about this site after I read her my poem. She thought it might be a good idea for us to check it out. I'm not expecting my poem to get in, I just watned to see what all this was about. It seems like a great site and I'll visit frequently!
The Dream
I can feel it. Right now, as I lay here in between worlds. The world where I'm alone, and the world in my heart where my dreams claim sanctuary.  It's getting stronger now.  I can feel myself falling.  Falling into the joyful bliss that my heart has created for me.
I'm engulfed in the perfect glow. Each ray touches my skin like soft gentle kisses. Kisses I only know and feel in this world. I feel its warmth as it surrounds me; tickling my soul and making it smile.  As I fall I feel him near.  The angel who barrows my heart night after night.  As the light begins to recede the tickling becomes a tingling and slowly I feel myself appear, as I will when my angel and I finally touch for the first time. 
Then the light is gone and I'm alone.  As I look around I see nothing.  Only blackness.  I feel him, oh I feel him.  I can almost taste the richness of his purity.  I can feel his touch even though he's no where to be found.  Slowly I close my eyes and begin to call him.  To request his love, the love that makes me feel whole, even though I know this love is only a replica of what I can only wish to feel. 
I close my eyes again and try to find him.  I search my heart and soul.  I can't find him.  No, this isn't right.  Have I come so far to not reach the love I crave to get me through the day?  As my quest to find him grows I feel myself being pulled back.  The light is calling.  I search frantically, my heart feels as if it's being twisted and distorted.  My soul feels empty and my whole body seems to fall apart.  As the light calls me I know I have no choice but to grant it what it craves.  It craves me, to take me back to where I belong.  The night has been a failure.  As I travel back through the tunnel in which I came my soul begins to cry. 
Without warning everything around me stops.  In the distance I hear a soft sweet voice that can only belong to one person.  The voice only one pure soul can ever posses.  My heart and soul leap and I slowly begin to push through the light.  Slowly the kisses and the tickling return and my soul laughs instead of cries or even smiles.  When I reach my paradise I see the other half of my soul and my body feels complete again.  As I near him my body slowly begins to open up and fully accepts the ecstasy that is our love.  We don't' touch, we don't even speak, we just gaze and let our eyes take in all.  For the first time since I had begun my nightly travels I realize that I can move.  Slowly I lift my hand and I raise it and touch his face.  I feel the softness under my skin and I take in the sweetness and gentleness.  Finally I look into eyes that hold me in a way nothing else might ever do.  As my lips are raised to his I feel the light and I begin to get swept away.  Before I !
go I'm permitted to hear his angelic voice just once more. 
When I wake I don't need to think about what I heard because more than ever I know I felt it.  What I felt can only be described in one word.  Love.
9th grade
Seattle WA
My name is Mia, i live in Seattle Washington and I'm 14 years old.  I love to write poetry and short stories.  I currently have published poetry on www.poetry.com Thanx for reading my story. Lots of luck to you. Peace!
The Cell

Rain on the water
Tears in my heart
I'm crying for a love
That long ago did part

I reached for you
But you never came
What's the point
In crying out my pain

My love, I've died
In ways no one can repair
My soul is burned
And no one cares

So leave me here
Locked in a cell of hate
Without you my heart is bitter
Without you darkness is my fate
9th grade
Seattle WA

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