K. Keener, Teacher
Course Two
2017-2018
ENGLISH 9/10
Horace Greeley High School
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Two
2017-2018
Letter from the Teacher’s Desk Dear Readers,
The students below were asked to submit to this anthology with one question in mind: What writing are you most proud of from English class this year?
They submitted their choices to canvas. It wasn’t until after I stacked our class novels into the book closet, after I straightened my files and after submitted my grades to the main office, that I realized the gift they’d given me. The dust motes of Room L107 softly fell on empty desks. Yet the student voices in this anthology crowded the room. These snapshots of pride, cropped to a tight word limit, bring, as strong writing often does, an emotional resonance to our solitudes.
This year we tackled some tough subjects together: racism in To Kill A Mockingbird and Fences, love in Romeo and Juliet and war in Night and All Quiet on the Western Front. Along the way, we wrote together, ten minutes each day at the start of class and longer works once a cycle on topics as varied as the axioms of love, confederate monuments in the South and classification systems for modern life.
There is so much to be proud of outside of these pages below, but I hope that you will be able to see the hard work your students applied to big questions of humanity and smaller ones of who they are becoming.
Thank you for all of your support that runs invisible underneath all of the growth I witnessed this year,
K. A. Keener
English Teacher
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Course Two
2017-2018
Table of Contents Table of Contents
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A Somber New Life
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by Maddy A.
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The Impact of Anime on Western Society
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By Joe A.
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To Kill A Mockingbird (an excerpt from a literary analysis)
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By Hudson A.
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An excerpt from my All Quiet On The Western Front literary analysis 7 By Michael A.
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“Once Home” Writing Prompt
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by Zach A.
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Mid-May Writing Prompt
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by Jordan B
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Tenth Grade
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by Allison C.
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The World Inside a Clock
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By Lily C.
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Procrastination
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By Dmytro C.
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Midnight Run
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By Oliver F.
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The Darkest Dungeon Conundrum
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2017-2018
By Jackson G.
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A Letter to War Regarding Terror
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By Justin G.
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The Walkout
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By Arden H.
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Presents
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Sumehra Huq
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Observations of a Mall: Types of Shoppers
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By Anjali J.
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Sprinklers
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By Melody L.
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Types of Drivers in a Traffic Jam
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By Lauren L.
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Connie
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By Jonah L.
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Fear
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By Charlotte N.
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Imitation of Joyce Carol Oates
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By Daniel P.
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Thoughts On Love
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By Lily S.
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SuperFan
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By Sam S.
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K. Keener, Teacher
Course Two
2017-2018
A Somber New Life by Maddy A.
If we had known our true fate as we stepped off of the train, our souls would have died right then. If we had known that our tattered clothes and weak bodies were the only remnants that would give us the slightest taste of home, our souls would have died right then. If we had known what these months ahead of us entailed, our souls would have died right then. The monstrosity that lied behind the iron gates was waiting to sweep us up into its storm and never let us go. It would shake us mercilessly, waiting for us to shrivel up and never awake again. The struggle that awaited us was unimaginable to our pure minds; untouched by Hitler’s fingers of death. My soles hit the gravel as the weight of the masses of my neighbors and I rushed off of the train. Every part of me trembled with a concoction of fear and anger--a sensation that I had never felt before. I was so alone as I was surrounded by sobs and goodbyes. The scent of food or taste of it hadn’t touched our senses in days. Our stomachs craved freedom; but all we were to receive on our plates were molded pieces bread.
My imprisoned life was ruled by the Nazi soldiers. As Hitler was the game master behind his collections of buttons and levers, the men that chose to support him were participating in his ploy. They were the ones that pulled the triggers on the innocent people, the ones that ordered the men and women to dig their own graves, the ones that sat and watched my people starve to death. And there I was--being tossed around like a plastic chip on a board. My life was hijacked; I’d never been more scared to lose a game.
The Impact of Anime on Western Society By Joe A.
Anime has become a huge part of Western entertainment in the past 30 years with it being very commonly known. Despite this the definition of anime has been altered and been discarded over this transpired time. When you hear the word anime what do you think of? Most likely you think of the most successful anime in the West; such as Dragon Ball Z and Naruto. These anime are very close to the ideal that most Americans see anime as. According to Google anime is “a style of Japanese film and television animation, typically aimed at adults as well as children.” These anime and many more have had a noticeable impact not just on the kids watching these anime but on the Horace Greeley High School
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entertainment industry in general. The addition of these new, drama filled, animated shows that had a linear interconnected story appealed to all masses, from kids to adults. This allowed for networks to take larger risks with newer shows that previously would have been lower quality time blocks for adolescents to now become action packed fully animated stories. American comic books were now being adapted into their own long running series such as The Batman or The Justice League. This is a parallel to the ways mangas in Japan were being adapted to anime. Kids watching these shows in the 80s were now inspired to tell stories through the influences they had seen as a kid. Those children are now the adults of today and they have been able to unleash to the world in their own ways – whether this may be through a manga, anime, comic book or cartoon.
Despite these positives that have come out due to anime debuting in the West there has also been a lot of conflict that has started to bubble recently. Due to the impact of anime there has naturally been influences drawn from that in Western animation. This has caused a blurring of the lines in the true definition of an anime…
To Kill A Mockingbird (an excerpt from a literary analysis) By Hudson A.
In the book To Kill A Mockingbird, the implicit bias they shows is racial bias. There are many references to this in the novel and is best shown in Bob Ewell’s character during and after the trial of Tom Robinson. It is also shown in the character of Lula when Calpurnia brings Scout and Jem to the First Purchase church, and also when Jem, Scout and Dill talk about the biracial children in Maycomb. The most racist person in ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ would be Bob Ewell. He shows how racist he can be during the trial of Tom Robinson. During his testimony against Tom Robinson he says, “I’ve asked the county for fifteen years to clean out that nest down yonder, they’re dangerous to live around sides devaluing my property”(pg. 175). Bob Ewell shows what he feels towards negroes like Tom Robinson, in that he considers them trash, dirty, useless and should be cleared out of Maycomb. Bob Ewell also accuses the negroes of being dangerous to the Maycomb folks as they would steal their property. After the trial and Tom Robinson’s death, Bob Ewell holds grudges on Atticus, Judge Taylor and Tom’s wife Helen. What he attempts to do to Atticus just for defending Tom Robinson is kill his kids, but in the end the life that is taken is his own. Bob Ewell’s hate for blacks lead to his own death. That’s how far he was willing to go.Bob Ewell may be the worst when it comes to racism on the white side, but there is another side of that scale and it is best shown in Lula. The church that Calpurnia and Lula attend the Church, only black people are allowed to attend the church. When Calpurnia brought Jem and Scout to the church, Lula stopped them after they walked in and told Calpurnia, “You ain’t got no business bringin’ white children he’re – they got their church and we ours'”(pg. 119). Lula’s reaction to the white children can be viewed as her being segregated or her acceptance in the town. She thinks, since we are already segregated,why not just segregate everywhere. Dill, Scout, and Jem are not racist but they do talk about the biracial children in town. Jem talks about the biracial children when he says that “colored folks won’t have’em because they’re half white: white folks won’t have them because they’re half black”(pg. 83). This shows the social racism in the town of Maycomb. That has not stopped the discrimination against any group of people right up to this very moment. The group of people that is treated most Horace Greeley High School
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unequally is made up of biracial children and teens. There are many themes in ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’, but racial bias is the main theme. It is shown clearly in Bob Ewell at the time of Tom Robinson’s trial, Lula at the church, and during the scene when Scout, Jem, and Dill are talking about the biracial children in Maycomb.
An excerpt from my All Quiet On The Western Front literary analysis By Michael A.
How do soldiers think in war? Does their mind change at all? Do their experiences shape who they are? In All Quiet On The Western Front, we read from the perspective of Paul Baumer and get a first person view of all his accounts. War changed Paul emotionally. During the time when Kemmerich, his fellow soldier, is dying Paul learns to disconnect from some emotions like grief sympathy and fear. War is nothing like the stories people tell because a true war story isn't uplifting. There are some lessons that can be learned war but they aren't lessons that can teach people good things. Amongst all the killing soldiers can show a sense of morality and can show compassion towards their enemies. In All Quiet On The Western Front Paul is a good example of how this is true.
When Paul wanted to go into war he went in thinking it was glorious and honorable. During war he realizes the horrible truth that war and everything involved with it is extremely awful. When Paul reflects on war he comes to the conclusion that “[He] knows nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow.” Although soldiers are supposed to be ruthless killing machines some find a sense of morality within themselves. When Paul reflects on himself and his experiences he shows how war has changed the way he used to perceive it. War, war never changes. It will always remain the same. War changes your whole life. Paul went from being a happy boy to knowing nothing of life but despair. For his mindset to shift so drastically means he understands what is morally right and wrong.
“Once Home” Writing Prompt by Zach A.
Once home, I got changed into my clothes for synagogue. We left during the supper hours and returned home late. I always sat next to my father and sister because my mother did not like it when I whispered during the prayers. I disliked synagogue because I thought of it as a waste of time which I could be using to play soccer. After the dreaded prayers had ended, my family and I walked home through the streets with other friends. One night I remember noticing a poster with a man on it. He had a weird looking mustache and a red patch on his left arm. The poster said, “Stimme für Hitler” meaning “Vote for Hitler.” This was in old poster from a month ago. There was a date at the bottom.
The following morning I was running very late to school. My friends had left without me and I had forgotten to put on my tie but I thought it did not matter if I forgot to wear my tie. When I rushed into class I instantly took my seat and began to give an explanation for why I was late. Then almost Horace Greeley High School
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three quarters of the way into mathematics class these men walked in with a portrait of the math from the poster by the synagogue. The man, Hitler, looked proud. During this time my teacher announced that we now had a new leader and that he would be a good one. I then looked out into the square and men with guns were everywhere. They rushed into businesses. The first was the bakery. They brought the man out into the square and started to push him around, they were just toying around I guess. As my teacher went on and on about the Pythagorean Theorem more and more men walked through the hallway with the huge portraits of Hitler. Then a gunshot went off. I looked out the window and the other students followed. It was the baker. He had been murdered and his business was ransacked.
Mid-May Writing Prompt by Jordan B
There is always someone inside me who is not yet me, but is me yet who questions me is not really me at all.
As she is, shouldn’t she leave when I want to feel proud or sure of the things I have done or said whereas she thinks the things I have done or said weren’t really things at all?
If i’m acting like a child, when I want to act what I feel, why does she come in and put down on those actions and words child me was so sure of seconds before.
This voice strikes a nerve, where the little pieces of remorse that are adding up for my transgressions, lie.
She speaks her mind.
As if to say I should not have done those things that she regrets, the things she who is inside of me, who is not yet me, but is me yet who questions me but is not really me at all, finds appalling.
But what is the really appalling thing, the thing I cannot wrap my mind around, is why she who is inside of me, who is not yet me, but is me yet who questions me but is not really me at all, is never there when child me acts the actions and words in the spur of the moment to depict what she feels?
Tenth Grade by Allison C.
It was like one of those high-speed asian monorails which only went in one direction across the world. It was smooth sailing in its shiny sleek design placed in the middle of the slowest of the Metro North. Despite defying all speeding laws coffee cups did not rattle, and passengers didn’t quake on the 10th grade monorail despite turning on the wrong track or having random pebbles shot at you along the way, but that was fine, nothing a little sharpie couldn’t fix. It was fine up until the railroad missed about 44 stops on its transcontinental line, and so on its next go around the world it took in an angry mob of passengers who honestly would have sued had they not had had
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2017-2018
personal pursuits in far away lands. Each cart full to the brim with anger, and hatred towards this stupid metal trash can. But once the mess of passengers was delivered it was back to a high speed monorail cruising the rusted and drained tracks of America until one day those cars, those small vehicles of motion, appeared at the crossing, as the lights flashed and the gates shifted parallel, And the absurdly high speed monorail was simply going too fast to stop.
The World Inside a Clock By Lily C.
How can so many different worlds happen in the same tick of a clock? Strangely, this is something consumes much of my thought process at times, and when it does, it’s as if I’m stuck in the same alternate universe I’m dreaming of. As I eat scrambled eggs, I think about all the people who are having filet mignon. As snowflakes appear and we’re on the brink of winter, I think about everyone who gets to wake up to the sight of clear blue water and white sand in 80 degree weather. As I am sick, I think about all the people who have it worse. It is quite fascinating when you attempt to rationalize all of the things that are occurring just in this millisecond everywhere in the world, no matter if it is as small as sneezing, or as large and intimidating as death. As I begin to imagine this virtually unimaginable idea, it spreads across the entire area of my brain to the degree of utter awe. I silently yet subtly say to myself: How many people were created in this second? How many lives were worst? Shortly, I am stuck in an entire different dimension, as I blankly beam into space, as my jaw subconsciously plunges. The momentum antes up, and my mind begins to chase its tail around and around until every muscle in my body lightly shivers, and my eyes realign with reality. Or so I thought… every speck of senses I attain speeds up until my mind crashes like a skyscraper gradually toppling over. The thoughts get even crazier, and even further past the invisible line of limitations. There are too many aspects to the world, and the species that exist, that the thoughts are a continuous freight train that won’t seem to end until I have officially freaked myself out. You have now witnessed the thoughts that travel along the track of my brain as I fall asleep each night, with deeper unanswered questions. So, how do you feel?
Procrastination By Dmytro C.
It was a normal night in my household, but something was wrong. Maybe upstairs in a young boys room where he should be doing his work. But is he? No. He is attempting to revive the roots of his past by playing Minecraft. Why is this kid trying to revive his past? Because he recently watched a video on youtube of a youtuber playing minecraft after 5 years. Why was he on youtube? Because he saw a recent instagram post saying Logan Paul has posted some quality content of a forest in japan. The train of thought within procrastination is unpredictable, and some people could probably procrastinate for whole day. What was I procrastinating about you may ask? Basically all my homework. Did I do it in the end? Absolutely… Not. This feeling of failure and disapproval takes over, and say goodbye to HW 5.01, or todays math HW. I get into my own world, a feeling that homework is obsolete, that maybe I might do it later. But I don't. It's usually 11:25 and i'm staring at my phone and might think. “Maybe we could do it now” But Bethany Motas facebook is more of the Horace Greeley High School
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priority, and I continue to watch her make up tutorials as time flies. But after my “procrastination session” I see that i do learn some great facts and a piece of mind, probably the only advantage.
Midnight Run By Oliver F.
“At the time I already knew how the Midnight runs were handled, a small group of kids get together, drive to the city, and hand out food and clothes to the homeless. As we arrived to our first stop, one by one the homeless lined up for our van, hoping to get a perfect sized pair of pants or a fair share of chicken soup. I got right to work and quickly started feeding their demands. I noticed a man sitting on a bench just looking on from a distance, he had a Santa like beard that made me smile. I felt the need to walk over with a bag of goodies and ask the man if he wanted any food. As I started talking to him, I realized he could not understand me, so I asked the same questions in Spanish hoping to make a connection. His face lit up when he realized we shared a common hispanic heritage, thanking me with his toothless smile. I sat down next to him and talked to him for what seemed to be more than an hour, he confided that he had not had a warm meal in the past two days, making me feel guilty of my privileged upbringing. I advised him how and where he could access free meals and clothing. This interaction made me realize how important it is to be proactive when trying to make a difference, if I hadn't approached the man, I would have missed a valuable opportunity to help a person in need.”
The Darkest Dungeon Conundrum By Jackson G.
On the subject of Choiceless Choices, one notable work that comes to mind is Darkest Dungeon, a video game which I have recently had the pleasure of playing. Darkest Dungeon is based on the premise of an aristocrat trying to reclaim his (or her) ancient family home from the demonic forces of something called the Darkest Dungeon, a literal portal to hell in the basement of the ruined manor.
First among the choiceless choices is the choice to try and retake the Manor itself. The aristocrat (the main character) can either live in poverty and ignominy, or use countless lives on a potentially vain effort to retake their ancestral home. Either way, there’s likely very little to no winning it.
Another choiceless choice that will almost certainly come up is whether to retreat and lose treasure and a quest, or press on and potentially (or even certainly) lose the lives of valued heroes. Similarly, it’s always a losing situation, but the losses are different.
A third choiceless choice that’s impossible to avoid is whether to maintain the light. To maintain the light in a dungeon, you need torches. To get torches, you need money. If the light is maintained, there is less risk to your heroes, but also less reward for your risks. If the light is gone, however, battles are far more dangerous but also far more profitable, even more so with the money saved on torches.
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The last and arguably most important choiceless choice is what to carry, treasure, or provisions? A pack weighed down with gold and such can’t also carry shovels and bandages. The more treasure your adventurers risk bringing along, the less provisions in your pack. If you don’t bring back enough money, you might not be able to afford provisions for the next one, but if you don’t have enough provisions, your adventuring heroes may not even GET to the next expedition.
This game, as it itself states, is about making the best of a bad situation. By definition, it includes tons of choiceless choices for the player to wrangle with, and ultimately, that’s one of the reasons I love it.
A Letter to War Regarding Terror By Justin G. July 2, 1916
Dear War,
I just don’t understand; today was yet another tough day. It just feels like every decade you are getting worse and worse. I had some duties in Somme today, down in France. I had to deal with over 30,000 soldiers in just the past 24 hours, and nearly another 40,000 were barely able to escape my hold, although I’m sure that I’ll eventually have to deal with them as well. To me, they’re all the same－just bodies at the end of the day. I still can’t comprehend what differences these people seem to see in one another, at least enough that they feel it is necessary to pull you into the solution.
Your wrath is making my job so much more difficult, to the point that it is getting out of hand. Back in the day, I feel like it used to be much more reason based, but today, you are just happening as a result of pure stupidity and ignorance. Every time the humans feel the need to consult you to solve their problems, it just ends terribly for them, and despite that fact, they keep coming back.
I don’t know what it is, but somehow, you manage to destroy everything around them, while giving me quite the duty of cleaning up, and yet, they just keep on demanding your service, with as much innocence each time as the last.
I can’t deny that this job is beginning to grow old for even me. I’m in charge of dealing with the mess that you start, and the larger problem is that I don’t even see an end to this repetitive madness in sight. The humans just keep coming back for more. I could never understand what they found to be attractive about you. Why would they want me to intervene in their lives prematurely, again and again?
I hate to admit it, but sometimes even I feel guilty about having to involve myself in the humans’ affairs. I mean, I know that they are the ones who summon you, who choose to accept the risk of me stepping in, and who fail to consider the recurrent consequences that you have posed since the beginning of time, yet there is still something problematic in my mind about taking away so many at Horace Greeley High School
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one time. Maybe I’m getting soft, or maybe I’m just now figuring out that I can’t deal with this disorder any longer.
Either way, I can’t go on. It is either we both stop now or they will finish themselves. And I swear, they will finish themselves.
Sincerely,
Death
The Walkout By Arden H.
The walkout was such a mix of emotions for me. Before it happened, I remember thinking that it was impossible for Greeley to be the change that I so badly wanted for the world. It was ludicrous to honestly buy into a bunch of people believing that by walking in a circle around a parking lot, we were changing something. I did it anyway because I felt it was the only option I had to show my support. While standing in the mass of people, there was no respect. There was no silence or contemplation or reflection. No remembrance of the lives of those people who were watching over us. Instead people were talking. They were laughing. They were on their phones and taking selfies. There was no silence. Not even for seventeen minutes. All that I had hoped, not even for the world, but just for our school, disintegrated in the matter of a single second. I felt anger swell within me. If the victims were truly looking down on us, this is what they were seeing. An excuse to get out of class. An opportunity to claim that you were a part of the change. We all lost an opportunity that day. In a crowd of people, I was just one person who was silent. I lost an opportunity. I walked inside and stared at the post its. I wondered if the kids who wrote them really
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ever thought long and hard about what happened. I wonder what their faces looked like when they wrote them. Were they laughing at something over their shoulder? Were they concentrating on something they had planned to write for hours? I had sat there for ten minutes staring at that little yellow square and even with all of the thoughts swimming through my head, I couldn’t manage to put one of them on the paper.
Presents Sumehra Huq
There are people who give presents to people they’ve never met. These people see something that should be done, and rather that sit there and watch a child not get a present on Christmas, they give them something to cherish and love. No matter how big or small the present is, the child knows that there are people who care. Being cared for is a luxury that people usually take for granted, but when a person does something as small as buying a gift for someone they’ve never met, the person feels like there are people who think about them. The people who buy gifts for children or grown people that they haven’t even met are not doing it to make themselves look better than everyone else, they are doing it out of the goodness of their heart. Some even gift others anonymously to make sure that nobody thanks them for doing something that any decent person would do. There are those who have millions of dollars, but won’t give anything extra to anyone, even people they know. But, there are others who make a paltry amount of money, and feel sympathy when they see a child holding a sign made of cardboard on the streets of New York City. And instead of watching them suffer with a small amount of clothes on their back, they give them something that will put a smile on their face. Whether it is a shirt, or a small toy, this child now has something to remember the day that someone cared about them. The spirit of Christmas may seem like something everyone has, but it is not. Everyone wants a present or something to remember this holiday with. If there was nobody who cared about them and nobody who thought about them, they would not have happy memories of this happy holiday. It would be hard to think about a day such as Christmas and be happy without a nicely wrapped present with trees on the wrapping paper and a bow wrapped all around. All people around the world deserve the same treatment during Christmas, and the people who give presents without and intention of getting something in return, are the one who carry out their mission. Not all people are willing to do this, not because of money, because of their lack of sympathy. Some people walk down a busy street in New York City and don’t notice a family of four sitting in a corner with messy writing written on a piece of cardboard asking for food and money. Some people are too busy to notice that others are not as lucky as them, and rather than parading around in their expensive suits, they should be sharing what they have a large amount of. It is not just about giving presents on Christmas, it is about who wants to help people make a living and who wants to keep living their life with all of their luxuries without a care in the world that there are people who have bigger families, but nothing to support them with.
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Observations of a Mall: Types of Shoppers By Anjali J.
Sitting on a bench, I observed the poeple at the mall. I quickly noticed a difference in some shoppers. Some had a shopping obsession while others seemed to be allergic to shopping. I lean towards the shopping obsession side, but I don’t know if that is better or worse. I needed to analyze each side to further understand.
The first type to be analyzed is the Tick Each Box Off My List Shopper who has one of the most organized lives. This shopper has been planning out their entire life since high school. They know what classes they were going to take and strive for the hardest ones. They know when every significant moment is going to happen for them, they already know the names of their future kids and where they are going to live. They park their car, and quickly walk into the specific shops they are intending to go to. They pull out their list on a customized notepad from Etsy and check off each item as it is placed into the basket. Check, there goes one of the various items in the basket and now it is checked off the list. Quickly, the shopper pays and get out of the store, they don't browse or consider buying anything other than what was planned to be purchased. Efficiency is the goal. Shop, pay, leave. This person does not find much happiness when shopping opposed to other types of shoppers such as The Shopaholic.
The Shopaholic certainly finds happiness in shopping as this shopper lives and breathes shopping, and they have a shopping addiction. Anything to do with their favorite shops or any shop in general, they will know. The new sale at Nordstrom. The release of a new eyeshadow palette at Sephora. The restock of a pair of red boots at Bloomingdales. This shopper will know about it. They are like a shopping encyclopedia and could go on and on about specific items and their weakness is when they pass buy that shopping window, they just cannot resist. The mannequin wearing the red scarf and the newest beret capture their eye. They walk into the store and find out that there is no way they can purchase that. They walk out. But, twenty minutes later, they are back at that shop swiping the credit card to buy those items. They reorganize their future purchases so that the one they have just made will not inflict their bank account too much. Oh I will just not go to the mall for a few weeks to make up for this purchase. It’s fine. This can work. I can totally go a few weeks without the mall. That is a promise they know they cannot keep.
After analyzing these shoppers, I was soon to realize that I am living the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic. I have no hope of becoming a Tick Each Box Off My List Shopper in the near future.
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Sprinklers By Melody L.
My fingers trace my rifle,
The tips of my nails scratching the surface, my hand pressing against the trigger,
Like a french horn in the orchestra.
The screams of pain are heard as a distant melody, singing in unison,
As a flute would scream to be heard.
They pile the dead, legs limp, and forgotten,
Eyes glazed with the suns haze,
Like the plush skin of a child in the summertime.
The mud beneath my feet, hot and bubbling, consumes my ankles with every step,
Like the wet grass from a backyard sprinkler.
The pain within me, fazed, almost frozen in time,
It seems like an old photograph, with faded smiles and faded memories.
The bullets in my head, are my scars of the war,
Not those in my leg, nor the scrapes on my face.
The metaphorical blood that constantly spills out of me, takes away the hope of ever running through the sprinklers,
Hearing the melodies,
Feeling the sun hit my skin,
Listening to my orchestra.
I will only ever hear the screams, the rifles.
I will only ever feel the bubbling mud, the trigger against my skin.  
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Types of Drivers in a Traffic Jam By Lauren L.
-an excerpt from my Classification Essay based on the idea of types of drivers when stuck in traffic.
Traffic. Yeah, I saw that face you just made.
It's the morning. I stuff my last folder into my bag and shut the front door to my house. I turned around and fiddled with the door knob one extra time just to make sure that I had closed it properly. I then ran into the car and quickly buckled up, because mom tends to get frantic when it comes to beating the “Greeley Traffic”, if you will. My ride to school each morning, which should take a total of 6 minutes, now is more like 26 minutes, but it's better than taking the bus, right? So when I'm sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s car, I’m left with ample time to scan over all sorts of people who partake on this treacherous journey of Crossing the Saw Mill. So for the past few days, I put down my phone and start to classify the people who I see in the cars around me. Let me tell you, the time went by much faster when I did so.
We've all experienced and further hated traffic before. And some more than others know the extreme agitation that comes along with it. With the great amount of people who slam the roads at one time, it is no surprise that they are left with brutal traffic. These traffic jams are a trap, it is up to no one but ourselves to decide how we wish to pass the time.
So we’re driving, well not really driving, crawling is the right word. I see this guy, he's candy coated in a suit and tie, and drives a Audi sedan. The black-chic-gets-it-washed-every-other-day kind of car. To me he seems like someone who is Over-Worried. He is definitely the person who is a perfectionist when it comes to being on time.
I envisioned him getting into his car with an ultra-planned out day ahead. One that is sketched along their little planner notebook that he got on sale at Barnes and Nobles. He set off for the day ahead and began to drive. He could not imagine being even five minutes late, you’re more likely to see them arrive five minutes early. His google-docs presentation speaker notes are folded in the cup holder for his board meeting today, and he is frantically repeating his lines while the morning mashup plays faintly in the background. The orange glow is slowly being lifted over the horizon, like a puppet on strings.
Connie By Jonah L.
Her parents and sister were going to a barbecue at an aunt’s house and Connie reluctantly agreed rolling her eyes to show her mother that she didn’t actually really want to go. She jumped into the car painted a dark red that almost looks black at night. Her father grabbed the wheel and they slowly backed out of the driveway the gravel crunching beneath the car. As they drove Connie looked around at the trees shining an emerald green in the warmth of the sun.
Horace Greeley High School
16
K. Keener, Teacher
Course Two
2017-2018
They arrived at the house coming to a screeching stop almost missing the entrance to the long driveway that lead to a light blue house that didn’t seem quite right. The windows were dark and gloomy as though someone was watching them from the other side. The door had scratches as if it were used as a target for archery practice.
Behind her a man pulls into the driveway in a black convertible that had no license plate. He carefully opened the door of the car so as to not hit anything. He was wearing sunglasses and looked to be in his mid forties, around her parent’s age. As he stepped out she saw something alarming in his hand. She was able to make out a handle attached to a round cylinder. Her hands started to shake and her heart felt like it was growing. She was almost positive that the man was holding a gun. Connie closed her eyes, drew a deep breath desperately trying to figure out how to warn her family but all she could do was watch. Her chest almost dropped to the floor with relief when the man was only holding a cane.
Fear By Charlotte N.
There are some things I do not fear because of where I was born. When I was younger I grew up in the city for a few years, it was a nice neighborhood, didn't really understand anything about crimes and bad people , I didn't understand anything at the time. Then we moved to Chappaqua a nice place not a lot going on and I never thought twice about anything bad happening, I still don't. Over the summer at camp I met a few people who came from a pretty bad part of Yonkers, they were nice they talked a little more ghetto which i thought was funny but it fit in. One day they told all of these crazy stories and how on a weekly bases they would hear gunshots, stabbings in the house next to them, etc. To them this was normal but to my own “innocent” self this was the scariest thing because this is something that never happens here. It's interesting to see these peoples worries and way of life when my worries are how well I did on my last test.
Imitation of Joyce Carol Oates By Daniel P.
With clammy hands Connie picked up the telephone, the house suddenly missing her unheard screams. She let tears stream down her face as if that would make the situation better. The sweat pouring down was enough to fill a pool. In the faint distance, she could hear Arnold's raspy voice calling for her to come into his loving arms. “Help, Help!!” screamed Connie who wanted to be at the barbecue with the rest of her family. She felt as weak as a paper bag flying in the windy air.
Arnold screamed, “Come out here all lady-like and go for a drive with me. I won’t ask again!”
Connie anxiously replied, “How dare you trespass on my lawn and ask for me to come with you! I can call the cops and get you arrested for such a crime!”
Arnold didn’t even budge. Beginning to feel faint, muscles cramping up, Connie picked up the phone again. The dial tone kept ringing louder and louder. Connie’s head continued to throb as if Horace Greeley High School
17
K. Keener, Teacher
Course Two
2017-2018
there was no end to the pain. She breathlessly screamed for her family to come home and see what was happening. She wasn’t sure if going with Arnold would the right decision. Suddenly she felt a great deal of pain in her leg. Her vision blurred and she could hear the faint sound of a dial tone in the darkness. All of a sudden the noises stopped and the darkness engulfed her.
Her head ringing, she woke up and the phone dropped out of her hand. She dialed 9-1-1 but it failed to respond. She tried to make a fist, but knew how weak she was: too tired to fight. The pain in her leg started up again, but this time worse.
Arnold howled, “Connie, you get out here right this instant, or else I am coming in to get you!”
Connie frantically reattempted 9-1-1. She heard a ringing and then it stopped. She kept pushing the phone buttons over and over again and nothing happened. A tear dropped on the dial pad as she pressed it one last time.
Suddenly, an operator responded, “9-1-1 what’s your emergency?”
“Help me,” Connie replied in a soft breathless voice….
Thoughts On Love By Lily S. We are all star-crossed when it comes to love. To love, and to be loved is true bliss. Two lovers willing to journey to abstract dereliction define the true meaning of a love beyond what is possible. One of the greatest wonders in the world is how to learn to love, and in return, be loved. It’s a deep, sensuous, magical affliction of pain and glory, wrapped into a feeling. Somehow, love is apparent in every word, action and reflection. Love falls into the hands of those who still hope, even though they have been let down, to those who believe even though they have been deceived and to those who still care even though they have every reason not to. In the world, stories are the most powerful forms of communication. They are not limited to any one thing, but can be perceived in so many different ways by all different people. We often find ourselves reading about love, due to the absolutely thrilling encounters for which love yields. Some people view literature about love as “fluffy” or “not worth reading.” These people perceive novels with romance as a false view on what a relationship looks like. They argue that these kinds of books are not deep enriching stories and are clouded as an inferior genre. Yet, there are many important reasons for reading literature about romance. Reading of love allows others to have a better insight into relationships. They are able to learn the right and wrongdoings of the characters, and in turn, understand what is acceptable or looked down upon in a relationship. From this, we learn about love, hope about love and ultimately keep turning the page, seeking for an answer to love.
Horace Greeley High School
18
K. Keener, Teacher
Course Two
2017-2018
SuperFan By Sam S.
-an excerpt from a Classification Essay on the type of fans
You’ve probably seen her, and if not, it’s because she’s way at the front of the line. She’s been waiting for the concert since the crack of dawn. It’s barely above freezing out (without taking windchill into account), and all that separates her from the frigid air is her carefully curated concert attire, complete with band tee centerpiece. Cold and proud, she flaunts her band merchandise like it’s her most prized possession--it just might be. This isn’t her first time waiting through hours of discomfort to see her beloved band play. In fact, she went through this whole ordeal for last night’s show, and plans to do the same tomorrow. She’s the Super Fan. Driven by passion (and quite possibly insanity), she will stop at nothing to see her band perform live, or to make her love for them known.
You may share my ambivalence: “do I envy her devotion or do I mock her over-investment?” It’s the age-old question. Yes, her commitment is admirable. At times, you even feel belittled by her level of fandom, as you thought yourself a dedicated fan until you witnessed her own adoration, which is, without a doubt, miles ahead of yours. It almost seems as if it’s her intention is to minimize you, using her commitment as a tool to deride those that she feels are inferior and to uplift herself. Even so, it’s nothing to plague yourself over. Keep in mind that there is a very thin line between commitment and obsession, and on what side the Super Fan falls is yet to be ascertained. The opinion of a person whose life encompasses a music group doesn’t determine your self-worth.
Horace Greeley High School
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