Chlorine Ruins Everything

One time I was gonna change at the public pool to go swimming and I saw the cleaner guy puttin in five handfuls of chlorine. No foolin. He practically just dumped four dump trucks of it in. The whole place was empty as hell except for the chlorine guy who looked lonely as hell. I kinda felt bad for him but I didn’t feel like talking to him so I just started looking around the place. The guy’s footprints showed a lot ‘cause of the water around the pool, I almost damned slipped on the puddle that guy left behind. His clothes were so tight he looked like he fell into the goddam water when he was supposed to be cleaning it. That killed me. You never know if a little kid starts running inside all excited and all and scrapes his knee from his fall. He’d just slip and roll on the floor and no one would help him up. The poor kid, he’d just wait there in the chlorine filled puddle with no help.

Just like the kid that was singing “If a body catch a body coming through the rye.” He was alone but on the floor, I bet you if a movie star came in he wouldn’t help the kid up. Movie stars are always phonies that look good during shows and all but are cowards when they’re not getting paid. The only living thing that would help a kid out is another kid. People would be overjoyed if some kid was running and tripped over a rock down the curb.

Anyway so I’m just walking around and then comes this phony-looking guy with his little kid. The kid’s crying with his dad yanking him around like he was a piece of string that’s caught on the door. And the kid’s screaming for his mom. The poor kid looked like he was about to kill himself when he was trying to get away from his dad and all. I was just about to tell the kid his mom was coming but then she actually did come into the building. Boy was she good-looking. She was so good-looking she was a babe that settled for some phony bastard. She was wearing one of those mini-dresses that look so damn good on her. I knew she was already taken but I didn’t care. The kid and his bastard went inside the changing room tugging and kicking.

“Wanna come have a drink? On me.” I asked her all collected and all. I knew I shouldn’t have but I did anyway. She was too damn good-looking to pass up.

“Sorry, but I have a husband.” She said all nice and all. Damn, she was so goddamed good-looking!

“Then what about the women powder room? Nobody goes there anymore! C’mon, I bet your one of those beautiful girls that would care to have some fun.” I said all suave as hell. She didn’t say anything after that. She sighed and tried to get out of my idea and told me to stop yelling. But I was so damn convincing she didn’t have a choice. We played around in the room and all, until her husband started calling her name with his phony voice. Then she left and I was alone again. “Forget it, that lady has a crumby moron for a husband.” I got out of the room and started thinking about the kid. What happened when he got into the pool. The pool was like made of chlorine, I bet his eyes stung like hell right after he left the pool. I thought if the goddamed chlorine company made a damn load of money from just selling chlorine.

I changed and everything, then jumped into the pool. My eyes started to burn, but I didn't really care. I was a damn good swimmer so I spent my time floating on the surface of the pool. I started to think about the lady again and how crumby and horrible-looking her husband was. Sure she was a fine lady, but her husband was the worst kind of guy I've ever seen. He wore this polo shirt with stains all over the shoulders and back. Then he was wearing this black and white pants that looked like he just escaped from jail. He looked like a convict but when I thought about it he had a lot of hair gel. His hair looked droopy and tired...so did his face.

I bet since he was so droopy and tired he could've fell into the pool with his son. I mean if you saw him you would think he'd fall there on the spot. This guy was a nut, he was grabbing his son's shirt like hell. Telling him to get a move on and stuff. I could imagine myself going up to this crazy bastard and punch the guts out of his stomach, and he'd get down and start wheezing for air or whatever. Then I'd pull his arm off his son and go take the kid for ice cream or something with his mom. I'd practically kick and roll the guy over on my way out. Then I'd walk with them to the shop and pay for the kid's ice cream. And while the kid was in the bathroom I'd start hitting it off with his mom.

Anyways so I was swimming in the pool of chlorine and then I nearly drowned, I really mean it. The fat guy jumped into the pool and choked me with water. The goddam fat man almost drowned himself! I saw five billion people trying to take him out of the water, but they all kept falling into the water. Even with all the people there wasn't nearly enough people to carry him out. Then after they had to call all the emergency people the guy was wheezing and coughing out handfuls of chlorine. I almost died and they worry about some fat guy coughing!

"These bastards are goddam nuts! I'm outta here!" And I left to go find a bar that would actually serve me some real alcohol.

Just Walk Away

The rain poured roughly and hard. The continuous splashes depressed my spirit. Yes, I'm really an avid drinker when I'm in a bar called The Lavender Room looking out the window. I was about to order another scotch when some random guy changed my order...to a coke. A COKE! He ordered a scotch for himself! His red hunting hat shaded his despicable face.

"What did you do?" I said in a brusque way. He turned my way, clad in soaking clothes, he lifted his hunting hat a tad bit. "You! How are you?"

"Good. Could be better...do I know you?" He said in a concise way. Wondering where I met him? Stalking some kids on their way for ice cream. The whole time he walked behind them...with a suitcase. I gingerly approached him. Asking who he was and why he was stalking the kids. He looked like a very scary, suspicious guy.

"Oh, I'm protecting them from phonies." "Damn. What's he talking about?" He asked who I was but I didn't tell him. I surmised if I did, he would stalk me next. At least he thinks he's protecting another generation. His face haunted my memory until now.

Anyways he started rambling on and on about how he was so courageous. And how he could make new friends with his "affable" manner. I could only entreat him to stop his interminable speech about how bartenders never mind their own business. Then he started continuing on about actors, pianists, perverts, and phonies. From all his talking I could derive he was an irascible kind of guy. He finally told me his name. Holden, who drinks uncontrollably, continued on and on. His words seemed to reverberate in my mind...I couldn't stand it anymore!

"Hey, Holden, I know you've had a rough day. And I'd really love to listen, but I gotta go. I know a lovely, handsome boy like you will work it out. Bye!" I walked as quickly as I could to get away from that hell hole.

Just talking to him made me feel an excruciating pounding in my mind. I had to make an endeavor to get out of there. I would rather succumb to watching a baby show with my sister, than listen to his tirade about schools.

It was a spontaneous exit I made. I had actually planned to stay for a while but now I feel like listening to a toilet paper holder pivot. I think I've gone on talking long enough with that recluse. Without him the rest of my life will be serene. I have an inkling I'll never see him again, but I'll be conscientious just in case.

He was...

The guy who was annoying,

audacious,

the guy that I used to depict

so clearly.

Now is fading away.

I had an inkling that I liked him,

but now I rebuke him.

He was rude,

and a slovenly little kid.

He was a

lacking, lackadaisical lackey,

whenever I think about

that menace to society.

I bet he pilfered from everyone,

time, love, friendship.

Great, I lost a whole year of life,

definitely not conscientious.

As I embarked on a journey called

"Surviving School,"

a profuse number of times,

I tried to help him

stuck on his notebook.

Trying to create a serene environment,

so that he wouldn't be distracted.

He rankled me each day,

"retard" "stupid" "ugly"

"go to 'em stupid"

Self-absorbed,

never self-conscious,

always attempted to be prudent.

And always failing.

I can't recall if the teacher

ever confiscated anything.

I didn't meet his father

but I assumed he wasn't a

mutiny like his son.

He was the heart of evil.

See Ya, Wouldn't Wanna Be Ya

See ya suckers,

Gotta stay in this crappy

thing they call a school.

I get to leave

this retarded dorm...

in fact the whole school.

Not surprising though or

the first time either.

I bet people in

shows like The OC

don't have weird dorms.

Actually they don't even

live in the dorms.

Ackley kid (my roommate) is staying,

with his mossy and

horrible teeth.

"I wasn't too crazy

about the guy"

Old Spencer wanted a goodbye,

his bathrobe strung my eyes.

Put some clothes on man,

you're burning my eyes

with a ratty bathrobe

and a cough medicine stench.

The rustle of papers

falling from his grasp, onto the floor.

This is the fourth

school I flunked,

but I don't care.

See ya suckers!

Remember Me?

Sophie Kinsella overflows emotion in Remember Me? This is the story of a young woman who has had the worst day of her life. She’s outside of a bar, her boyfriend stood her up while she’s waiting for her ride, and everyone has gotten a bonus at work. (To show the financial year was better than expected.) However she didn’t get the bonus due to lack of qualification…missing one week of work. Everything has gone downhill until it gets even worse. As she hails a taxi and tries to get its attention from other customers; she slips on her cheap boots down stairs. The next thing she knows she’s in a hospital bed…three years into the future! From the old crappy life to the glamorous life of being skinny, rich, and having a wonderful husband…but is it really the dream life?

Remember Me? is a story with drama and comedy that will get you hooked in. Alexis (Lexi, the protagonist) has a bumpy life ahead of her after skipping three years of her 20’s (no one wants to miss those years) and can’t remember a thing in between. She’s now skinny, rich, with a great husband…and a secret affair? Last thing she remembers was being called “Snaggle-Tooth” and having the worst job in history. But when she wakes up, not only is she stuck with the life “Lexi” created, she’s nicknamed “The Cobra” for being snappy and a “bitch-boss-from-hell” from her friends…or should I say old friends. In three short years, her life has completely changed, she owns a gorgeous car, she lives in a huge house and it should be a perfect life. Her husband is perfect but doesn’t consider her feelings; on the other hand Jon (she was having an affair with) cares for her, but refuses to continue until they have something to link them together…a memory. This book is something you will NOT want to put down until you’ve finished, I’m not saying its short (389 pages) but it’s packed with juicy conflicts and emotional scenes that’ll kick the night raw.

My Brother

is a sheep, a boxer dog,
a lion in a jungle.
The dragon in the cave,
the phoenix in the sky,
the monkey in the trees.

He’s the quarterback of the football game,
the star of the show,
the host of the game,
and the con-artist at the gas station.

He’s the con-artist,
and yet he blurts opinions out
bluntly.

He believes in having fun,
loitering around the mall, doing nothing
at home, but he still finds the stairs
ascending to the sky.

Small words can turn into
funky colors of all shapes,
simple pencils and pens can turn
sharp and bouncy.

He taught me to keep going,
to keep treading in water,
to listen to his suggestions,
to watch him be a narcissist.

Because of him I lock
the emotions deep,
turn them into writing and there
I long for when I can tell you
lots.

Rerun

I get home and I do my homework, like always. The kitchen door is open, the windows are open and covered with a thin layer of cloth, the coffee table is full of junk that I haven’t used for a while, and my desktop is waiting for me to use it like again. The drawer full of discs opens with a small pull, and magically I see a whole world made of movie cases and discs. I take one while I linger around to see the back, is it good? Will it be enough to please me? Can this also be another favorite? The DVD player works it’s magic, and just like pop goes the weasel the disc chamber opens…waiting for its command. A smile comes across my face while I place the unscratched disc into the chamber entrance. Up goes the TV, and down goes the watcher onto the couch.

The scenes pass one by one and I watch like an owl watches its prey. "The End" comes onto the screen and yet the movie plays again. I laugh with an affable smile and watch the interminable movie until I run out of time. Yes, I like to watch reruns again and again. Even I don’t know what impels me to watch them again. My brother goes on a tirade asking how I can watch it so many times even though I already know what happens. It’s fun to watch them even if you’re bored; once you watch it for the first time you can skip to your favorite scenes. I think it also makes you feel better when you're despondent, reruns may take up time and may get boring, but it doesn't mean that they aren't as good as the first time you watch a movie.

The Sage

All the kids screamed out of delight “Yay! Its break time!” The grass was glittering with dew, the sun shone high and the snow covered what looked like grass. The kids were herded bad to the classroom. Time moved slowly with the ticking of the clock, the moving of pencils, and the crying of kindergarteners at the lunch table. I might have been a recluse when I first moved to Macedonia, but then a sage came and spoke wise words. The words reverberated in my head and eventually I made great friends.

The day ends with shouts from teachers, “It’s the last day of school so quickly get in your bus or cars!” The cars start moving along the pavement, bus doors slam shut…oh wait, there was only one bus. Then things went amiss. My teacher the one who taught me the first grade closed the bus door. I waved goodbye, no respond but footsteps fading away. What had happened impelled me to question her actions. Did she see me? Did she ignore me? Was I abhorrent to her? The questions were interminable, until I came to a profound conclusion. Oh…maybe she hates me! Today was the last day of school! How could you not wave goodbye on the last day? I became despondent and said to myself “She just didn’t see it.” trying to comfort myself. (I know, pathetic right?)

I just thought that I’d never see her again, she was always nice and positive even though my class only had four people. (Including me.) It was a fun year, she was an affable person. She wasn’t irascible, she never had to entreat anyone in class and I just wanted to sum it up with a nice goodbye…I suppose I should’ve said goodbye before it was time to leave. Even though I eventually got over it, it haunted me to the very last minute it could. Like a tirade given by some guy I didn’t even know, and my tremulous arms were at my side. Yes…I don’t like it when I can’t say goodbye or when others don’t say goodbye, that’s just part of who I am.

Karma is Life

The tearful thoughts,

the bottle is empty,

the hearts aren't pumping,

the family tree is shattered,

the tears are landing.

Life's not fair,

karma's a bitch...

what have I done?

The memory of the digital camera

is blank,

the slates are black

and the rims are colorful.

The mind is blank,

pictures in my father's room

spark my curiosity.

Who were they?

What were they like?

Were they nice?

When will they come visit?

Never...

Though my dad knew them,

I sure didn't,

my dad always refers to them.

"My dad worked really hard.

My mom made better sticky rice,

it was delicious."

13 years of life

with pictures.

No white hair,

no greeting,

no saying "hi grandma and grandpa"

just a life

of sorrow,

of regret to be born sooner,

the crying, choking Clementine calls them forth,

with a boo who

but no answer...

This is dedicated to the grandparents I never got to meet.

Not Just The Play

The substitute teacher handed out sheets of plays, “Hello to those of you that remember me…” blah blah blah. The real part is actually during the play, well more like the re-run of the play. The play started, and unfortunately I ended up being the “widow”…yay. Jaye is Lian, Mari is a narrator, Camila is a narrator too, and Yeji is the old lady (which I think is better than being the widow.) Oh look who my son is…Daniel. It wasn't that bad, but I'd prefer if he wasn't my son (no offence Daniel). He used to annoy me, like a lot, but now he stopped. Even though he stopped I'm still kind of scared of him, I'm not sure if I can fully be his friend.

Anyways so we’re playing in this play and yes...he’s my “son." Okay, so I got over the fact he was my “son” but suddenly something just happens. During the play I’m on the floor right? I’m supposed to be weak without my brocade from China, and then he starts kicking me. I'm sorry to say but I didn't think he was the kind of person kicks another person on the floor, I expected my friend to instead. (I won’t say names…*cough cough Jaye cough cough*) Then after he kicks me he also pats me back and he pulled me by my arm to add dramatic effect. I get the trying to add more dramatic effect, but I don't think he needed to add so much. I know I sound like I’m overreacting and that I’m giving a tirade, but actually I’m just expressing my opinion. Even if it’s “for a play” I still don’t want to be kicked, because it hurts. So I just want him to know this, and I hope that he stops doing these things, I believe that he'll stop if he reads this so thanks.

It's Better to Hit Them With a Fish

Why do people not tie their shoes when they have laces on them? So you try to kick the ball, and then your shoe has to come off and knock someone’s face. Sure, you were sorry but do you really understand what it’s like to have a weird stench hit your face? When your object that was on your feet, hits someone it’s just plain gross…especially in the face. It’s disgusting and I’m sure it’s caused the people to abhor from it. Some poor affable sucker has to get hit and is impelled to the floor. The interminable pain that they probably feel is worse than it looks, luckily most people aren't irascible. I’m not trying to sound like some weirdo manager giving a tirade but I’m trying to give some sage advice. TIE YOUR SHOES!

You leave your shoelace untied and you slip down the stairs from stepping on them. Uh huh, it wasn't your fault. Then whose fault was it? Some random person walks by and you blame them, as you yell at them while they entreat you to stop yelling. Your yelling reverberates through the halls and everyone comes out to see why. The haunted person with the memory of you screaming at them becomes despondent. John Doe gives up and decides to become recluse so he won’t get accused anymore.

You’re walking and trip on a couple of materials on your shoe. Yay! Now you’re on the floor and everyone’s staring at you like a freak. You’re tremulous eyes are watching everyone walk by…staring at you like some rapist. While you’re getting up some other chap falls in front of you and this profound feeling of knowing how it feels comes to your mind. I think I've proved my point; yes everything is perfect and peaceful while your shoelaces are tied. But when they’re untied…your life just goes amiss, so I've said it once and I’ll say it again. TIE YOUR SHOES BEFORE YOU WHACK SOMEONE OR BREAK A BONE! If your shoelace is untied…be prepared for a time of horror.

Glass Eyed Dolls

CAUTION! DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU ARE SCARED OF DOLLS! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Little dolls for girls…or should I say big dolls for girls? I hate them, I can’t stand them! The glow in their freakishly open eyes, the scary “I’m gonna kill you “smile, the weirdly neat dress with fringes and colors, and obviously the stories my friends tell. “My grandma has this doll with a glass eye, and it sits on a piano in the attic!” or “Once there was this girl, and she had this doll in the house right? And then it killed everyone…but it killed her first.” When I hear these kinds of stories it creeps me out, when people tell stories I can picture it in my mind which at this point, is not a good thing. Sure it’s helpful for when I read poems or pieces of literary writing but come on! When you’re talking about that kind of doll who would want to picture it?

I’ll admit that the baby ones that little kids play with is okay, but these dolls are like the total opposite! I remember I saw one somewhere (I forgot where though) and it was okay, but since my friends tell me scary stories about them I never want to see one again. I’m afraid that the doll might come to life and kill people, believe me…it’s a scary thought. If any of your friends start telling a scary story I would cover my ears if I were you.

Any More to Say?

I’m sitting at home with frizzy hair and my hands clasped on my forehead. What can I do? My backpack glares at me for forgetting my Spanish textbook at school. It’s the day I would normally be throwing my backpack down and kicking off my shoes. It was Friday. The day of happiness…but that day was the day of panic. I worry about what to do, can I ask a friend to get it and send type the page for me? Can I stop by school to get it? No…if she gets it then she’ll miss the afterschool bus. I guess I have to get it tomorrow, damn! Nobody goes to school on a Saturday! That’s just sad. Great.

My dad’s not feeling well today, my brother’s at his friend’s house, I don’t even know where my mom is. Yesterday when I forgot the textbook it was okay, because there was always today to get it. But no, I had to forget it…again. I’m a mess this year. I left my pencil in my math classroom inside a desk (luckily I looked for it and found it,) when I went to a friend’s house I brought everything back home except my thumb drive, I keep forgetting to put in the rubber band thingies for my braces, and what more can I say? I look at my blackberry and forget to reply sometimes, I lose stuff without even knowing it (especially stationary) and just earlier today I lost my headphone piece (silicon part so I can’t hear anything outside of my music) that my brother brought back when he came home. I rest my case, I look responsible and mature (maybe) but I’m really, really forgetful.

A Drive to Hell

The wheels squeak

as you pull out,

red words

flow out of two holes,

they increase in size until it pops.

You're the angriest a person could get,

you start crying

because you're that mad,

to top it all off

you mom starts slapping your leg.

In the front...wholesomely waiting and wishing,

wishing you were in the back seat,

lying down listening to music.

Blocking away the yelling and mocking her.

Lakes are forming,

birds are flying away,

deserts so dry

even cacti succumb to the heat.

The Earth shakes

in fear of a storm filled

with discipline and deprivation

from connection to civilization.

A crackle of a campfire in the distance,

you feel isolated and you can't get back.

You're on the other side,

there's no bridge,

there's no path to walk upon.

You're in the ocean...

lost.

Can you get back?

The storms are clearing,

the lakes are shining,

the Earth is stable.

People are building the bridge.

Legs are moving?

Check.

Hands are swinging?

Check.

Eyes are puffy?

Check.

Everything is coming together?

BIG check.

Dear Monica

Stephanie Huie

174 Pennsylvania Road

San Francisco, California

September 8, 2010

Dear Monica,

How are you doing? I’m writing because I haven’t heard from you for a while. This message is very imperative because you haven’t replied any of my emails, and we have lost all contact with each other. Right now I’m not sure where you are right now, so I shall ask my father to find out your location so I’ll have a place to send this to. How is the Barbie doll that I gave you? I believe it was a purple mermaid, part of the Mermaid collection. Though I don’t like Barbie anymore (and throw away all the dolls) I would like to know if you still like Barbie, so that maybe I can send you one for your birthday if you do. (Please tell me your birthday too, I most likely forgot it.)

I remember your happy disposition when we used to play Powerpuff Girls in the first grade. Our generation seems to be the newest in our family is it not? That means that we are the ones that will come up with new ideas, and hopefully we won’t be guile in our whole life. When we were playing during recess I remember the chubby guy who used to chase girls with “cooties.” I won’t say his name, because I want to keep it anonymous…and I don’t remember his name. Anyways I hope that you haven’t forgotten any of our precious time, don’t forget to reply!

Yours truly,

Stephanie

Strong or Scared?

It’s all so clear, I can remember the night so well. I’m in my car again, and I’m sitting in the middle separating my mom and Mari. We’re on the way to the cinema in Multi Plaza, where Mari and I were going to see a movie with a bunch of guys. (Obviously from our school.)We get out of the car and walk to the food court. Matthew jumps onto our shoulders and greets us friendly. The movie starts, and Mari’s holding a big tub of popcorn just like everyone else. (I’m the only one that didn’t want to buy anything…my dad’s fault.) Jacob and Max are talking and laughing like crazy, while Matthew and Daniel are laughing too. (What’s so funny about a guy being slashed?)

Obviously I didn’t want to watch this gruesome movie, but it was better than hanging out at the mall for two hours doing nothing. The movie was only half-way through and Mari’s cowering and hiding her face behind her hands. I pull up my legs and push my face into my knees; I couldn’t bare to watch that scene. Matthew had gone to buy me and Daniel a drink (mostly my fault because I asked him if he could buy one for me.) Max and Jacob were still bickering and laughing, which caused a man that was watching the movie tell us to be quite, and that the movie wasn’t funny (the man directed it to Mari because Max’s laugh was so girlish.) I couldn’t watch the rest of the movie without fear that the man would come back and kick us out or something. The movie ended and we all exited (I was so happy.) Outside the theater I was cold and scared, luckily Matthew cheered me up (poor Mari had no one to comfort her.) The guys left and Mari and I loitered around the mall buying smoothies and window shopping while waiting for our ride.

What’s my confession? Sometimes when I’m acting strong, I’m actually really scared (I had nightmares!)

My Own Phoenix

I sat in the basement working on my wooden phoenix, with my brother pulling my arm and my hands numb from all the splinters I must have gotten. The legs were crooked, the arms weren't even pulled out of the rectangle of wood, the body was all mixed up and placed in different layers, and the head was cracked with pieces of wood sticking out. Everything was a mess. My brother’s phoenix stood next to my cracked and shattered phoenix. It was all perfect, spic and span, not a thread of wood in sight, it all looked so graceful and well…perfect. I stared at his amazing phoenix and wondered “How did he do that? He didn't even want to do it.” I pouted and crossed my arms; I was comparing my crappy little chicken, and looking into his honorable majestic fire. All he had to do was paint it, paint it in the color of fire I had in my eyes. I continued with my chicken, and eventually I gave up.

The head was still shattered from the pull of force when I tore it out of the rectangle, the body was somewhat put together but most of it was still lingering on the table, the feet were like chickens. Not like birds (even though the feet still look the same) not like anything but a little chicken…maybe even a little chick. I stand up and start to pick up the shreds on the floor, small excluded extra pieces, the crying empty rectangle frame drenched with loneliness. What have I been doing all this time? Chasing my brother’s footsteps in the sand? No, I need to do this my way. I got back to the wooden block, and carved a beautiful phoenix. I realized I can’t follow my brother’s footsteps; all I can do is do it myself.

Stop Yelling at Me

I absolutely hate how people always yell at me. My dad, my mom, and even my brother!

I walked into the living room with my some-what muddy shoes stepping on my pants. (My pants are really long) My bag goes boom onto the couch when there's impact and I take out the shiny-silver circles. Some are in mint condition, some are in the dulling stage, and the rest are barely even silver. They're all mixed with each other shuffling in my pocket all day. I take out the stack of nickels and hold them in my hand.

"Hey! Look! Haha I have a stack of nickels!...Hello? Look at the nickels. Look at the nickels!" I shout at my brother while he's fidgeting with the belongings he has in his backpack. "OKAY LOOK! NO ONE GIVES A FLYING FAT ABOUT YOUR NICKELS OKAY? I. DON'T. *BEEP*. CARE! God." I walk away frightened and trembling to my laptop that's charging.

"Wow. Did I annoy him that much? He didn't have to yell like that. I mean I know he yells when he's on Skype, but that was soo different." I thought to myself. Walking to the desktop was the last thing I wanted to do (my desktop is near my brother's laptop and that's where he was) but I didn't want to go upstairs or move my laptop. A friend on BBM asked for my cellphone number (not anything special) and he called me soon after.

We talked for a while until my only sibling told me to go upstairs, and of course I listened.

My Turn

1. When I get home I grab my blackberry and put it on the table while its still vibrating, my friend is still text messaging me (not gonna tell you who it is.) From when I'm text messaging on the bus (which I do often) I continue at home.

2. Sometimes I login to Facebook to see what's new, and usually there's not much. So I stick around for a couple of hours while I do other stuff on my computer.

3. I'm sitting in my chair in front of my desktop right? I'm looking and browsing through pages of information and pictures. Researching for huskies, other dog breeds, dresses, and just the other day I was desperately asking people if anyone had the student council sign-up sheet (so they could scan it and send it to me...but no. No one had it unfilled.)

4. All day until around five o'clock I'm on my desktop NOT doing my homework. When the door opens and my dad steps inside I immediately jump at him and bombard him with questions. "Did you get my...? When is it coming? Why are the people such slowpokes? Even you said they were slowpokes." I tell him every time. "Tell me when you get it okay?" (I just found out from an e-mail my dad sent me that I'm getting my long awaited laptop today...finally.)

5. After I get over my disappointment (mean slowpokes *pout*) its time to do my homework, I'm working and I'm called to eat dinner. I do my homework but I'm actually still text messaging sometimes. Most of the time I finish at around ten o'clock, but the time usually varies.

I text message a lot and I don't get as much sleep as a 13 year old should get. Even though it's like this, I'm actually pretty happy with my life.

The Closet Opens

because there's something

screaming inside.

Layers of paper from

last year

just lays there.

A pile of dirty clothes

running away.

Boxes wrapped in

pretty pink circles.

A photo frame of

me and a poem,

dedicated to mom.

She opened it?

I cry out in disbelief.

I turn the other way

squealing to my mind.

Oh looky there,

this ones getting dusty.

I stare,

I droop,

and I walk away.

View of a Witness

The night was dark, there were no streetlights anywhere in sight. Near midnight is when it happened. I gingerly walked to the table after hearing a shriek in the house next to mine, and surmised it was out of terror. It was silent like a deserted town after the shriek. Clad in my pajamas I made a cursory search, scrambling through the inventory lists for the one with ink on the back. Numbers made of ink blobs.

Before this all happened it started seven nights ago. Every night simulated the one before, until that black hour of day I had been observing the house next door-every time. Every night it's the same thing, I always tried to sleep...but I always had this insecure feeling coming from that house. My dehydrated tongue would always sink to the bottom of my mouth. I grimaced at the fact that whoever was making me feel uneasy, didn't think that I would notice something wrong.

I made an endeavor to call my friend's telephone, however all I heard was the dial sound...she- didn't pick up. I called the police right after and luckily they answered. I explained the situation and they said they'd come in a couple of minutes. As I was tip-toeing back to the window I tripped over my leather satchel, gaining an abrasion to make the night worse. The police electrified me when they came about four hours after I had called. I ended up sitting next to the window, and then I heard someone shouting gruesome words from the house. The person making me uneasy had killed the old man.

That was too much. That was just too much to hear. I couldn't get the words out of my head so I succumbed to my sleepiness, and laid down on my bed. My eyes open and my consciousness still ringing. I never heard words from the old man again, but luckily...the murderer had been caught and I could rest at ease.

What Kind of Guy?

He struts with his somewhat curly hair swinging in the hallway. I'm staring at him with my eyes twinkling. When did I start? Why did it start? Why did I fall for him? It was third grade and he had skipped a grade from Kindergarten to second grade. Now he was in the class as me and was even younger than me. He was the one that I stared at in class with awe, and luckily he sat in front of me. I knew I couldn't have him, but I could still look at him couldn't I?

His blue eyes intrigued me, his dirty blond hair looked like golden locks and extra curly. Why did he have to be dating my friend? Why did he have to be so lovey-dovey with her? Why did they kiss in front of my eyes?

It doesn't hurt me so much that I'd cry, but it still hurt. I walked into class, I put my head down on my arms and wonder "Why do I feel so ashamed?" Like always our classmates are watching and laughing at his jokes. Suddenly I see him doing something he shouldn't be doing. What was he doing? Try guessing. He was...picking his nose. What kind of guy does that? I mean really, I couldn't even stand the thought, and now he was doing it in front of me. That was so disgusting! From that moment I didn't like him, maybe as a friend, but nothing more. Now that just haunts me, in my dreams and in reality. I guess that I just have bad taste in guys huh?

See Ya

I can remember it all. I was in the sixth grade, and I was at my friend's house. What happened? Tears, clutching, and waving. She pulled tightly and firmly onto my shirt. I could already see a lake of tears on her lap, it was all happening so fast. My father was being transferred, and I was going along with him. She cried and cried, and couldn't stop. I tried my best to cheer her up, but it had already gotten her depressed. After a while she stopped, she wiped away the last of her tears and she became strong.

Her puffy red eyes told a story, what we had been through, what we had done together...all of it. I start to wonder "Is this REALLY the end? NO WAY! We'll keep in touch and we'll meet again...definitely." We get up, and my dad asks if I'm ready to go. I support my friend, and she nods slowly. It was time to say goodbye... I put on the helmet, and get on the scooter. As she bursts into tears I wave and say "See ya." She waves slowly, replies, and I'm on my way home. The last time I saw her, the last time I've been with her...for now. Now we're trying to organize a meeting during one of the school breaks, I think she's still living in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I haven't seen her for a year and some months, but we've been in contact. I'll definitely meet her someday, maybe not now or soon...but someday.

This Feeling

This hidden feeling,

what is it?

It's getting heavier,

it’s getting bigger,

what is this awful feeling?

Caltech, an institute

that will soon gain a

great student.

It hurts,

it’s crushing me when we discuss

my brother’s future.

Everyday I laugh,

talk,

and hurt.

I hope this year my brother can soar

with many memorable memories.

I sit on the cold chair,

as the silent words float out

of a senior and a middle-aged man.

I laugh and clench my stomach,

will I be able to laugh like?

He says he won’t miss us,

but I know he will.

The way we laugh

we play our childish games,

the piano playing,

and the game playing are all things

he can leave with,

but they should be enough.

I hope this year my brother can soar

with many memorable memories.

He will visit us,

we will welcome him

like coming home from school,

and he will mooch off of my parents.

This is the feeling of goodbye,

the words I don’t want to say.

Goodbye Simon.

Traumatized

I sat on the hard, brown stage right in the gym. I watched everyone play sports: volleyball, basketball, soccer, and football. I wondered how I got to this stage, how I had stopped participating in class, how I knew I would fail the class but kept sitting out. Why did I stop playing the sport I had thought was the best-volleyball.

I went back, back to the time when I was younger and no one could yell or shout at you when you play sports. When all people did was have fun, and didn't care if you won or if you lost the game. But now, you can see people shouting, and sometimes they even shout at you.

You can pretend nothing happened, but I know that it really hurts. It hurts you deep, its like being stabbed by a knife, and signed with a scar. I have been through that, I have been signed with a scar from a person I have already forgiven. She felt guilt, but so did I. I cost my team the volleyball game, and therefore don't want to cause more trouble. I don't want to play sports anymore, even if it means I'll get yelled at for my failing P.E. grade.

Rice

I stared into the clear liquid in the small tank, my little fish was swimming happily through the wavy kelp and the sand that drifted to the bottom. I walked away to meet my father on the floor below, where his computer room was. I took a little while as a break, and returned to my spot to observe my little creature. It lay on its back floating, the color had disappeared from the tiny floating body.

I poked it with a little stick that I had found earlier, but it still drifted away from me. My mother came into the room with a smile on her face, and held a tray to clean the dining table.

"Hey mom...do you know what happened to my fishy?" I asked feeling sad. She stopped cleaning with a frown, her tray was placed on the dining table as she came towards me.

"I fed it some rice...but after it started to float, I realized that I shouldn't have. Sorry honey...but I killed it." she said with relief of coming clean. I fell to my knees, weak to the bone and laid down facing the ceiling for the many minutes that followed. I decided that I needed to forgive her and forget the incident. I needed to know that I should forgive and forget that incident.

Of Mice and Men

Grey fur touches the strong hands

it lays still as the hand reaches

"I could pet it with my thumb"

the mouse is dead

The soft fur of brown and white

sways through the big fingers

it hides under a pile of hay

it waits for it's owner to throw

"I'll throw him away...

It's bad enough like it is"

The tart lays next to the puppy

the soft hair, now messy and tangled

killed for screaming but an accident

Lennie means no harm

An Ugly Angel

I slowly traced the floor as I walked into the room full of people. Some of my friends gathered around the tables, and I sat in my cold, hard seat.

"I am handing out these poems for you all to find the main idea, and sketch it please." said Mr. Bustos. He passed out the paper with poems printed on them, he passed them onto the table. (One for each person.) "Touched By An Angel" was the name of the poem I got, it punched me in the face.

"Read me...read me." it kept repeating, I red it as my face lit up from the impact. I sketched, I sketched an angel with spiky wings. (Not on purpose by the way.) Mr. Bustos came patroling, and stopped by to compliment my drawing, or that's all that he would do is what I thought.

"It's beautiful! However maybe you can make the wings like this...." he said as he gracefully made curves overlapping the devilish wings. Now the angel was complete (After I had erased the devilish wings I drew), I knew there was something wrong, but soon I realized the something missing was it's natural beauty.

Don't

I must admit, when I'm mean to my brother its not like I do it intentionally. He just bothers me often, and when I bother him back, he makes me laugh and that just keeps me doing it. I do mean things to him, because the way he reacts makes me laugh, its just so silly. Although sometimes I'm mean, I'm also nice to him, for example just today I gave him a push-pop for free. I'm nice to him and he's nice to me.

I walked into the house with both my bags slumping off my back. My brother trailed behind me after another exhausting day at school, and threw his heavy dark blue backpack onto the couch.

"Hi fatso..." he said as he was taking off his stinky socks near the door. I ignored his criticising remark, and just headed upstairs to change. Soon after he followed me and threw himself onto my bed, "Hello fatso...again. You're not doing homework you know."

"What do you want?" I asked him hoping he would leave. He lay still on the bed, and decided that he wanted to bother me. He always bothers me, especially with his loud booming voice like my father's. He wiped some kind of liquid on my arm, and I spun around wiping it back. I was wiping 4 swipes a second, it was probably his saliva. (Disgusting, I know.)

"What the hell?!" he screamed with his funny voice as he rolled over. He ran out of the room just as quickly as he had come in. I laughed with the palm of my hand on my forehead, and my other on my stomach falling to the floor. I can't stop laughing until 2 minutes have passed, at the least. So as you can see, if he complains even once, I burst into laughter. I'm someone who my brother can make laugh anytime. But I'm only nice to him, when he's nice to me. (Like that would ever happen.)

The Truth

The truth will always be revealed.

The people you trust will remain there forever.

"You wouldn't tell nobody?"

In the air floats the words "trust" or "lie"

"No, 'course you wouldn'."

The truth will always be revealed.

Whether you hide it, cover it, or bury it...

The truth will never disappear, but will float.

"He'll be back alright."

We forgive and forget.

We keep and hold.

Not break and throw.

Friends are forever

Family are forever

Lies are a never

Make Me Food!

I lay prostrate on the cushioned couch, and looked up at the bumpy ceiling covered in a thin layer of fine white paint. I felt the desire to do something on a whim, something that I could do to see someone filled with rapture. My brother started his way downstairs trying to show off his haughty personality, as I heard his slippers tap on the tiled stairs.

"Make me food." he demanded, as he said that it was a "privilege" to make him his grub. I knew that even if I could make chow that was delectable, it doesn't mean that I needed to to it. However I thought that he was going to beseech me to make him some, so I made a lavish amount of food for him. I had made all the food while I was in a good mood, but I realized that it was pretty hard to make a lot of feed, so at the end I ended up hating the impetuous choice that I made to actually listen to my brother.

I pondered why I decided to do what he demanded, but at the moment that he said that the food was "Okay." I felt good, that he was gratified by my food. Even though I'm not the best at cooking, I felt proud. I had accomplished something that I thought I could never do...make my brother say that my food was "Okay." which means that it was good. My parents could hear the the sounds of my revelry, though it was only a small accomplishment I still felt proud.

Don't Get Mad

I've always wondered what good comes out of getting mad, whether your parents get mad, or if your friends get mad, and maybe even your own siblings. Parents scold you when they get mad, they ground you, can send you upstairs without dinner, and will cool off. Friends will get mad sometimes too, if you say the wrong thing, if you forget something, but after a fight, you can make-up. If your siblings get mad, you can act like it just never happened. That's how usual fights go, but for me its completely different.

My father called me to his room, to discuss some issue with me. I wondered in, pondering about what he could want me for. "This is about your...behavior...at your relatives' house." said the man with crossed arms. I started to worry, what did I do? What's my punishment? What would happen at the end? I finally gathered up the courage to ask what I did.

"I've heard from some of your relatives that you were being rude, that has started to spread within the family. The time that we went to one of your relatives' house, your mother and I asked you to wait twenty minutes with your brother when you sat on the carpet. You waited quietly, but then blurted out that twenty minutes was over, and that you wanted to leave." I stayed shocked, my arms that I had thrown onto the bed drooped, my eyes stayed as open as long as I could open them for. I didn't believe it, my relative had said that I was rude.

I pictured in my mind a beating fit for him, I pictured the relative being beat up by me. I couldn't think of anything else, except how much anger I had for him. My father told me to calm down and to forget about it, but I knew that I couldn't calm down. I took some deep breaths and calmed down, though I had given up my hope to beat him up-because he's a relative-I had not forgotten what he had said about me. I hope that someday I will get my revenge, but not a violent revenge, at least I hope not a violent revenge. I'd just like to ask him why he spread it, not to actually beat him up. I would like to use my voice, not my fist.

Rejected

I walked into the gym with my friends. We did our class of gymnastics for that period of time for P.E. Shortly after we were allowed to have the rest of the class to ourselves. I looked at the Australian boy and blushed, because, well...he was my crush. I laid down on the mats with my exhausted friends.My best friend looked at me blushing, and whispered in my ear.

"I'll go ask him for you...to the dance." she whispered. I stood up and looked at my other friends for support to stop her, but they all were too tired to stop her. She walked to the bleacher with all the boys of the class, and just had to ask when everyone was there. I laid back on the mat and covered my eyes, my friends came over to comfort me. I felt a jolt of pain, would he say yes? Would he reject me?

By the time I lifted my arms from my eyes, I battled with the bright lights in the gym. She came to me and sat down, she was prepared to tell me some news, though I had no idea what she was going to say.

"He said...he wasn't going to go. All his friends laughed when I asked for you...I'm sorry." she said. I told her not to worry, truthfully, I expected as much, I knew that nobody would ever say yes. I knew from the beginning that I was going to regret even liking him. Luckily we continued to be friends...well kind of. I couldn't help but think that we couldn't ever be friends again. Have you felt the pain? Have you ever experienced this kind of punishment? I definitely have, and I don't want to experience it again. If I don't ask anyone, I can't get rejected, at least not again.

A New Computer?

I slowly walked towards the sound of tapping keyboards and a clicking mouse. I swayed as I pass through the hall, my hands shivered, my dad had just called my name. It was loud and clear as it echoed through the halls of the house. On his computer screens were pictures of an HP desktop, that he was planning to get me.

"Is it touch-screen?"I asked.

"Yes"

"How big is it?"

"Pretty big"

"What's it gonna count for?"

"Christmas, New Years, must I say more?"

"Never mind, how much is it?

"$1700"

"OH MY GOD!" as I yelled in shock. I jumped and stomped on the ground. "No way, no way, this is a dream, it's too good to be true!" I thought as I held my hands together to stop from slapping myself. It was real, it was the real world, and this was the real deal. I felt a feeling of rapture take over me, I screamed and yelped with joy. I finished the conversation with my father and headed back to my room. I laid down on my soft bed turning on the bedside lamp, I pondered, thinking if this was the right choice. My father was saving money for a house and I knew that, should he really use his money to keep me happy?

I was beseeching myself to speak the truth, he was going to order it by the time the sun went down and the stars came out. If I didn't speak the truth, could I hold it in forever? Could I be able to live with it? Would it be too late? I thought hard, and finally reached a wall, and on that wall...was the answer. Yes, I wanted it, I wanted it very badly, but would it be right to accept it when I knew my father was saving money for a house? I thought, and thought, it wouldn't be fair for him, but would be fair for me. I decided to make a deal with my father, I would get the desktop, but in return he could use the money I had in my bank to buy his house. However he would pay me back, and of course...with interest.