Creative Writing Portfolio 20062007 Forest Park - PowerPoint PPT Presentation


PPT – Creative Writing Portfolio 20062007 Forest Park PowerPoint presentation | free to view - id: b42e-YTQwO


The Adobe Flash plugin is needed to view this content

Get the plugin now

View by Category
About This Presentation

Creative Writing Portfolio 20062007 Forest Park


Three ditzy blonde girls with their little dogs in their pink brand name purses ... He puts the head back on the blonde, but now it's like a deflated balloon. ... – PowerPoint PPT presentation

Number of Views:204
Avg rating:3.0/5.0
Slides: 46
Provided by: Stude91


Write a Comment
User Comments (0)
Transcript and Presenter's Notes

Title: Creative Writing Portfolio 20062007 Forest Park

Creative Writing Portfolio 2006-2007 Forest Park
  • Sophia Arrighi
  • 10
  • Mrs. Dowling

  • Thank you for visiting this portfolio. Here lie
    the genius works of the worlds most prominent up
    and coming writer, Sophia Arrighi. I hope you
    will enjoy these works as much as everyone else

Table of Contents
Table of Contents
  • Chapter 3
  • Superficial
  • Rules
  • Tire Inflation
  • Rain
  • Perfect
  • Opposite
  • Smile
  • Museum
  • Proud
  • Senryu
  • Petty
  • Hush Child
  • Reflections (1) (2)
  • Chapter 2
  • Wolf
  • Snow
  • XY
  • Sans Self
  • Objectify
  • Dangerous Art
  • Zombie
  • Silly Girl
  • Reflections
  • Portfolio 1
  • Journal Entry 1
  • Journal Entry 2
  • Journal Entry 3
  • Journal Entry 4
  • Journal Entry 5
  • Writing Assignment
  • Poetry
  • Additional Work
  • Reflections

Chapter three.
Im superficial. Ill judge you, accuse you,
inspect you, criticize you of your brand name
shoes and last seasons hair cut and clichéd
shirt. I wont talk long if youre wearing somethi
ng ugly. I wont look you in the eye if it makes
me want to puke. I wont date you if the thought
of kissing your cracked and chapped bleeding lips
is a revolting image.
Rules for my Island
  • No falling in love
  • No killing anyone without consensus from island
  • No inviting people to island
  • No babies may be born without consensus from
  • No leaving the island
  • No fighting without valid argument and a crowd
  • No unflattering haircuts

Tire inflation
A good commercial to remind you to inflate your
ties would be like this Three ditzy blonde girls
with their little dogs in their pink brand name
purses stand on the side of the road giggling. A
guy in a sports car pulls over and gets out. The
girls walk over giggly and flirty. The guy
smiles, pops off one of the heads of the blonde,
hooks it up to his tire, and deflates her head.
He puts the head back on the blonde, but now its
like a deflated balloon. The two blonde girls
left just look at each other, shrug, giggle, and
jump into the back of his care. And they all
drive off.
Asphalt soaked with rain Leaves this suburbia sil
ent Smells of industry Reminders of pollution N
ature isnt natural.
Blanketing the earth Hiding all imperfections Be
auty of the snow Just for a minute An hour A da
y Forever in my mind An image of perfection Sha
ll stay.
Money, greed, jealousy, greed, green
Its opposite is just as mean Stop, bleed, anger,
The fatal two will leave you dead
Smile giggle flirt Giggle flirt kiss Flirt kiss
date Kiss date like Date like love Like love fi
ght Love fight dump Fight dump hate Dump hate f
orget Hate forget smile
Captured forever After the dreams die And the me
mories fade And the artist lie Captured forever
The inspired inspire Recycled dreams Recycled
Whispers waving Through these ears Submerged, ch
eat heaving From the glory Ive been breathing S
oaking up the sun My arrogance youve won I eter
nally reside Drowning, chin up high In the sea
Of my own pride
I watch gourmet dog food Followed by starving Afr
On my plasma TV.
Its a real shame, if you really think about it.
High school love. So many pheromones gone to
waste. All these emotions, and for what? All
these raging hormones and beating hearts and
butterflies? For a silly memory and a jaded
heart? Or is it that notch in your belt? Or, my
favorite, its because you actually believe
youre going to find love. Ha. Makes me chuckle
every time I hear it. There isnt a diamond in
rough. No soul mates in this hell hole. So why
are they all taking it so seriously. Just accept
that all were going to get is a few hickeys,
emotional baggage, and for the really lucky ones,
an STD.
Hush Child
Hush child Has history taught you nothing No one
wants to hear the truth It makes us look bad Th
is is a time for Scape goats and hyperboles Fal
se happiness and glamour National enquired and pe
tty grudges So shut your mouth Shut your mind H
ear, dont see Theres nothing to find Say what
s polite, only whats expected
Take the face value Nothing should go inspected
Nothing need depth Insight isnt right Understan
ding is for the weak Leave thought for the meek
Leave the rest of us bliss Shrouded with lies An
d ignorance With bleached smiles And superficial
We dont need it If it cant be bought.
  • This year Ive gained the knowledge that writing
    sound s a lot better when youre not being
    polite. Its way more interesting when youre
    being blunt.
  • The grammar is really helping in Latin.
  • For this chapter I like hush child, because its
    some of my poetry that I do when I do. Its how I
    really write.
  • This year Ive forced myself, a lot, to just sit
    down and start writing. Or Ill use something
    completely random and force myself to work with
    it. It works. Its just getting started thats

Reflections (cont.)
5.I think Im good at taking a new and
imaginative perspective on things.
6. Ive realized that I really hate describing
peoples appearances. I really love writing about
their personality and why they are each way.
7. I think I need to continue everything. Ive
got a lot to develop in every way.
Chapter two.
Wolf in friends clothing
  • Wolf In Friends Clothing The shadows mock me.
    They point and laughs and watch. They wait.
    Trip. Fall. Lie. Love. mistake. The beg. They
    plead. The beseech for something to say. And the
    world has always been a stage. And their eyes so
    accusing. Dont mess up. dont say the right
    thing. The walls dont just have ears. "What
    big ears you have." "The better to misinterpret
    you with." "What big eyes you have" "The better
    to judge you with." "What a nice voice you have"
    "The better to gossip with" "What nice
    intentions you have" "The better to taunt you
    with" "What big teeth you have "The better to
    eat you with."

  • I hate snow. And Im not saying it in that oh,
    everyone else likes snow so I want to be cool and
    different. No, I hate snow.
  • We could start with all the obvious reasons, like
    its cold. And makes driving impossible, and gets
    in the way of all my plans. But its more than a
  • Its a show off. Like the kid in class who always
    feels the need to correct the teacher and is so
    sure of his or herself despite everyone,
    including the teacher, hates his or her guts. But
    snow is blinded by its own perfection it cant
    bother to notice no one really wants it around.
  • Its white. Not just white, but blinding bleached
    teeth white. People when sunglasses in the snow.
    Thats disgusting. But I dont care that its
    white except for the effects of it being white.
    Like after a few hours of cars be able to drive
    again, you notice all the dirt being built up on
    the sides. Now, the dirt and pollution has always
    been there. But as a good American, I pride
    myself in not caring or noticing it. Snow, on the
    other hand, prides itself and say oh, look at
    the dirt. You people are so dirty but Im so nice
    and clean and now youre getting me dirty and
    its all your fault and I hope you feel bad and
  • Its not just the color. Its perfect. Its
    perfectly unique. Each snow flake is different,
    an individual? Yet each manages to nicely
    compliment each other, be admired. Sure, humans
    are all unique, individual, no two are alike. But
    we definitely dont compliment each other. Thats
    just snow, being its showoff-y self.

  • This time was different. I Stood by the phone for
    a few days, expecting you to call back. I kept
    your things in a zip lock bag, expecting to
    unpack them any day. I kept the little bracelet
    you gave me on my wrist, and then it moved to my
    dresser top. And slowly if found itself in the
    bag. I still waited.
  • I didnt break out my journal. Not this time. And
    then, it happened. I think I was talking about
    Led Zeppelin and if they were really that great.
    Maybe it was hot air balloons. Or even the now
    epic battle of Ninjas and Dinosaurs, since we
    already determined the pirates dont have a
    chance. That was the conversation. And as he
    heatedly explained how the herbivores would still
    be valuable to the fighting process, I picked up
    the bag. And I opened they green box. Right now
    its about a foot by foot box, I think thats
    sufficient since Im only 15. Itll get bigger
    when I get older. All my notes, all my memories.
    All the boys.
  • I moved on quick enough. I think its been 3
    weeks, I like this new boyfriend a lot. Weve
    been together 4 days. Its got the typical
    euphoric start. I wonder when things will fail. I
    wonder what exactly itll be. Maybe well just
    run out of things to say. Maybe hell want more
    then I can offer. Maybe I should just be happy.
  • Well, there was one boy I got bored with. It
    wasnt a big loss. We dated for one month,
    exactly. I didnt know him well, but he had a
    cute face and a perverted personality, which over
    the summer I found extremely charming, despite my
    current contempt for the humor. I was happy at
    first. He accepted my boundaries like that all
    do. And he said all the nice things the rest of
    them said. And did everything youre supposed to,
    I guess.
  • Thats why I was bored. I think I really like
    being ignored. Im not often ignored. It makes me
    work harder for attention. But Im amazingly
    opposed to being an attention whore. So Ill
    spend days lying around thinking of way to get
    attention without looking like Im try to get
    some. And then it doesnt matter because
    eventually well get tired of trying so hard. And
    well both be convinced it was the others fault
    things failed.
  • Once I was abused. It was fascinating. He had a
    tragic drug addiction and abusive parents and the
    whole thing. And hed throw fits daily because I
    wouldnt have sex with him, and threatened to
    rape me and everything. And hed push me around.
    I always wanted to see how far hed go. The way
    he threatened me. I wanted to see if it was true,
    if hed dare. He knew that to. It was a sick
    sense of humor, I know, but I was undeniably
    amused. We ended when he admited he was having
    sex with this girl the whole time. I think I
    already knew, but I didnt want to accuse him, I
    knew hed deny it.
  • This boyfriend hasnt said anything mean, and
    weve got the same sick humor, and we click. I
    didnt think people really clicked, I thought it
    was something you just heard about. Like in books
    and stuff because they dont actually have a
    reason for the characters to be together, so they
    say they click. Its nice.

Sans Self.
  • I like songs where people sound like theyre
    about to cry. Not the emo pathetic heres-my
    heart-kind. The kind where theyre angry. Thats
    the most interesting feeling to watch in other.
    Their face keeps changing. A mix of knocking
    heads off and nervous breakdown and utter
    confusion and self pity. Its stunning. And tears
    roll down people faces but they dont withdraw,
    the polite thing to do when youre upset. They
    ignore the polite thing. The courtesies. They
  • Selfish is beautiful. I think I like being around
    selfish people most because I always know what
    theyll do, what theyll want. I want to be
    spontaneous, I need everyone else to be
    predictable. That way I know who to take where,
    who to be around depending on my mood.
  • And I always want to be around people when
    theyre angry on the verge of tears. Thats not
    when they want a hug and a shoulder to cry on.
    Thats when they scream. When self control is
    outdated. Theyre pure. Sans reality. Sans

  • They say Im really paranoid. I personify
    everything. Everything has emotions, everything
    has motives, everything has hate.
  • Its true. Not everything can love, but
    everything can hate. And I think they use the
    same part of the brain. I think theyre almost
    the same emotion. Its just you choose if youre
    a hater or a lover. You either choose to love, or
    you choose to hate. And once you decide to hate
    something you can never ever love. And vise
    versa. Both are curses.
  • Im positive everything hates me. My backpack, my
    door, my computer, my neighbor, my sewing
    machine, my grass, my trampoline, my car, my
    journals, my pens, and this very keyboard. And I
    can feel it judging me. I can feel everything
    judging me.
  • People all judge the same. Objects dont. They
    can see something everyone else can. They see you
    as an object, like you see them. They objectify
    you. Thats when I personify them. Its only
    fair. Treat things like you want to be treated.
    Treat nouns like you want to be treated.
  • Thats it. Every noun can have a verb. Language
    explains everything. Language is everything.

The Dangerous Art
  • It starts with the request. The grand pleading of
    the damsel in distress. I moved my chivalrous
    self of the couch. A peril in itself, to remove
    yourself from a see of cotton denim and fluffed
    pillows. The grand 6-foot couch became a huge
    sea, and there you are, in the middle of a
  • It grabs and drags and heaves until youre
    submerged in its cloud-like depths, begging to
    Neptune there will be mercy on your gluttonous
    soul. Gluttonous because you cant bare to part
    with the comfort of the self warmed seats, the
    miles of fleece covering like the cloud, and you,
    the helpless ship, caught in the depths of throw
    pillows and stuffing.
  • But soon youre spat out, onto a carpeted hard
    floor, reminding you of reality. But the world
    isnt kind in reality. Legos thrown about like
    land mines, ready to get you were it hurts. Shoes
    are proven to be a gazillion times more likely to
    trip you when detached from the foot. The kids
    meal toys waiting to pounce, the dust bunnies
    ready to suffocate, or at least gross you out.
    And some smashed cracker mocks you, with its
    inimical tone. And the usual agility and speed
    and obvious skill once had has been sucked away
    by that damn couch laughing inches away.
  • Step. Shoe. Step. Lego. Step. Trip. Fall. Attack!
    Dust bunnies get their chance. Theyd waited all
    to long, and boom, running out from every crack
    and crevice, under every couch, here they are.
    And the change! Lincolns rolling full speed ahead
    to bring you to your monetary doom.
  • What are you doing on the floor? Aw, yes, sweet
    words of encouragement from the damsel herself. A
    jolt of energy and bam. Those once threats are
    now silly minions. But there are bigger fish to

Dangerous Art (cont.)
  • The days contents are stacked on the table.
    Newspapers, homework, mail, and things left out
    from breakfast. A massive pile of paper cuts
    waiting to happen. Each edge just waiting to dig
    into your innocent skin with its razor sharp
    edges. Death lurks on each corner. Suddenly those
    funnies arent so funny, are they? Trying to
    separate junk from the good stuff, trying to
    multi task reading all the headlines while
    protecting your skin from being scoured with
    blood clots. And finally the life-threatening
    task is done, all junk lies in the recycling bin
    awaiting its eco-friendly grave.
  • The cleared table becomes an artists canvas.
    For now it looks so friendly, with its nice
    plaid cotton tablecloth and those innocent
    chairs. Innocent for now. But theres more to do
    before focusing on that. The silverware. If I
    were a werewolf, Id be dead meat. Those shining
    rows and rows of silver, pointed at the end, just
    waiting to make you meet your maker.
  • Sticking your hand into that organize drawer of
    terror is pure suicide, but Danger is my middle
    name. Grab for the handle. One. Two. Three. Four.
    Forks. The spoons might not seems dangerous, but
    theyre the worse. Every carved out a pumpkin?
    Yea. Just replace that pumpkin with you and then
    imagine how things go. But my brave little
    fingers know no bounds. One. Two. Three. Four.
  • Phew. That was close. Now for the knives. Yes.
    Every horror movies best friend. Every secret
    agents ally. And every table setters arch
    nemesis. One knife. All eyes in tact. Two knives.
    No missing fingers, yet. Three knives. All limbs
    where they were, for now. Four knives. Mission
    accomplished, but barely.
  • And now that table. That massive chunk of wood
    just waiting to cover you with splinters. Napkins
    here are your only defense against the dark
    forces. Dont be fooled by its cool design. Its
    round edges. Its quaint appeal. Its laden with
    cruel intentions. Spoon. Fork Knife. The table
    has yet to fling itself at me. Spoon. Fork.
    Knife. No reenacting of House of Flying Daggers.
    Spoon. Fork. Knife. So close, yet so far away.
    Spoon. Calm before the storm. Fork. Dust bunnies
    are eyeing. Knife. Flee!
  • That was a close one. Just wait for dinner.

Silly Girl
  • Pick a face
  • Please
  • Be a doll
  • It doesnt matter
  • Youll still fall
  • Itll take a lot
  • To change our mind
  • And when you do
  • Youll hate to find
  • It doesnt matter
  • What you say
  • Well still hate you
  • Anyway.

  • who do you think you are
  • Just rising from the dead
  • Just showing up
  • when I finally got you
  • Out of my head.
  • Youre out of my mind.
  • You were, I swear
  • And then you show up
  • Just standing there.
  • Like I miss you
  • Like I care
  • Well I dont
  • And this isnt fair.

Adventure Story
  • mhm

  • This year I believe Ive really found my voice. I
    think its starting to be more clear my style of
    writing and poetry. I definitely dont use the
    skills from this class in any other class. I
    dont take English, so pretty much this is just
    helping me write notes to kids. They enjoy the
    notes, so I guess thats good. I bet my teachers
    dont appreciate it that much. I really like my
    historical fiction, I put a lot of time into
    that. I think thats clear by its length. I
    think I did a good job with the rising action,
    climax, falling action, and resolution. And Im
    starting to develop foreshadowing.
  • I havent had challenges writing this semester.
    In fact, Im always writing anyway and I tend to
    just find a piece I wrote a week ago that fits
    the assignment and Ill turn that in. I guess
    its a pretty convenient way to get honest
    feedback on my writing.
  • I think my strengths are in voice and grammar.
    Im pretty big on grammar, so I tend not to make
    that many fo those little mistakes. Or I can at
    least catch them on my own. But I really need to
    develop the resolution to my stories. Im great
    at rambling, but not so much at actually writing
    a story with a climax and logical resolution.

Journal Entry 1
I felt the water engulf me and flow sweetly as a
ravenous boogieman. I pushed off the bottom and
escaped the clutches of the chlorinated monster.
And just as I reached the warm, welcoming,
waiting air above me, I saw him. I saw the
goddamn hillbilly good for nothing piece of _at_
jump right off the stupid diving board and land
right on yours truly! Thats all I remember, what
happened after that is just what I hear and my
beautiful mind conjured up. I was put into a
coma, drowned, and nearly escaped the ravenous
clutches of the Lakeside Pool boogieman. I woke
up in a hospital, full of a tiny vase, full of
one measly flower, and one sincere apology note,
saying Sorry. Bob What kind of name is Bob?
Ill tell you what kind! Bob is the name of my
boneheaded stepbrother from Alabama. Hes a good
for nothing redneck, just like his good for
nothing mom.
Journal Entry 1 (cont.)
  • And youll never guess how I became blessed with
    having such a piece of ! for a step brother
    and step mom. They met in the hospital room where
    I rest after the tragic, obvious homicide
    attempt. And from how they were acting after my
    therapy that day, two years ago, thats the same
    room where my stupid little inbred half brother
    was conceived. I dont know why those stupid
    hillbillies had to come up to this nice suburban
    town, but here they are. Swimming in my Lakeside
    pool and Im stuck playing in this stupid kiddy
    pool with my stupid half hillbilly half brother,
    navigating through the treacherous gallons of
    baby pee and chemical with a stupid little half
    hillbilly half brother screaming Roller coaster!
    Roller coaster! on my back.

Journal Entry 2
Feast upon the Living dead No! the little boy
said assuming cooked meant the vegetables dead
Its nasty and gross Id eat none at the most
That night the child went unfed
The same happened the very next night Shut up
it said, caused quite a fright Who goes
there? child asked with a stare Beans stared
back thats right
Every night its exactly the same, you go unfed
and were to blame Well, no more! And they
rolled out the door And dinner was never the
Journal Entry 3
Theres not a lot To be said for thought In this
modern age When the worlds obsession Is materi
al possession
But its all Ive got
Journal Entry 4
the ink of the scholar is more sacred then the
blood of the martyr
Journal Entry 5
Writing Assignment
Wisdom. Some old man with a cane? Prophets
rambling about the would-be, could-be, should-be?
Metaphors that take you a lifetime to decipher?
Or maybe a little girl spinning wildly under a
big maple tree as it pours its dry rain in a
stunning show of color. Of reds and oranges and
browns and greens and a pastel yellow dress
twirling through it all. Which of these is
wisdom? Clara Dishman. Everyone knew she was pecu
liar. You could just look at her and know that.
She seemed to have a complete disregard of what
the rest of us thought. She seemed to not care
about a thing in the world. She seemed about as
bright as a five year old. She seemed silent and
simple. She seemed. So she seemed. But maybe the
wisdom is knowing things are never as they seem.

  • I stepped last onto the bus, staring around
    fearfully at the seat, filled to overflowing with
    3 kids per seat, each and every one of them.
    People spilled into the aisles and it was a
    jungle of kids trapped in a giant yellow cage.
    Yet, third row from the front, in long flowing
    pastel yellow dress, staring out the window, sat,
    all alone, Clara Dishman. What could be the harm?
    She wont even notice me, right?
  • Wrong. Every kid on that bus was well aware of my
    strange decision. The bus grew silent for a
    moment, and then a slow hum of whispers. A slow
    hum turned to a steady growl. A steady growl
    turned into quickened chitchat. And alas, the bus
    restored itself back to yells and hollering and
    screaming of animals. Animals in a cage. She
    noticed me.
  • Yea. I really tried to make my voice sound like
    I didnt care. Who in their right mind would want
    to talk to the social outcast? The weird of the
    weird? The Clara Dishman? The girl that in a cage
    full of kids finds the only empty spot. She
    seemed like a curse, no one wanting to touch her.
    The leper of my elementary school.

  • Itd be a lot easier if everyone hushed a bit
    and sat down. We could all converse easier. And
    when someone needed to move, itd be less of a
    jungle and more of a simple feet moving from
    point A to point B. Converse? Who says that? She
    spoke with a certain glow though. I could not
    help but to be reeled in to her every word, as
    much as my reputation told me to back away slowly
    and run for your life.
  • I guess. I had to reply. Like a curse, her
    questions begged for an answer. So maybe my
    response wasnt as lengthy and verbose, but at
    least I acknowledged her? At least I graced the
    little weird kid with my awesome presence.
    Besides, after that she had no reply. Id stumped
    her! Or maybe just given her no material to
    continue a conversation off of. She looked back
    out the window with a hint of disappointment on
    her face.
  • I thought you were at least a little different.
    It was under her breath, but just loud enough to
    know she wanted me to hear that. Her curly brown
    hair in relaxed locks, flowing off her shoulders
    and complimenting her pale skin, matched her dark
    brown eyes and gave such a peculiar face.
    Peculiar like shed had the lowest expectations
    but the highest hope for you. A sense of
    disappointment, like when a baby messes up. You
    cant blame them, because they dont know any
    better. Thats the look she gave. Id never seen
    someone stare like that. Like they knew exactly
    who you were and what you were like. She wasnt
    stupid. She knew exactly how I was going to
    respond to her. But a certain hope made her try

  • It was like a jungle getting to this seat. Too
    bad I didnt have my machete. I tried to keep my
    eyes straightforward on the profanity carved into
    the seat in front, but I knew she had at least a
    little smile on her face. There, I did it. I
    engaged her. Social Suicide. Shed better make it
  • Well, you could just be me. Like a skunk.
    Everyone jumps out of my way in fear Ill do
    something terrible… or something, she said it
    like a joke, but I guess the funny part was
    supposed to be that it was true. I giggled, but
    in the back of my mind I couldnt help but to
    feel guilty. She was turning out not to be as bad
    as she seemed. Damnit.
  • The bus came to a halt and the doors opened,
    contents flooding out. The kids were like liquid,
    cramming into every crack and crevice to get out.
    I considered crowd surfing, and then I noticed
    Clara didnt even flinch from her seat. Are you
    coming to school?
  • Of course.
  • So…
  • Whats the point of getting stuck in that mess
    when I could wait sixty seconds and walk off, no
    trouble? Its not like Im so eager to get to
    school I cant wait a minute. Her logic was too
    true, and I could feel the slow stabs of rumors
    by the passerbys as I sat back down. Most weird
    kids are weird because of the way they talk. They
    know too much, and dont know anything about the
    social rules. She was different. She wasnt
    inept. She wasnt unaware. She just had something
    better to say and no one better to say it to. The
    guilt sunk in again, and a sudden urge to be
    impressive and say something logical and witty
    and profound.

  • I hate that show. That was my best shot. A
    television reference. I couldve smacked myself,
    but I didnt need her to think I was retarded and
  • What?
  • Uhm. Sixty seconds. Its a little television
    clip. Its just a little news report in between
    shows. Its, uh, sixty seconds long. Anyone else
    I wouldve said my soaps but I had a feeling
    knowing I watch television at all couldnt
    impress her.
  • Oh. Oh. She was completely disinterested. And
    the aisle began to clear up. I walked off and
    spent the rest of the day hoping that by the end
    Id have something interesting to say.
  • I exited school and saw a pastel yellow dress
    walking into the path through the woods. . What
    are you doing? Why would she walk? We lived five
    or six miles away itd take a couple of hours to
    comfortably walk back. My shows! Id miss my
    shows. Oh those stupid shows, they werent
    impressive anyways. I ran over to her. Why do
    you walk?
  • Its pretty and peaceful. For the first time I
    looked around. Leaves, of every color and type,
    carpeted the ground, and the trees lay like a web
    above us. The sun seeped through lazily and
    suddenly I think I said the right thing.
  • Lets play. I grabbed some leaves and threw
    them up in the air, making my own dry rain. Clara
    laughed and grabbed some more, throwing it up and
    twirling in it as it fell like poetry all around
    her. She was just a kid like a rest of us. But
    she seemed more then a kid. She was more then a
    kid. She had wisdom. She was wisdom. She was a
    little girl spinning wildly under a big maple
    tree as it pours its dry rain in a stunning show
    of color. Of reds and oranges and browns and
    greens and a pastel yellow dress twirling through
    it all.

My name is Mary And this is my son The rest have
died Starved, every one My name is Mary Its 1
929 Im 21 Without a dime Struggling through A
n economic depression With my son As my only pos
Someone grab a doctor! Someone grab a nurse! Get
this man some blood
And oxygen And a hurse.
Additional Writing Assignment
The most challenging assignment was my
additional piece, because it wasnt a structures
assignment. It was just a broad prompt. And the
requirement was to make it a 3 page story. (for
English class)
Im most proud of my character sketch, because I
got the most compliments on it.
Im not including my autobiography because its
not a good representation of my work.
Best Sentences.
  • I felt the water engulf me and flow sweetly as a
    ravenous boogieman.
  • I like this sentence because of the
    contradiction. You wouldnt associate sweet and
    ravenous. And its meant to be sarcastic, which
    tends to be a very hard thing to relay to
  • People spilled into the aisles and it was a
    jungle of kids trapped in a giant yellow cage.
  • I like this one because it shows how wonderful I
    am at giving imagery.