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Untitled Story: Chapter 7Even when the police showed up the ruckus beyond the door never stopped. But as the sirens were going, I heard his father shouting. A police woman stood off to the side with me as the others broke in. I desperately fought against entering with them. The officers walked out with his father being dragged behind them; he had been tazed unconscious.
“Get a stretcher.” I heard someone order from inside. I couldn’t stand it anymore! I ran from the woman’s side into the destroyed living room. Two policemen were crouched next to Conner on the floor near the dining table. I couldn’t see through the tears in my eyes, so I fell to my knees. I felt the breeze of men walking by me until a gentle hand fell upon my shoulder.
“Miss, can you come with me?” It was the woman I stood by with outside.
“I need to go with him,” I wheezed. Man, I need to get a hold of myself!
“Can you stand?” She asked, crouching down in front of me.
Untitled Story: Chapter 6CHIRP! CHIRP!
Morning already? I irritably thought.
My brain hurt from head-banging so much, but man it was fu-what the?! Within my enclosed fingers was someone else’s. Conner’s. Wait-Conner’s!? I started to silently panic in the quiet room.
I had fallen asleep on the floor by the couch, Cristina was sprawled out in the arm chair, Felix was snoring into a pillow on the sofa; that left Conner next to me on the floor. But why were we holding hands….? I wondered. I didn’t see Brooke or Ace anywhere either.
I slowly sat up, making sure I wouldn’t wake anyone. He looked so peaceful. I realized something: this was the first time any of us, excluding Cristina, had stayed over.
We should really stay here, I thought. Suddenly, Conner’s fingers twitched, causing me to freeze up. All he did was take back his hand and roll over to face the couch. I let out a relieved breath and brought my warm hand to my chest. My other hand wa
Kasper's AftermathThe scent of lilac was overpowering. The smell wafted through the open windows in the living room. Early spring is my favorite season. My parents are mostly gone on work, so I have the place to myself now. I used to share it with my sister, but she…um…
“Kasper! I got food!” Steve shouted through the window. He’s my best and only friend. I drove everyone, except him, away after Dory died. I was a mess.
“Alright, I’m using the window.” Steve reported as he crawled inside, a bag of Subway in one hand.
“Did you get my extra pickles?” I interrogated as I snatched my sandwich from the bag.
“Yes, ‘master’,” he rolled his eyes and continued, “Dude, Lisa was working today.” He cat-called and then downed half of his sub in one bite.
“You ask her out?” I queried between mouthfuls. Steve is the guy who comes off as a player, but he cannot talk to girls very well. He’ll hold a
Brooke's Story“The whole house is burned through. A family of three, the parents and a ten year old girl, was home and sleeping when the fire started. The bodies of Erica and Troy Calvin were found; they didn’t even wake up before the smoke inhalation took them,” the Fire Marshall told the officer.
“Any word on the child’s whereabouts?” He asked, turning to gaze back at the rubble.
“No, sir. She must’ve evaded the fire before it began,” the fireman explained.
“I hope somebody finds her before the storm hits. The search parties can only stay out until then,” Lieutenant Jim sighed. Off in the distance thunder boomed.
The ten year old little girl had indeed escaped the fire. Technically, she came home to it. Brooke goes into the trees to pick flowers for her mom to put in vases around the entryway almost every day. This time, she had glanced at the darkening sky to see a tower of orange clouds over the area by her h
Smilin-Iris Xmas ThemeI’m best friends with the outcast of the school. Not out of pity, but he’s freakin’ awesome! He is really shy, I mean really shy, yet he’s so brave. You probably have seen him around: he’s got navy blue hair and such light lavender eyes, and oh yeah!, something about his face. Well, everyday he wears a Chelsea Smile, stitches on either side of his mouth. Sometimes he uses sharpie for the stitches, but usually eyeliner. We became friends because I asked why he did that, but he wouldn’t tell me. I would pester him for days, but he refused to say. I have a feeling he’ll tell me someday, though.
Anyways, he lives with me now since my parents let me have the vacation house. He told me he used to live with his grandma, but she died shortly before we were friends. So he has the room across from mine. Oh yeah, one more peculiar thing: I don’t know his name. I mean, no one does! He introduces himself as “I’m Smiling
Kasper's Story “Kasper, I wanna go to the parrrk!” Dory groaned to her brother. Kasper was lying on the couch with an arm covering his face; clearly excited to go.
“Wake up! Let’s go! Come on!” She rocked his shoulders roughly, trying to get him up. Dory eventually got what she wanted when he slowly sat up, like Dracula rising from his coffin.
For being siblings, they get along well; most of the time. Kasper always took her to the parks everyday at noon during the weekends. It was a tradition now, although he didn’t want to believe it.
“Hurry up you snail! Or else my swing will be gone!” she whined. Dory always prefers the swing in the middle of the set, because their mother and father would swing on either side of her while younger Kasper played with rocks and sand. Their parents aren’t bad, no. They’ve just gotten extremely busy with work, so they leave the big brother in charge now.
All of a sudden, Dory yanked Kasper of
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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