PoetryPPppPoetry

• GOOD LUCK TO YOU
• Lost Love
• Your Eyes

• Class of 2002

• Painless Suicide
• You Belong to Me book review
• Goodbye
• Searching For David's Heart Book review

Back before the days of ditching school and listening to peer pressure, back in the days when friendship somehow
meant forever and school was actually fun, we seem to look at the world with a giant smile, letting every piece of beauty
and knowledge fall into our eager little minds with such fascination and ease. We take on the world with such pride and
laugh at the idea of "growing up."
   Somehow, though, amongst all the trends and truth, we let our laughter turn to tears and our smiles into judgment. We
become a reflection of how we want others to perceive us. Slowly, our faces become a mask hiding our true identities,
the identity that would set us apart from the rest, making us different, the one thing in our lives that we all fear. Our true
identities are sheltered behind name brands and nice rides. Somehow, our dear elementary school buddies become a
collection of fading memories and a distant stare among judging eyes.
   And of course our childhood innocence becomes a place we will never be again, erased by the harsh rumors and constant
ridicule roaming the halls with lying eyes and empty words. Our innocent image fades like a ribbon of dust, leaving
behind a body of insecure fears and shallow hopes. We center our lives on reaching the top and being the best, even though
most of us will never truly feel like we ever made it. Most of us will never really remember who was on top anyways.
   But for most of us who cried the tears of heartache, who felt the pain of bitter betrayal, who watched a friendship fall apart
and who faced the world when it was actually time to grow up, we somehow come to realize what it is we are trying to find.
   As the walls of high school begin to crumble down and the constant guidance from our parents begins to slowly fade away,
we are reluctantly forced to change. For some of us, it will be a time to erase the pain of the past and move on to develop
into a person we no longer have to hide. Into a person who doesn't' need a nice ride or expensive clothes to be called "cool."
Into a person that can grow and change on their own, instead of in a crowd. For some of us, the past four years has taught
us the essence of our own spirit is often our only true friend and the identity that we once worked so hard at locking away,
is usually the person we eventually become.
   We have over come the fight to gain the respect we never really cared about and we begin to face another journey amongst
a world we have never truly seen or understood. There are no more semesters or tardy bells, or report cards and principals,
only paychecks and bills. But through every fallen tear and broken heart, we will always look back to the days when we
were young and remember how hard it was to grow up into somehow we can say we're proud to become.
   No one can change or erase the past four years, even though most of us wish we could, but through it all, we will always
remember that it was worth the fight. High school will always be a piece of who we are, even though it was the hardest piece
to obtain. For some of us, high school taught us lessons we never thought we needed to learn, but for most of us, high
school changed us into people we never thought we could become! 

"That was why, when he had spotted her sitting alone at the table, and later had witnessed her almost girlish pleasure when one of the male hosts asked her to dance, he knew right away how easy it was going to be.
He raised his glass, and with the faintest movement in her direction, offered a silent toast.
Your prayers have been answered, he promised, From now on, you belong to me."
End Quote

One man, with the goal to betray and the desire to kill, is aboard a cruise trip, under a false identity. He carefully chooses his next victim, a lonely woman, eager to fall in love.  To each of the women he meets, he gives a ring, inscribed "you belong to me" as a gift.  That is the only thing the women have of him, because he avoids all pictures, and the romance is kept a complete secret. The woman is to meet the man at a designated location, where they, together will take a short separate vacation, and re-board the ship at a later time. But neither of the two ever boards the ship again, as planned.  The man goes off, and continues his life elsewhere.  Meanwhile, the woman is missing, her body never found, and family and friends know nothing about the disappearance. However, the man is not perfect, and has left a few major clues, but nobody, yet has connected all of these deaths, that one man is responsible for, but Susan Chandler is on the verge of some very significant and dangerous discoveries.

Susan Chandler, a psychologist and former assistant DA, found much interest in the topic of one young woman's death.  One day, she decided to have her radio talk show be based on the disappearance.  An anonymous caller called in with some very important information about a mysterious man. The caller is the one woman who was to meet the man, but failed to do so. This is the first of the killer's mistakes. The woman agreed to meet Susan and bring the unique ring he gave to her, and a picture that she had caught him in the background of. His second mistake. Instead the caller decided to mail the items to Susan, but the caller never had the chance to mail the envelope. A car crashed into her, while she was walking. There was one witness who saw a man push her in front of the car, that women was found dead in her apartment the next day. Susan, now greatly interested in the disappearances and in the caller, is determined to find the killer.

The man has planned to find his next victim very soon, but first he must take care of all the clues he has left behind.  He must collect the "feathers in the wind."  He must hide his mistakes.

There are a few themes in You Belong to Me. The first, is to always be very careful with whom you become involved with. The second is that people aren't always who they appear to be. This message is conveyed within the fact that the man seems to be a quiet gentleman, but in truth is a dangerous murderer. I agree with this theme, however in some cases, it is more important to build trust within others.

Mary Higgins Clark is an excellent mystery writer. Her books have much suspense and the end is a complete surprise, every time. Each chapter of the book is written in a certain character's perspective, but the book is still written in the third person point of view. In You Belong to Me, she takes writing to a different level, in each chapter a new twist is added, making the book a page-turner.

Quote:
She waited until Detective Anders rang the ball before she opened the door. Must be getting cold, she thought---his coat collar was turned up, and he wore a slouch hat pulled down low on his forehead. Plus he was wearing gloves.
"This will only take a minute, Miss Johnson," he said. "I'm sorry to disturb you."
Hilda cut short his apology. "Come in," she said quickly. "I've got something to show to you too." As she led the way to the desk, she did not hear the soft click of the closing door.
"I did a sketch of the guy I saw," she said triumphantly. "Let's compare it with the picture you have."
"Of course." But instead of a sketch, the visitor laid down a driver's license with the photo ID.
Hilda gasped, "Look, it's the same face! That's the man I saw push that women and grab the envelope."
For the first time, she looked directly up at Detective Anders. He had removed his hat, and his coat collar was no longer turned up around his neck.
Hilda's eyes widened in shock. Her mouth opened, but the only sound that came from her was the faint murmur; "Oh, no!" She tried to step back, but she bumped into the desk behind her. Her face went ghastly pale as she realized that she was trapped.
End-Quote

This book is a must-read. However, not everybody will enjoy it. It is an exciting mystery, but at times it may be too scary for younger children. Ages 11 and older would most likely enjoy this book. I thoroughly loved this book, cc by Mary Higgins Clark, and recommend it to anybody interested in reading it.

She was going to die. She had cancer. She wasn't ready to die; but did anyone ask her? Twenty year olds don't die, she told herself. She had a great life: a wonderful group of friends, an awesome family, and a to-die-for boyfriend. And now she had to leave it behind. She was going to die.

 She wasn't ready to tell everyone the bad news. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to her house and her new kitten. She wasn't ready to say goodbye to school before she graduated. She wasn't ready to kiss her boyfriend for the last time. She wasn't ready.

But she had to prepare. Prepare to do all of these things. She told the university that she wouldn't be returning next fall. She told her new college friends she wouldn't be seeing them anymore. She went home and said goodbye to the first boy she kissed and the first park she played in. She told her family, "It would be all right," and "Not to worry." She tried to seem happy and ready for the great journey she would soon take. But she wasn't. And, every night, she cried and prayed and wished everything would be normal. She had to prepare.

Her boyfriend was with her everyday, every moment, every step. She was glad of his support, but grieved immensely at the thought that she wouldn't see him after a while. She did all the things she wanted to do in life: had a triple-triple-triple sundae, and went swimming in the pond with the ducks. She bought her favorite movie and watched it every night. She wrote to the television station about her favorite show that had been cancelled five years ago. But something was missing.

The day before she died, she was happy. Her boyfriend took her to a fancy Parisian restaurant where they had always wanted to go, but never had enough money. She was happy, sitting there, and imagined everything away. On the walk home, he held her hand. He led her to the spot where they had met: a beautiful garden with a bench in the middle. They sat down and he reached into his pocket. Out came a tiny black box, which he handed to her. She opened it and saw a small band with a diamond just her size. She tried it on and hugged her boyfriend, now fiancee. She was happy.

She was excited as she walked home. She showed off her new ring to everyone on the street. "I'm engaged," she told the grocer as she walked by. "I'm going to get married," she excitedly shouted to the hot dog seller. She got home and showed her family.

Now she was ready. Ready to move on to the next chapter in her life. Ready to say goodbye to her friends. Ready to say goodbye to her family. She was ready. She was prepared. With a smile on her face, she was ready to move on. She was happy. With all of these things in her bag of things to carry in life, she was ready. To die.

When I first looked into your eyes,
I saw the spark of life renewed.
When I stared into your eyes,
I saw a world seen by few.

When I was captured by your eyes,
I soared higher than ever before.
When I was buried in your eyes,
Evil existed nevermore.

When I stared into your eyes,
You stared back at me.
And I hope for evermore,
that that is the way it'll be.

"What number is our flight?" I ask my mom breathlessly, sprinting through the crowded Boston airport.

"Flight eleven, gate B4. We're almost there. Just a little further."

My dad glances nervously at his watch, then begins running a little faster.

I'm so excited! I haven't been to California since my grandma died when I was five years old. She lived there and I hadn't had a reason to go back since the tragedy. Now we're going to Los Angeles to visit one of my mom's old high school friends, Donna, that she'd received a phone call from a week ago. "A miracle," she'd called it. She had been searching for her through a US People Search service for Donna when she heard the phone ring.

Of course I'm not glad about the visiting, but while my mom is at Donna's house, my dad is going to take me wherever I want to go in LA. The beach, amusement parks, the zoo... I've never been to LA. Only Sacramento where my grandma lived in the tiny blue cottage with the white picket fence. The most beautiful daisies always greeted you cheerfully with their sweet scent when you stepped up to ring the doorbell. But of course that's gone now that my grandma isn't here anymore.

"Whatever you want to do is fine with me," the words had sung to me when my father had said them before we left for the airport. "I don't want to be stuck in a small house with two gossiping women sipping hot tea and giggling any more than you do."

Finally we've arrived at gate B4. Outside the window, the white plane with the words "American Airlines" along the side fires up its engines. We hand the attendant our tickets and walk down the narrow corridor to the plane. She tells the pilot through her radio that all ninety-two passengers are boarded and that we're ready for take-off.

I've been on the plane for about twenty minutes and I'm chewing gum to keep my ears from popping painfully from the high altitude. I snap it loudly then turn to look out the window. We're flying through the white fluff of the clouds, only they don't look so much like clouds up close. I lose interest and stare down beneath the clouds, where I see nothing but mountains up to the horizon.

My boredom ceases as I remember where I am going. I'm looking forward to the beach, I'm sick of the dirty beaches near Boston. Maybe they would be just the same in LA, but I'm not going to lose hope.

I can't help but notice the man sitting on the other side of the aisle, just a few rows ahead of me. He has on a black jacket and there's something long and bulky in his pocket. He keeps fidgeting nervously and looking suspiciously towards the cockpit.

Maybe he's a first-time flyer, I think. And he's nervous about the flight. He has a jacket on because the air conditioning is on too high, and he's carrying a cell phone in his pocket.

I think nothing of it after that. Beside me, my mom hums softly with her eyes closed, a smile on her face. She must be more excited than I am! To think of reuniting with a friend after so many years. I smile for her, pull a magazine from the pocket on the seat ahead of me, and munch happily on my tiny bag of pretzels as I read about the latest fashion crazes. I hate these articles, I think, but it's this or stare at the mountains.

Over the magazine I see the man in the black jacket stand up. He looks as if he's trying to hide something, and there's an angry expression on his face. He opens the lavatory door, goes inside and shuts it with a loud click. I watched closely for at least ten minutes, and the man doesn't come out. I lose interest and go back to the article in my magazine- one of those quizzes you take and get a score on, that mean absolutely nothing.

It's Valentine's day and your boyfriend forgets to call. You: a) Dump him. He's not worth it, why should you bother? b) Forgive him, he was busy. Or c) Get a little angry, but eventually, you-

WHAM!

The door slams open, and I jump, startled by the sudden distraction. The magazine rips a page off as it falls to the floor and slides under the seat in front of me. I hear some little girl scream in terror and everyone gasps, looking forward. I struggle to see, but I can't lean far enough over my parents. What's going on?

"Dad? I can't see! What is it?" I say quietly. "Answer me! What's happening?"

"Don't worry, just keep low and don't say anything," he whispers. He's pale as my grandma's daisies, and it makes me panic more. I unbuckle my seat belt and peek between the two seats in front of me. There, the man in the black jacket stands with a knife held high, threatening anyone who dares say a word.

I'm so scared. What's happening and why? The man pulls back the curtain separating the first and coach class passengers, and I can't see what's going after he closes it. The plane jerks violently and slowly begins to turn around. The pilot comes on over the P.A. system, his voice choked and shaking. He tells everyone to remain calm, though he knows it's impossible. He stops in mid-sentence, and the P.A. suddenly cuts off.

I see the pilot coming back beyond the curtain, behind him the man stands with the knife to his neck. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket, ties the pilot's hands together behind his back, and shoves him into an empty seat. The man tells the him to stay there and threatens him, should he move. With the knife still at his throat, he touches it to his skin so that it draws a tiny drop of blood, making sure the pilot knows that he means what he says. The man spits in his face, turns around and walks past, snarling at me on his way back to the cockpit, where he takes over the plane.

We're going in the wrong direction. What's he doing? I don't understand this! What's going to happen to us?

I look at my watch. 8:35 AM. I should be in LA by 9:45! We all sit in complete silence for at least ten minutes as we wait to find out what happens next. My hands are shaking so badly that my armrests are rattling, and I panic, unsure of what's going on. I look out the window. I see we're closing in on Manhattan, New York. The Twin Towers are directly in front of us. We're so low, and there's no runway! Can't he see we're going to crash?

That's when I realize, of course he sees that. That's the plan. This is no accident, we're all going to die and there's no way to escape! This is some terrorist trying to kill us all, and he's heading towards the north World Trade Center.

Dear God, please help, I think. I'm innocent and I don't deserve this. I was only looking forward to a trip to the beach. My hands won't stop shaking, and a tear runs down my cheek. My mom has her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her cries, and my dad is nodding his head in prayer, tears squeezing out his closed eyes.

My mom takes her hand away and gently touches my hand with her tear-soaked fingers. "We love you, you know that don't you?" Her voice cracks. She knows, too. Her hand closes around mine.

"No!" I try to be strong, but I know I don't sound that way through my trembling words. "No, don't start that, Mom! I don't want this to happen and I know it's going to. I know it! We're all going to die and I'm-" I can't finish. I break down, my hands cupped over my face. I'm crying so hard I can't breathe. My dad puts an arm around me and my mom. "And I'm scared!"

Trying to comfort me, they tell me between sobs that it will be okay. I know it wont be. The building is coming so close now. 8:48, my watch says. This is the minute I die. I let out a blood-curdling scream, terrified of my last thought. My mom's hand gets tighter around mine, and my dad's arm pulls us all closer. I wince as if I've already felt the pain of what's about to happen. Softly, I whisper "I love both of you too," as the glass shatters, smoke and flames closing in around me...
"What number is our flight?" I ask my mom breathlessly, sprinting through the crowded Boston airport.

"Flight eleven, gate B4. We're almost there. Just a little further."

My dad glances nervously at his watch, then begins running a little faster.

I'm so excited! I haven't been to California since my grandma died when I was five years old. She lived there and I hadn't had a reason to go back since the tragedy. Now we're going to Los Angeles to visit one of my mom's old high school friends, Donna, that she'd received a phone call from a week ago. "A miracle," she'd called it. She had been searching for her through a US People Search service for Donna when she heard the phone ring.

Of course I'm not glad about the visiting, but while my mom is at Donnas house, my dad is going to take me wherever I want to go in LA. The beach, amusement parks, the zoo... I've never been to LA. Only Sacramento where my grandma lived in the tiny blue cottage with the white picket fence. The most beautiful daisies always greeted you cheerfully with their sweet scent when you stepped up to ring the doorbell. But of course thats gone now that my grandma isn't here anymore.

"Whatever you want to do is fine with me," the words had sung to me when my father had said them before we left for the airport. "I don't want to be stuck in a small house with two gossiping women sipping hot tea and giggling any more than you do."

Finally we've arrived at gate B4. Outside the window, the white plane with the words "American Airlines" along the side fires up its engines. We hand the attendant our tickets and walk down the narrow corridor to the plane. She tells the pilot through her radio that all ninety-two passengers are boarded and that we're ready for take-off.

I've been on the plane for about twenty minutes and I'm chewing gum to keep my ears from popping painfully from the high altitude. I snap it loudly then turn to look out the window. We're flying through the white fluff of the clouds, only they don't look so much like clouds up close. I lose interest and stare down beneath the clouds, where I see nothing but mountains up to the horizon.

My boredom ceases as I remember where I am going. I'm looking forward to the beach, I'm sick of the dirty beaches near Boston. Maybe they would be just the same in LA, but I'm not going to lose hope.

I can't help but notice the man sitting on the other side of the aisle, just a few rows ahead of me. He has on a black jacket and there's something long and bulky in his pocket. He keeps fidgeting nervously and looking suspiciously towards the cockpit.

Maybe he's a first-time flyer, I think. And he's nervous about the flight. He has a jacket on because the air conditioning is on too high, and he's carrying a cell phone in his pocket.

I think nothing of it after that. Beside me, my mom hums softly with her eyes closed, a smile on her face. She must be more excited than I am! To think of reuniting with a friend after so many years. I smile for her, pull a magazine from the pocket on the seat ahead of me, and munch happily on my tiny bag of pretzels as I read about the latest fashion crazes. I hate these articles, I think, but it's this or stare at the mountains.

Over the magazine I see the man in the black jacket stand up. He looks as if he's trying to hide something, and theres an angry expression on his face. He opens the lavatory door, goes inside and shuts it with a loud click. I watched closely for at least ten minutes, and the man doesn't come out. I lose interest and go back to the article in my magazine- one of those quizzes you take and get a score on, that mean absolutely nothing.

It's Valentine's day and your boyfriend forgets to call. You: a) Dump him. Hes not worth it, why should you bother? b) Forgive him, he was busy. Or c) Get a little angry, but eventually, you-

WHAM!

The door slams open, and I jump, startled by the sudden distraction. The magazine rips a page off as it falls to the floor and slides under the seat in front of me. I hear some little girl scream in terror and everyone gasps, looking forward. I struggle to see, but I can't lean far enough over my parents. What's going on?

"Dad? I can't see! What is it?" I say quietly. "Answer me! What's happening?"

"Don't worry, just keep low and don't say anything," he whispers. He's pale as my grandma's daisies, and it makes me panic more. I unbuckle my seat belt and peek between the two seats in front of me. There, the man in the black jacket stands with a knife held high, threatening anyone who dares say a word.

I'm so scared. What's happening and why? The man pulls back the curtain separating the first and coach class passengers, and I can't see what's going after he closes it. The plane jerks violently and slowly begins to turn around. The pilot comes on over the P.A. system, his voice choked and shaking. He tells everyone to remain calm, though he knows it's impossible. He stops in mid-sentence, and the P.A. suddenly cuts off.

I see the pilot coming back beyond the curtain, behind him the man stands with the knife to his neck. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket, ties the pilot's hands together behind his back, and shoves him into an empty seat. The man tells the him to stay there and threatens him, should he move. With the knife still at his throat, he touches it to his skin so that it draws a tiny drop of blood, making sure the pilot knows that he means what he says. The man spits in his face, turns around and walks past, snarling at me on his way back to the cockpit, where he takes over the plane.

We're going in the wrong direction. What's he doing? I don't understand this! What's going to happen to us?

I look at my watch. 8:35 AM. I should be in LA by 9:45! We all sit in complete silence for at least ten minutes as we wait to find out what happens next. My hands are shaking so badly that my armrests are rattling, and I panic, unsure of what's going on. I look out the window. I see we're closing in on Manhattan, New York. The Twin Towers are directly in front of us. We're so low, and there's no runway! Can't he see we're going to crash?

That's when I realize, of course he sees that. That's the plan. This is no accident, we're all going to die and there's no way to escape! This is some terrorist trying to kill us all, and he's heading towards the north World Trade Center.

Dear God, please help, I think. I'm innocent and I don't deserve this. I was only looking forward to a trip to the beach. My hands won't stop shaking, and a tear runs down my cheek. My mom has her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her cries, and my dad is nodding his head in prayer, tears squeezing out his closed eyes.

My mom takes her hand away and gently touches my hand with her tear-soaked fingers. "We love you, you know that don't you?" Her voice cracks. She knows, too. Her hand closes around mine.

"No!" I try to be strong, but I know I don't sound that way through my trembling words. "No, don't start that, Mom! I don't want this to happen and I know it's going to. I know it! We're all going to die and I'm-" I can't finish. I break down, my hands cupped over my face. I'm crying so hard I can't breathe. My dad puts an arm around me and my mom. "And I'm scared!"

Trying to comfort me, they tell me between sobs that it will be okay. I know it wont be. The building is coming so close now. 8:48, my watch says. This is the minute I die. I let out a blood-curdling scream, terrified of my last thought. My mom's hand gets tighter around mine, and my dad's arm pulls us all closer. I wince as if I've already felt the pain of what's about to happen. Softly, I whisper "I love both of you too," as the glass shatters, smoke and flames closing in around me...