Common Ground S i d n e y
L a n i e r
L i t e r a r y
H i g h
S c h o o l
J o u r n a l
In this edition: Westside poetry harvests pride in our community
Memoirs and novels and poems, oh my!
...and more
2014-2015 Issue 1
vokscreativewriting@gmail.com Page 2
Common Ground S i d n e y
L a n i e r
H i g h
L i t e r a r y
J o u r n a l
T a b l e
C o n t e n t s
o f
Westside Poetry
S c h o o l
page 5
Original pieces inspired by the truths, myths, and stereotypes of life on the Westside. Memoir
page 17
Lifeâ€&#x;s meaningful memories translated into memoirs that highlight the emotional ups and downs. Poetry
page 21 Freedom of expression in its finest poetic form.
Short Story
page 25
Conflict, plot twists, and surprises you can experience in one sitting. Novel Excerpts
page 31
Future bestsellers at their inception.
Front Cover: Carvajal Early Childhood students prepare for a skit performance for senior citizens at Good Samaritan Community Center. Opposite Page: The program for the poetry performance highlighted the original and creative works of early childhood learners as well as high school students. This performance was part of the Spurs Team Up Challenge grant.
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Hello! The Creative Writing program at Lanier High School has become a hub for emerging poets, authors, and unique thinkers. Approximately 100 students participate in creative writing classes daily, and even more write on their own—at their homes, on the bus, in the cafeteria—and help foment the voice of imagination here at Lanier. Every day, students write and share noteworthy original pieces, and every day, their words impact their peers. This collection is just a small portion of the illuminating work produced within the walls of, to quote a Lanier student, “the school that has no windows.” It goes without saying that there is more to come. Please come see us if you have any questions about the Creative Writing program. We would love to chat with you. Kerri Ward and Tiffany Jenkins
Follow us... Lanier Creative Writing
Lanier Creative Writing is participating in the Spurs Team Up Challenge.
@vokscreativewriting
Follow us and help support our efforts to promote literacy on the Westside
Voks CW
through writing, performing, and collaborating!
Voks CW @Lanier_CW
Page 4
#iTeamUp
Westside W r i t i n g
Poetry
i n s p i r e d
b y
o u r
l i v e s
Hidden Talents Janely W. Hidden talents and mistaken stereotypes is a little place I call home. Not just my home, but everyone‟s home once they‟ve lived here. Many people can‟t call this home because they‟ve been scared away by what they‟ve heard, like shootings and fights at every corner or broken families that have no chance, but something they didn‟t realize is that it takes brokenness to make a person stronger and sometimes—no, not sometimes, all the time, ALL THE TIME—that brokenness produces talent. Talent that you can‟t find just anywhere else, talent like those beautiful murals you see on every street, talent like those three guys always together always rapping, rapping their life story, saying things like, “life‟s a hard pill to swallow hard and very hollow,” talent like all of us creative writers, talent like me „cause I have a passion to sing. And there‟s much more, but these talents may never be discovered thanks to the outsiders that come in and tell us about stereotypes that don‟t apply to us. But, no, they won‟t stop us for long because we have something to show this world. Something that‟s too big to be contained on the Westside. Something that needs to be heard and it WILL be heard.
Murals
Westside
Viviana R.
Ileana V.
Drawing on walls with
I am proud to be
Childhood Lego pieces that
From the Westside of this town
Are colored on bricks
And always will be
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Westside Js Roger R. Be careful. He's from the Westside. Look! He's wearing blue. He must be in a gang. He has paint on his hands; he must tag. He coughed; he must be doing drugs! Let me describe you in one word: stereotypical. It's typical how a person like you who doesn't have any idea of my life can be so judgmental. This blue shirt represents the mighty Voks, the pride of the Westside. My pride is so bright that I must wear my colors to show the world that I can finish high school. This paint on my hands is from the creativity I splattered on paper. The painting you see in my class will soon be hanging in a museum next to Mona Lisa for the world to see. My cough. Well, that's from me being sick of your stereotypes of who we are. We are so much more than "gangsters" or the low-life kids who will never succeed. We are the kids with big dreams. I am proud to say that I am a Westsider. I am a fighter and a writer. I'll use my words to knock your head straight. So before you can talk, walk in my Js.
Lanier creative writers and poets celebrate a successful poetry performance for senior citizens at Good Samaritan Community Center.
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46 Degrees Dominique A. 46 degrees. You walk inside knowing you'll shed the pounds of clothing you have on and be warm, like the warmth you felt as your mother held you close, and know you'll be okay. You relax and feel the warmth envelop you as you go off to bed without a thought about the people who walk inside their homes and can't take those jackets, hoodies, and sweats off. You don't think about the people—the people like me. No, I'm not homeless because I have a home. I have a home, a house with holes and cracks (you woulda thought I was homeless). I'm a poor girl standing in front if you telling you it's 46 degrees. I'm cold and I come home to stay in that bundle of clothes because my house is just as cold inside as it is outside. You remember your mother‟s warmth when she gave you hugs „cause you were upset; I remember my mother‟s caring, holding arms as she had four girls on one bed trying to stay warm for the night. 46 degrees: grab your blanket and drift to sleep and dream of the sun as it shines on your face and know you‟re okay. 46 degrees: I pile blanket on top of blanket you would have thought I was making a blanket mountain. 17 years old and the arms of my mother is where I wanna be because the warmth she gave puts those blankets to shame. So 46 degrees, come as you may and I'll chatter my teeth and my spine will shiver. I'll suffer through this winter. 45 degrees and it keeps getting colder. 41 degrees and it just keeps getting colder. 35 degrees. Don't you wish it was 46 degrees?
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Heaven’s People Cortez B., Jacob L., and Mark T. (Cortez)
TBH this world is hard to compute
Walking „round the side of the forsaken
There are many flukes, people getting
Walking „round impatient Everybody‟s feeling vacant Invasions of pain inside my mind while contemplating Not feeling this myself so I‟m making this compilation Trynna move in stasis while sharing
played like a flute With my words crowds get moved from my verse Its absurd rap sermon U can observe please learn there's a lot of stress that I burn Lots I gotta learn just to earn
knowledge that‟s ancient
Till the urn
We living in the west where pride rivals a
I look around this town feeling we all
nation
drowned, so if I'm talking deep I‟m sorry,
Plus we going to a school, blue pride, we
I‟m senile
making statements
I‟m so young, but my soul‟s so old
Hold on
As I‟m walking through this side of the
It‟s a cycle, day to day, let‟s put the city on pages I do this daily The life I live is calm, but a bomb surrounds my cadence Empty streets are mazes maybe I could
forsaken Underneath the skin this side‟s filled with greatness And with patience everybody can make it „Cause we living in the west where pride rivals a nation
make through
(Jacob)
What can I do? The truth is colder than
Came from the bottom
freezing soups
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Life's a hard pill to swallow
That's for certain
Heart very hollow
Always hurtin‟
No more shallow thoughts
Steel curtain
Mind battle
Rusty bars
West side of town
Should take me far
Where I stay around
Maybe a foreign car
Ghetto treasure sound
Black tar beneath my feet
Mind influenced by a greater cause
Cold streets
Don't think to stop or pause
Mismatched bed sheets
Let's give another round of applause
Cold nights, no sleep
For the families still in struggle
Night terrors horror dreams
Always stay humble
No heat and broken bed springs
Never fuss or grumble Always stand tall, never crumble
(Mark)
3rd world nation
Now my days are getting shorter
Always contemplating
And my nights are getting colder
Never thought my life would be forsaken
I'm coming from the Westside
Rights taken
Bring a new world order
Turn me into supersane
And even when we‟re staying true
Teeth glowin‟
We‟re given a cold shoulder
Canine‟s showin‟
No closure
Never thought my life could be over
before my life is over
Heavy are the shoulders
I try to keep my composure
Carrying the burden
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when I‟m walking the forsaken
Or else we‟re kept in the cages
My sides are feeling vacant
It‟s Apollo Black, Maze, and Kram
I'm impatient with my statement
Burning through the pages
I'm coming from the west
These people paying us faces
Which inspires my creation
No replacement for this hatred
And see, I'm staying patient
So the west I am escapin‟
Or else we‟re catching
But remember where my place is
The cases
Bleeding blue staying true
So let's go back to the basics
Never lose with my acquaintance
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$7.25 an Hour Danielle R. People in their 30s riding the bus. Watching a man walk around drunk in his boxers at 8am. Watching a couple cuddle on the ground, asleep behind a dumpster. Sitting here at this bus stop, watching these people live their lives, hurts me because, their definition of living life is very different from my way of living life. My parents raised me to not live and think like the Westside. They taught me to have a firm handshake, they taught me to respect my elders. They taught me to not have a boyfriend who goes by the name of “Joker.” They taught me to not be satisfied with a job that pays me $7.25 an hour. They taught me to live my life, but not the Westside life. They are trying to teach me to live outside the Westside. You see, people never leave the Westside because the Westside is all they know. They grew up thinking that a job at McDonald‟s was a “career.” They were taught that getting drunk at 8am is a normal thing. They were taught that living behind a dumpster is okay. A girl was taught that being 16 and pregnant is perfectly fine just because her mother, grandmother, and great grandmother were all pregnant by the age of 16. I live on the Westside of town, but getting paid $7.25 an hour will not satisfy me. Being pregnant at 16 will not make me normal. Being drunk will not be okay for me. I promise to always give a firm handshake. I promise to never live behind a dumpster, and I promise to never act like I come from the Westside. I make these promises to myself because I will make it out of the Westside of town.
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Statistic Yesenia M. What do you see when you look at me? Do you see me the way I see myself? Or do you categorize me in with the other 69% of Mexicans, Latinos, and Hispanics you see here in the “Westside?” I am not just another number or statistic. I am not uneducated, I do not struggle in life, I was not brought up in poverty, but I know how it feels to just have potatoes and Top Ramen to eat. I know how it feels to go to sleep hungry, I know how it feels to have no privacy because of 5 or 6 siblings. I also know how it feels to have a three course meal. I know how it feels to be so full that you swear you‟re never going to eat again. I know I barely have privacy but because of that I know love, I know sacrifice and forgiveness. I know how it feels to get letters from colleges that are ready to scout me out. You see, I know way more than what your statistics show, and there are many others like me. This is not just “a side of town” but a way of life. A culture that I will proudly carry with me everywhere life takes me.
Dear Sebastian Maria G. My Dearest Sebastian, The day I had you was the day life truly began. I didn‟t understand why God put me on this Earth. I never fathomed the reason of my life. How many obstacles I was put through, the sorrows, pain was the only emotion I felt. Until you were born you gave me light. You gave me happiness. You gave me motives. I can never fully give you enough gratitude for your presence. Because you are my universe, my everything, “Bae,” in a split second. You are wonderful, you are beautiful, you are amazing, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. There aren‟t enough words to describe how much I love you. The day you read this will be the day you see why I care for you so much. So I just want to say thank you, thank you for my life, thank you for you. Love, Mom
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My Strong Devotion Schiavonie C. I look at you and see that you‟re just a shadow of who I used to be. Trying to get high so your mind will forget the thoughts that follow every step you take. Your mind is at ease, but your heart will tumble in this race that you face. No matter what, the pain will always remain. Understand that this is all a phase standing in your way to becoming great. Think back to when Dad coached the two of us and we‟d say we‟re going to make it some day. Some day could be any day but we have to be strong and hold on to every word he‟d say. Each and every day we‟re going to have people judging us. They will worry about our lives and how we live our dreams. Discouraging us when we‟re weak, but together we‟ll stand; hand in hand because our strength will never be outweighed. You pushing me around and showing me how to play the game has given me the strength to strive for our plans made. Our coach is no longer with us, but honor the day we met him and the last moment spent with him. He always showed us our game plan. Step by step was shown, but now we‟re all alone. I think it‟s time we choose where we go. We can let our talent go to waste or chase the dreams that we made.
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Heart of Africa Aline M. What do you see when you look at me?
combine the life of a person and animals
When you look in my eyes do you see me
in the same place?
as I see myself? I know how y‟all think of me when you see me walking down the hallways. I know what you think every time I open my mouth trying to speak. Do you judge me by the way I look before you get to know me? Well, let me tell you something about myself. When I tell a person I‟m from Africa, the first question that pops out of their mouth holes is, “Did you play with the animals in the jungle?” Or, they would say, “I bet you used to ride zebras and elephants in your backyard.” Sometimes I wonder what they are teaching kids in social studies.
My name is Nene Aline Mulasi. I struggled to live a normal life like other people, or like some of you here, but that doesn‟t give you the right to judge me. I wasn‟t raised whining and complaining about the life I lived, but I was raised and was taught to be thankful for what I have because there are some people that lived a worse life than I have. Africa is not just a place that I was born and raised in, but it‟s a place that taught me more about life than I needed to know; it taught me to work hard in order to get what I want. Africa isn‟t the largest country in goods
Some people here in the U.S.A. think that
like diamonds, gold, silver, oil, petroleum
Africa is full of…jungle. I was born in
and so much more.
Congo Central Africa and wasn‟t raised by animals or played with them or lived in a jungle or was raised by monkeys like some of y‟all think Africa is all about. Because, this ain‟t no Tarzan or Jungle Book. I was raised in a family of six siblings by a single mother in a house with five rooms and yes, we weren‟t rich, but that doesn‟t change the fact that racism is not just calling a colored person the N-word. I mean, how are you going to
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You see, I‟m an African girl. I‟m an African girl that struggled to have a normal life like other teenagers. I‟m the African girl that you see walking in the hallways and you would think that I have it all. I‟m an African girl that speaks more than three languages. Remembering back in the days when I first came here to the so-called “United States,” I would see other kids run, playing and speaking the language
that I couldn‟t understand. I would run to
heart. You can see Africa when you look
mama crying, saying that I wanted to go
close in my eyes, you can sense the pure
back home. I wanted to go back home
African blood when you hear me speak,
because I felt like I didn‟t belong no
and you can see my African pride when
matter what I tried.
you see me walking. Africa is a land I call
I remember when my teacher would ask me to read out loud, I would sink under my desk then start reading. I would mix English with Swahili, Swahili with French, French with Spanish. Then I would start all
my home because I‟m African, and Mimi
ni moyo wa Africa, Ndi umutima wa Africa, je suis le Coeur de l‟a frigue, Yo soy el corazon de Africa, and I am the heart of Africa .
over again; I would mix Swahili with English, English with Spanish, and Spanish with French. I would feel like my head was spinning like a wheel that keeps on spinning without stopping. I would fight with books, and dictionaries and textbooks, wondering if I‟m ever going to make it, but I never gave up. I would pronounce words in different languages. I would say I love you, nakupenda,
ndagukunda, je taime, and te amo. Students would stare at me, but all I would say was “Hey, I‟m fifth lingo.” I was raised in a place where people speak more than one thousand languages, I was raised in a place where kids play with no rules, I was raised in a place where people have the right to speak their mind because I‟m African. You see, I have African blood in me, I carry African pride on my shoulders because I‟m African. I carry Africa in my
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“Momma Vok” addresses the crowd at Good Samaritan Community Center, thanking the student performers from Lanier and Carvajal, while Christopher “Rooster” Martinez, local poet and emcee of the event, watches on.
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Memoir
D e f i n i n g
l i f e ‟ s
l i t t l e
m o m e n t s
A Small, Meaningful Moment Richard A. Cool clear rain was pouring, and for some un-related reason, I walked out there and got wet. I guess my body just craved the cool kiss of the sky‟s tears. I was expecting to feel frozen, almost like a corpse, in the melancholy rain, but I didn‟t. I felt warmth, as if a blanket was wrapped around me. How could this be? Staring skyward at the grey sky, I knew my face and hair were cold and drenched, but my body was warm. Damp, but warm. I looked away from the sky. Looking down, I noticed her: my lovely girl in my life, Madelynne. I didn‟t even notice her holding my upper body—not until now—her tightening arms and her adorable and relaxing giggle; it was too intoxicating, I couldn‟t help laughing myself. She then kissed me. My face felt the warmth of her touch, my arms wrapped around her. Wanting to return the favor of warmth, I kissed her back. She said something, something even to this day means so much to me, and she said “No matter what, wet and cold, I‟ll be there to warm you, hot and dry. I‟ll be there to cool you.” I know it felt like a long, meaningful period of time, but this all happened in a moment, showing me, even in a moment, life can be made better. God, I love moments.
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My Him Amanda Y. At the age of 8 I thought that being called teacher‟s pet was a compliment until a boy I had a crush on named Michael announced to me that, “The only person who would love you is a teacher because you are neither beautiful nor a keeper. Your face, body, and shape are as ugly and worthless as your name. Your name is A-man-da and there is no wonder as to why you were given that name because no man would ever want a woman whose name projected their true inner claims.” Michael was too arrogant to say a kind word, think a nice thought. He wasn‟t always that way; at the age of 9 he was warm and good-hearted, pure, still a little boy who never knew about the troubles the world could grant. He was my friend. I may have had a crush on him from time to time, but he didn‟t mind. At least not at that age he didn‟t. But when he reached the age when it gets to a double digit, I guess he also reached a new low in his life. He was not who I used to know, same on the outside but inside cold and hollow. After all those words were said he thought they‟d just wash off, telling me, “Don‟t take it personal, I just don‟t see anybody loving you that way, especially me.” I tried to fight off the tears, but one rolled down my cheek, that one tear filled and caused by words dipped in poison. I tried to play it off instead of showing Michael that I felt as if someone ripped my heart out and trashed it. I told him, “Oh, yeah, me either.” When I announced that to him, I made myself believe it as well. I made myself believe that my life was a tragedy and nobody would ever be the remedy. I started to believe that I would never get the moments to feel loved, and to be in love. I felt as if I was wrapped in plastic and nothing could come into my heart, because nothing could ever get unleashed. I was waiting for my world of insecurities to leave my presence. I may have been only 8 at the time, he may have been only a crush, but his words have stuck by me, glued into my mind, passed into my body and attached to my presence. I was insecure about my appearance, my feelings, and when it came to guys I was waiting for selfrejection to stop so this self-pity would stop. In the end I was just waiting to find
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him. 8th grade I met him. I met love. I met the facts of the world, because maybe I didn‟t feel loved as a child by peers, just by teachers, but now my story is re-written. It‟s not about me losing all hopes of feeling loved in life. It‟s about how I have love, and how I deserve it. My insecurities didn‟t change because I met one person; they changed because, for the first time, I let one person change, rearrange, and erase them. I let him. I let him. When I met him, I met bandages that cover up every splinter of insecurity. I met cloths to wash off every stain gathered from over the years I heard “She will not be loved.” When I met him I met a true smile.
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Heart-Sized Wallet Yasmine M. In my Coach wallet I carry my aunt‟s picture of her when she was at Six Flags. She passed away almost five years ago and I miss her so much. She would always eat my chicken strips with mashed potatoes and mac and cheese, then for desert I would have the red Jell-O with a sweet tea. On some days I got to go to work with her at the Marriott when she was a concierge. On her days off work, we would get dressed and go to the Kiddie Park on Broadway. She wasn‟t an aunt to me, she was like a mom to me; she took care of me when my real mom couldn‟t. I just wish I could have spent more time with her as I got older. The only thing standing in the way was my mom. She couldn‟t put her differences aside for me; she didn‟t care though. One day I came home from school and I got on Facebook. I got a message from my sister telling me to call her. I grabbed my mom‟s phone and texted my sister Amber. Immediately after I called, before I could even say hello, my sister was panting about how I need to get to the hospital. I asked why, frightened, as I thought something happened to her. She began explaining to me how my aunt was in the hospital and how she can‟t talk. My mind went blank. The walls in my room seemed as if they were melting. I hung up the phone and told my mom what Amber told me. The minute I walked in to the hospital, I asked every single nurse in my path where my aunt was. Finally, I found her room. As I walked in, I saw my whole family standing in the room. It seemed so tiny compared to everyone there. A few minutes later the doctor came in and greeted everyone. He finally sighed and told us the bad news. Every word he spoke felt like fingernails scratching against a chalkboard, from when he said “There‟s nothing we can do,” to the words, “We will have to disconnect the heart monitor.” My heart sank. I felt as if I were an anchor at the bottom of the ocean. All my memories of her flashing through my head, I couldn‟t speak, let alone think. Now that she‟s gone the only place she is, is in my wallet.
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Poetry
L y r i c a l
e x p r e s s i o n
o f
e m o t i o n
Around You Anymore Joy B.
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Who Are You, Dad? Christopher T. Every now and then, I think about all the times we never had. Why do I have to call you dad? You knew where I lived, but you never bothered to come find me, man! I can't say I needed you though, because my momma raised me right. And, at least I can say that I will be a real man—more than you will ever be. Really, you just tried to be friends with me. You finally met me for the first time last year and then abandoned me again; I think you're locked up once again. Hopefully next time you come see me, it will be for the best of both of us.
Near or Far
FAMILY
Malarie B.
Iris S.
We will always be family,
Forever in my heart
Near or far.
Arguments
Together we're invincible,
Memories
Alone we fall.
Interesting conversations
No one ever has the right to assume,
Love
But we still do.
Youth, adults, toddlers
Arguments are all always started, Settlement is always found. We will always be family, Near or far.
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The First Step
Family Traditions
Jasmine S.
Joshua V.
The first step into Grandma‟s house
A time to laugh
Laughter everywhere
A time to play
Loud conversation
A time to do what you do
Crowded kitchen
With your family.
The warm and cozy atmosphere The tasty smell of food
You can make tamales
This memory gets relived once each year
Go out of town
Everyone is joined together
There is even a tradition for
No one is left behind
A holiday like Christmas.
I guess that‟s normal for a big family Thanksgiving I don't really mind the family reunion It makes me feel loved and thankful
We give our time Ignore the world And not just talk to 1...2...or 3… But spend our day with the entire family.
That‟s a tradition to me.
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Short
Stories
F i c t i o n
i n
a
f e w
p a r a g r a p h s
3 am Mario R. For some odd reason every time at 3 am, I would always wake up because I‟d have a very strong feeling that someone was staring at me. I let that happen for about 4 months, but I just couldn‟t stand it any more. One night I decided to stay up and investigate what had been happening while I was asleep. The time neared; I was 2 minutes away from finding out what was haunting me. The time came; it was 3 am when I saw something huge flying towards my window. I was in shock not knowing what to do. When he finally stopped at my window I tumbled on the floor. The beast just looked me straight into the eyes then slowly opened my window and came in. It was the ugliest beast I had ever seen in my life with wicked fangs, about 8 feet tall, and drooling all over my floor. It came in my face and roared so loud my TV broke. I was so scared, I can assure you my heart stopped for a few minutes. Crying and with my voice cracking, I told him, “What do you want from me?” He answered in his deep ugly voice, “Nothing! I just need a friend I can trust.“ I just couldn‟t believe it. I didn‟t know if it was a dream or if it was really happening. I pinched my arm and found out it was real. I told him, “Yes, I‟ll do anything to stay alive!” He then told me about his life and how he turned into a beast. We turned into best friends and every night he needed a friend he would visit me at 3 in the morning.
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Jordan Victoria E. “Jordan! Jordan!” Kevin yells out as he tries to get her attention. Jordan snaps out from her daydream and says “Oh sorry, what did you ask?” “Are we still going to study tonight?” he repeats. Jordan replies, “Yes,” and goes back to her dorm room. She throws her backpack on her bed and plops on the bed. She decides to get a head start on studying and gets her books out. After five minutes of reading she dozes off. Jordan is startled awake when she hears a loud thud at the door. She rubs her eyes and looks at the clock that sat on the edge of her drawer beside her bed. The bright red numbers read 6:00 pm. She jumps up from the bed and opens the door, expecting Kevin, but to her surprise, no one was there. She goes out into the hallway to check, but she sees no one. Jordan heads back to her room and when she closes the door behind her, something hits her across her head and she falls to the ground. All she can see is shoes with her blurry sight, and she struggles to stay awake, but she can‟t, and she goes unconscious. Jordan wakes up, but can‟t see anything because of the blindfold tied around her eyes. She is confused and terrified of what she is hearing. All she can hear are highpitched, deafening screams echoing through the unknown room she is in. she also starts to hear steps getting louder and louder. Someone is standing next to her and pulls the blindfold off. Jordan adjusts her eyes to the light and sees a man standing in front of her with a doctor‟s mask and an apron on. She asks frightenly, “Who are you? What do you want?” the strange unknown man says nothing and ignores her questions. As she looks around she sees a body covered with a white blanket, soaked in blood, in the corner of the room. Jordan tries to get out of the straps on her wrists, tied to the rails of the hospital bed. The stranger is standing on the side of the bed, looking at the medical tools on a table. He pulls the table closer to the bed and while he does he drops one of the tools. While he bends down to pick it up, Jordan kicks the table onto the bed and grabs the tool closest to her hand. She quickly cuts the strap as the man tries to stop her. She struggles to cut the other as the man tries to grab her. As soon as she gets free, Jordan pushes the man away from her with all her force. He falls to the ground and doesn‟t try to get back up. By the lack of movement she concludes he is dead. Before she leaves, out of curiosity, she lifts the doctor‟s mask off the man‟s face and sees a strange shaped scar. It looks familiar, but she can‟t remember from where. She then remembers the other body in the corner of the room and goes to check. As she slowly moves the
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white blanket off the unknown person, she shockingly realizes that she is looking at Kevin‟s lifeless body. His face stuck in a frozen scream. She notices that he has a marking on his cheek also, but she remembers this one. The strange marking on his face is his horoscope symbol of a Taurus. She then recalls seeing a news story about “The Horoscope Serial Killer,” someone killing people in order of the horoscope. Jordan has gotten back into her old routine of going to school, hanging out with friends and studying for tests. She will never forget and will always miss Kevin. Kevin‟s family has been planning his funeral. While Jordan gets ready for the funeral and puts her makeup on, she cannot get the last image of him that she saw out of her mind. When she is at the funeral, she gives her condolences to Kevin‟s family and gives a speech saying, “Kevin was a wonderful person, and he was the kindest person I will ever meet. He was my best friend and I will never forget him. His death has affected me in a way I cannot explain. I believe that I will never have a friend like him again. He will forever be missed.” When Jordan is finished with her speech, she sees a man in the back of the church just standing there. She can see him smiling and notices a scar and that he has a missing tooth. When she goes to get a closer look, the man gives an evil smirk and runs out of the church. Jordan freezes and realizes who the unknown, strange man was.
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Her Phone Alarm Rings Alexis P. Her phone alarm rings, waking her up for the day. Awaking from her bed, she rubs her eyes to better see where she steps. She approaches her restroom and begins to clean her face, reaching for her toothbrush. Her phone begins to ring. As she looks, it says “Daily Horoscope.” She clicks the “Read Now” button. A page with her daily horoscope appears on her screen. It reads, “Today is a dream, and you are the dreamer. All will seem well, your attitude is spiritual and your kindness will flourish. However, remember it is a dream and in every dream there is a threat. A black force that will appear is not a friend, but a disease that seems as a welcoming companion. So keep your eyes on the lookout and beware of your stepping.” As she comes to the end of her horoscope she locks her phone and throws it on her bed. “Yeah, just like I was supposed to have a lion last week and a good day Friday,” she then says sarcastically. Ignoring the horoscope, she goes on with her day. She arrives at school, which is a mixture of attitudes, emotions, and testosterone. Entering the building, she searches the crowds, looking for her friends. All of a sudden a strong nudge is applied to the back of her. Looking back she hears, “Oh, I‟m so sorry, Mel. I wasn‟t watching where I was going, How is your morning so far?” The girl‟s face has an apologetic smile. Mel walks away as if having no care for the conversation. Turning back to the direction she was headed, Mel realizes that nobody is in the halls anymore; she decides to go to class. Entering her first period, Mel quickly notices the same girl that bumped into her earlier in the morning. Entering quietly, Mel goes to her seat and sits down. Her day goes by fast with no problems and a lot of homework assignments. On her walk home, chills fill her body, followed by her getting a weird feeling that someone is watching her. She looks around, noticing that she is, after all, walking down a main road. Arriving home, she enters and walks straight into her room because she knows nobody is supposed to be home. Throwing her backpack on her bed, Mel then works her way to the restroom. As she opens the door she pauses in a
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statue-like posture. Looking straight, she is staring dead into the eyes of the girl from school. Melanie tries to slam the door shut, but the girl lodges her foot between the door and the wall. The door swings open and the girl charges at Mel. The female is then on top of Mel in a matter of seconds. Both girls come to a stop against the room door. The unknown female strikes her, knocking Melanie unconscious. Mel later awakes, looks at her surroundings, and notices only the girl. The unknown girl is sitting down, staring at Mel. “Who are you?” Mel asks. The girl stays silent. “What do you want?” continues Mel. The female‟s mouth then opens and out comes her reasons. “I remember when you wore cherry lip balm, shimmery red eye shadow and your hair was in a ponytail. You looked so beautiful.” “I don‟t even know you, you have the wrong person,” pleads Melanie. “Quiet, I have the right person! The girl that would pay no attention to me, the girl that doesn‟t acknowledge me as the human that I am,” shouts the girl. “Wait! What are you talking about?” Mel says frantically. “All I wanted was to be your friend; all I wanted was to belong. Belong in your world, Mel!” shouts the female. “We, we can still be friends, no problem. We...” “Quiet,” says the girl as she cuts Melanie off. “Nobody wants to be your friend anymore!” “Then what are you trying to be?” asks Mel. “I‟m trying to be you,” replies the girl. She follows with a smirk on her face and the devil in her eyes. “That‟s impossible, stop trying to be something you‟re not!” shouts Melanie. “Oh, believe me, darling, within a few processes I will be you,” the still unknown girl says. “All I have to do is get some dental work and a couple of surgeries, then, poof, I am Melanie Sandavich,” continues the girl.
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“You‟re insane!” says Mel. “Well, at least I will be insane and alive. As for you, you‟ll be rotting underneath my house, getting eaten by whatever creature can find you.” (Knock, knock.) Someone is at the door. “Help, help me, please?” shouts Melanie. “Ha, ha, you seriously didn‟t think I‟d have this meeting with you near other people, did you? Ah, you must really underestimate my skills,” replies the girl as she approaches the door. She looks through the peep hole, smiles, and then opens the door. “Hey it‟s freezing outside,” says a voice that belongs to a tall man with glasses as enters the room. He is unknown to Mel. “Oh, she is a pretty girl. I‟ll be in the kitchen while you pull out one of her teeth. The procedure shouldn‟t take long,” says the tall man. The girl approaches Melanie as the man leaves the room. In her hand lies some sort of utensil that will pull out a tooth with no problem. Making a split decision, Melanie head butts the girl, making her fly off of her. Eyes lock on the door knob, the door swings open, and a burst of wind hits Mel‟s face. Her heart races faster than her feet; making it out, she begins running. As she‟s making turns left and right, she begins to see a faint light up ahead. Approaching this light, she then sees a house. Getting closer, she now can see two people outside of the home. Melanie begins shouting “Help me, please?” A sense of relief begins to fill Melanie, making her body warm. As she gets closer she realizes something: the man is wearing glasses and in the female‟s hand lays that same tooth-pulling utensil.
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Novel
S n e a k
Excerpts p e e k s
a t
f u t u r e
b o o k s
The Road to Paradise (Prologue: Sounds) Nathan D. We‟ve been walking for hours. It feels like days. The soles of my feet are on the verge of becoming obsolete. I turn around to see my wife and son, who are about to collapse out of exhaustion. The street goes on for about a mile, but we won‟t survive a mile. Scanning the block for a decent place to shelter, I find an apartment complex not far from us. I turn to my family: “Here, we‟ll rest here tonight. Let James get some sleep.” I say, with so little strength left. Emily nods and picks up James. His small, five-year old body fits perfectly into Emily‟s chest. His auburn-colored hair comes down over his dark brown eyes, helping him sleep. I could hear him snoring. After walking a few more yards, I hear a loud crash. Turning around, I see Emily on the ground with James still in her arms and several garbage cans scattered around her. I move toward her to help, she gets up quickly. “I‟m fine.” She says. James is awake and tries to help Emily get up. “C‟mon.” I whisper. I gently help her rise from the ground and put my arm around her. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a figure in the distance. My first thought is that it was a survivor. Emily looks back as well and then turns to me. “You think we should help him?” She whispers. “Can you stand?” I ask. She nods. “Just wait here.” I command. She stays with James and watches me walk towards the figure. The street is dark and the buildings eclipse the moon. From my backpack, I withdraw a flashlight and shine it towards the figure. It shines on his body, but his face is covered in shadows. The figure wears a hoodie and baggy cargo shorts, but his clothing is tattered and
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bloodied. His breath is in fast and short bursts. His eyes are glowing in the darkness. I realize far too late that he…is one of them. The infected jumps on me, screaming at the top of his undead lungs, but I am quick enough to dodge him and drive his head into the ground. His skull explodes and he lies still on the ground. “Get up! I scream in terror. “Emily, we have to go! I‟ll get James! You just go!” With all of my strength, I carry James—now terrified beyond belief—in my arms. The apartments seem so far away now. Miles away. Emily has caught up with me already. Our current situation forced her to push on. After a few seconds, a sound reaches my ears. It grows louder, louder, until it‟s the only thing in my ears. It isn‟t a single sound, however, but a collection of sounds. They are screams. We‟re inside the apartments. The doors close. I try to take in my surroundings, but it‟s too dark too see much of anything. Tattered clothes are all over the floor. Ripped bedding and random sheets of newspaper join them in the mess. The receptionist‟s desk is covered in dry blood. Blood from so long ago. Without realizing, I kick something over and stop to listen. I don‟t think they heard it, so I turn towards Emily. “We have to hide,” I whisper in her ear. “Where?” She replies. “Somewhere on the upper floors.” “What if we need to get out?” “We use the fire escapes! Now c‟mon!” I give James to Emily and push her into the hallway as I barricade the door with whatever I can. She runs for the stairs with James clutching her hand. Running after them, I try to form an escape plan just in case things go bad. With my mind not focusing on running, my leg pierces a sharp piece of metal, a stray shard of a destroyed mattress frame. The pain is agonizing, but I have to catch up to them. I can‟t take it. My leg gives out and I collapse on the top steps of the stairs, somewhere on the third floor. Looking up, I see Emily running towards me, with a
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worried look on her face and James behind her. She grabs my leg and examines it thoroughly. She pulls a length of bandages from her backpack and puts them to the side. “We have to get this out.” She says, pointing to the metal shard. “No,” I reply. “You have to hide. With James.” Emily ignores me. “Okay.” She says while taking a deep breath, as if mentally preparing herself. “Let‟s do this.” “Wait, wait, wait! You‟re not a doctor!” “I was a nurse once, Isaac!” “That was 8 years ago!” “Shut up and bite on something,” she commands. I grab my backpack straps and bite down hard. She grabs the shard and looks at me. Waiting for my approval, I nod. Emily pulls it out slowly, which hurts much more. The jagged edges grab and tear the flesh around it, making the wound open more. “Please, hurry up,” I command in agony. “I‟m trying,” she mumbles. She slowly, but precisely pulls out the shard. It slips out of the wound and leaves me gasping for air. She smiles and throws the shard away. Emily then withdraws a length of bandages and covers the cut. Then I hear a crash, it‟s the sound of the front doors being smashed in. The screams are loud and blood curdling. Its time to improvise. “Emily, take James down the hall and into a room,” I instruct. “The blood will give me away, but you…you have a chance to survive.”
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“But-but, I can‟t-“ “YES you can. Take James out of the city, go to your mom‟s place, she lives far away from all this.” “Isaac, what are you going to do?” She asks with fear. “I‟m going to keep you safe,” I reply. Emily runs into a room at the end of the hallway. I dive into a closet and the door locks behind me. Then I hear them, they‟re coming up the stairs, at least 15 of them. I can hear their breaths, their growls. Ready to die, I pray. Asking for forgiveness for any wrongs that I have done. While doing so, I reach inside my backpack. I pull out a gun I found a couple of weeks ago. The firearm is heavy in my hands, like a couple of bricks. I haven‟t had much experience with guns. After all, I was a schoolteacher. I did, however, shoot a .44 once, if that counts. It probably didn‟t; this gun was much bigger than a revolver. Most of the gun is sleek and black, with a metallic look. The magazine is rounded and black like the gun, but without the shine to it. I check to see if it‟s filled. It is, all 30 rounds. (Bullets are sometimes called “rounds,” so it‟s basically the same thing.) “Looks cool, but where the heck is the safety on this thing?” I whisper. The growls from outside turn into screams, they‟re getting frustrated. Looking for a meal. Before I face them, I start to think…about Emily. About James. I start to fantasize about them reaching her mom‟s house. Escaping from all of this. It gives me a sense of hope. I‟m ready. My hands grip the door handle firmly. The gun is positioned at my hip and ready to fire. I turn the handle, but it stops. I look down at the handle and realize its rusted beyond all repair. The machinery inside must have broken and lodged in between the gears inside. I start to panic, but it‟s not until I hear a voice, that I start to feel true fear. It was the voice of my son.
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“Daddy, where are you?” He calls. I freeze in terror. They hear him and scramble towards their direction. My body panics when I hear the footsteps fade into the hall. I hit the door with my shoulder in an effort to break it down. All the while, I hear the screams and cries of my family. They call out to me, shouting my name. Finally, I decide to shoot the door handle. The bullets are excruciatingly loud and made worse in the confined space, but they must have heard it. The handle explodes into a barrage of screws and metalwork. I burst through the door, fueled by desperation. By now I realize something even more frightening than before. The screams have stopped. I stand in the doorway with a naïve sense of hope. Only to find my wife, bloodied, dying. Chunks of flesh are ripped from her stomach and she exhales weakly. I can‟t bear to look at her, so I find a blanket and cover her as best I can. She opens her eyes to find me staring at her in despair. I try to form words, something—anything—to tell her. She simply shakes her head, telling me not to say anything. Tears flow down my face and they just won‟t stop. Emily, however, is calm. It wasn‟t in her nature to worry about herself; instead, she worried more about others. Then…Emily smiles at me for one last time before closing her eyes and leaving me. I search for James, but don‟t find him. Dirtied and ripped, his jacket is in the windowsill. Looking at the street, I see them retreating into the city, scared off by the gunshots. I return to Emily to see her one last time. Her light skin is tarnished with red. Her sleek black hair is clean, completely free of any foreign color. Just the way it should be. Her eyes are closed, but I vividly remember their color. Emily‟s gray, compassionate eyes always drove me forward in difficult times, even before this. I wish I hadn‟t been so stupid, so slow. I wish it was me…I wish it was me. I know what I have to do. My hand responds instinctively, raising the gun‟s barrel to Emily‟s head. I‟d rather her die now than to have her suffer anymore. I kiss her forehead, knowing full well that it‟ll be the last time I do. Caressing her hair, I whisper one last thing to her: “I love you.” Then I pulled the trigger.
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The Meeting of the Alpha (Intro: Melissa’s P.O.V.) Melissa V. Darkness. That‟s what I saw everywhere, but smelled fresh blood around in the hollow forest surrounding me as screams perish throughout this place. I quickly got up, too scared to go exploring around. I turned to only regret what my eyes had seen. Two bodies hanging from one of the tallest trees here. Those two bodies were my parents… “AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” I jumped out of my bed, almost having a heart attack. “It was only just a dream…” I got up to my nightstand to see I only had 10 minutes to get ready for school. “Great, those idiots didn‟t even wake me up,” I mumbled to myself in annoyance. Walking to my cabinet, I grabbed a simple pair of black jeans with a pink polo, quickly changing. Looking at the mirror, I grabbed my huge rimmed glasses that basically covered my brown eyes. God, how I hated my eyes. They‟re such a boring color; why couldn‟t I have pink eyes? Damn genetics… Quickly, before I‟m late for school, I placed my hair in a messy bun and ran downstairs to see if my idiot brothers left without me to school. Being “the genius” that I am, I tripped on my shoelace. My eyes widened as I braced for impact, but instead of the hard floor meeting my face, I met my brother‟s stupid smirk across his. “Well, well, well. Look who‟s finally awake. My dear sister, you‟re such a clumsy girl. What would you do without me?” I growled at him, quickly picking myself off him. “Shut up, Sebastian, before I wipe that stupid smirk off your face!” Death-glaring him until he became scared, like how all people are, but since he‟s my brother he just sees me as a little girl. Sebastian chuckled and ruffled my hair. “Come on, sis. Get in the car before I leave you again.” Looking around for my other idiot brother, I got worried. Where is Gabriel?!? “Sebastian, where is Idiot Number 2?”
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Sebastian raised an eyebrow, but finally understood who I‟m talking about. He then looked at me seriously. “Gabriel has business to do, sis. Don‟t worry about it; he will be there in time for school.” I groaned, but nodded in understanding. “Fine. Let‟s just get to school before we are late, Sebastian.” I pushed him out of the house, turning behind me and locking the house while making my way to the passenger seat of his black Camaro. Sebastian got in after me, starting the car. How could we afford this? Well, my parents were assassins and got paid really well for missions. They saved the money in the bank for us. Plus, we are in a powerful gang; we get paid to kill people. It‟s crazy, I know. Approaching school, Sebastian quickly turned to me. “Sis...we have new company.” I looked to the school‟s parking lot to see a new car in my brother‟s parking spot. I narrowed my eyes, looking at them. “Sebastian, park somewhere else...for today. But, let them know it‟s your spot.” My brother shrugged, but parked close to his usual spot. “Well, let‟s see how today goes.” I smirked toward my brother as he did the same.
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