Table of Contents Author’s Foreword Poetry Formal

Blinded Love The Tour Guide Scavenger hunt Clifford the big red dog

Free­verse Pompeii The only restaurant that serves the underworld Aida lyric mashup poem Warmth

Nonfiction I Believe My personal Narrative

Fiction Conquering the fears within Revenge by the spider Lost alone and in the dark

Author’s Notes Lost alone and in the dark The Story of a Ghost The Itsy Bitsy Patrol Crackling of the fire Presidential Puppy

Author’s Foreword

This semester in creative writing has been a great learning experience for me

as a writer. After high school, I want to become a playwright. This class has helped me realize that ideas can come from anywhere, and that the effort bringing life into the characters, plot, or other parts of each piece. At the beginning of the semester, I wanted to be able to appreciate and write better poetry and cultivate my craft of writing fiction. Here is what I’ve learned over the time of being in creative writing.

A great tool that I learned about was to show and not tell the story. It’s one thing for a reader to read word for word what happen in the story, yet it’s another for that same person to experience the book and be in the world with the characters. The writer needs to rely on the readers to be able to read and understand the piece. I used this in my short story to not fully go into the subject of kidnapping and rape. The same thing goes for my twitter fiction series, but for the description of the children, and the intelligence of the spider.

A technique that we touched on for brainstorming was going to your music, hitting shuffle, and writing about the next song that came on. I took this to the next level by categorizing my music into different themes and styles. The results were when I would listen and write from one playlist, a writing would turn dark, happy, strange, sadness, or angry. Music has such an influence with people because no matter what kind of music it is; if it has passion anyone will have a reaction to it. Brainstorming can come from anywhere like experiences, human interaction, passion, growth, and the combination of these is the key to brainstorming which music has all of these.

Each topic in the class helped cultivate a new tool for me to use as a writer. Nonfiction, free­verse poetry, formal poetry, twitter fiction, and short stories shows a different side of what I can do, that could touch the heart of a reader. The great part of what I learned in this class is that the lessons are so contrasted from each other which gives a rounded out experience for the class. My strength is short

stories and novels, but to open my eyes to these new types helps influence how I write my stories.

The great thing about nonfiction is that it’s the truth, and it has to be told how the event happened to be nonfiction. This was one of the hardest topics for me to write about because I wanted to make something up especially when I couldn’t remember what happened. It really helps the bring a deeper connection to the reader if it’s a real story because it could possibly happen to the reader. I really thought that this was an interesting lesson.

Free­verse poetry can be anything you want it to be. I feel this could relate to any piece of work that I do because I’m the author and I write it. If it was up to the reader it would be called dreaming. Free­verse really lets everyone create their own poetry in any way such as in shape, in nonuniform stanzas, and can expressed in ways that can be more than just words. I used this form of poetry to explain a tasty restaurant, and inspire warmth.

Fiction is one of the greatest literary inventions because it lets dreams be written onto paper and shared with others. Whether it’s historical, scientific, fantasy, romance, or drama it can develope a person to experience the character’s thoughts, emotions, and actions. Twitter fiction is great because a story in 140 characters is selling a bigger story or telling a profound short story. Flash fiction is just a bit longer but I felt was easier to add more detail and thoughts to the plot. The short story was hard in many ways like I had a 16 page story that was part of a novel I was writing since seventh grade that I changed so that it was finished, but enough of the same so I could use the comments. However it felt to easy to give a work that was sloppy and had the writing of a seventh grader, so I wrote a piece about rape from a first person girl point of view. That had its own complications, but was much better quality for the workshop. All the things I’ve learned in this I will use later in my writing career. I had so much fun, but I look forward to the future of my writing.

Formal Poetry

Blinded Love

My dress was red, and it’s wavy from my grandma’s stitching My anxious pacing was stopped by the doorbell’s ping.

The route I would take would be around the corner store, over the bridge, and passed the railroad to freedom to be with the love of my life I am sure that will last

The road were bordered by rows of the great oak tree.My vision here was straight ahead, ten feet of road is all I can see.

I left my house early, excited to secretly wed.I see my love waiting on the other side of the tracks, my car sped.

When I race the tracks to see my groom, the light and sound of a northbound train come near. I see the front of my car incinerate with my skin and bones boiling from pale to red to clear

I was the one blinded by love;not seeing my groom wait for his other love.

The Tour guide

I see you have joined us on this wonderful day, this tour has many stops through time;

I am your guide, Avo Cadomay, and don’t forget to pay.

On your left you’ll see farmer Joe bathing the cows that lay the right shows the last functioning silver chime,

Excuse me folks don’t get too scared were just about to dip into the bay

Our mascot of this great little town is my favorite bird, the great blue jay. In the crystal water you’ll see good luck pennies, quarters, and a dime

I am your guide, Avo Cadomay, and don’t forget to pay.

Does anyone have a question, a question to say? Look up! Look up! it’s the wild willie mountain where a tourists can climb

Excuse me folks were just about to get out of the bay

On your left you’ll see the great people who live here. Bob, Hey! oh look past the hill you’ll hear the candy truck rhyme

I am your guide, Avo Cadomay, and don’t forget to pay.

oh look were back at farmer Joe bathing the cows that lay this was a tour stopped through time;

I am your guide, Avo Cadomay, and don’t forget to pay.

Scavenger

They tore him limb by limb segment

until he was a trillion piece puzzle

they cram his pieces into a greedy adult fragment

They tore him limb by limb segment

It had not formed our nation into a faction tent

until he was a trillion piece puzzle

They tore him limb by limb segment

until he was a trillion piece puzzle

Clifford the Big Red Dog

The red dog played through the city construction

his body hitting cars, crushing buildings for a fifth decade, and treats were expected from the bakery raid

The innocence of life that carries so much destruction.

Free ­ Verse Poetry

Pompeii

Crackling of the fire The city falling

The sky smiling at the horror

The night is the perfect storm Thunder clashing into lighting

Our minds buzzing Fire consumed our eyes

Ash cloaked our skin our bones stiffening to stone captured in the moment from the great volcano

The once joyful city is now walked by the shadows Pompeii lives in one moment Pompeii will live frozen

The only Restaurant that serves the Underworld

ohh yeaa

the pungent smell of butter and warm crisp rolls I know they are coming the irresistible, carb­overload

the sweet eyesight of breadsticks ohh yeaa

The fickle choice of an endless supply, of soup. or salad. the questioning thoughts of veggies, mounds of cheese, and dressings

or warm comforting liquid, that warms the heart and soul

Entrees of mass size and caliber of richness A favorite chicken parmesan, a classy lasagna, or a great traditional spaghetti and meatball

creamy fettuccine alfredo with a tour of Italy that gives all it has to offer. oh what should I choose the cheese ravioli, the hardships and pain, or the chicken scampi

The excursion is almost complete as one last component must be initialized

dessert the oh yeaa dessert mmm hmm mmm chocolate or black tie mousse or the ancient tiramisu the choice of Zeppoli or Dolcini is up to me not you

Throwing in the towel; I wave my white flag

full, plump, and tired lay to rest heavily on my shoulders WHOOAA look at the CHECK

so hey buddy ol’ pal would you mind grabbing this tab just this once

Aida lyric mashup poem

Every story new or ancient

casts centuries apart.

This is a story about love

with no tyranny could separate

First this means your wedding Build it Build it

Behold your future bride

I see her, and is it written in the stars?

in which we're given paradise, but only for the day.

With moments of enchantment on our faces

to put my faith and trust in something new

All I have to do is to forget how much I love him

All I have to do is put my longing to one side

Oh, I wish I could tell you this face to face

But there's never the time, never the place

So this letter will have to do

I love you.

Who would have guessed he'd throw his world away

To be with someone till his dying day

Not me, not me

But not me, oh not me

Emotion Commotion

The heart opens up to

Hope hate and misfortune sneak in but light shines on for all

but with all light there’s balanced darkness

Love is the heart’s clone it helps forgiveness and heals grief

Affection carries love through the body

searching for itself Understanding

cures the world of war creating kindness

Grace spreading goodwill to all telling all to take care

Tenderness keeps accusation from leaving the mouth

keeping love intact

Elated destroys sadness and regret

helps relieve

NonFiction

I Believe I believe that determination is the key to living life to the fullest. My journey starts with my green

belt test. I had started the martial art called Tang Soo Do a year and a half back. So there I was kicking and punching in front of a panel of straight faced adults, three rows of over­excited, parents, and the test had just started. During the test, it became a surprise when my partner’s fist was in my nose and blood was running out of it. As I cleaned up my nose, the master of the studio came into the bathroom and told me, “ You have already have passed, so you don’t have to finish. You can just leave and go home right now.” “No I want to stick it out and finish the test,” I said throwing the last tissues in the trash. “You’re better than some of my black belts,” He said with a smile.

Sparring was one of my weaker areas in Tang Soo Do. I always defended eventhough I worked on my offense a lot. When I was sparring with my friend Peter, and of course the playful tension turned to tension rapidly. I throw a punch, and he swings a kick. We blocked each for about four minutes. Both of us were in tunnel vision trying to receive points. I threw a reaching hook, and he stepped back. Then the next thing I saw was his fist wanting to hug my face. Everything went black. The instructor saw this not realizing I had passed out, and as I fell he yells while laughing, “Down Goes Frasier!!” My head hit head hit the mat and I woke up. “Another round,” I said.

Then there was the day of my black belt test. The stakes were high, and I needed to pass. The written test flew by like a breeze. The worst part was sitting on the gymnasium floor and having my feet fall asleep. My test starts, I am in the far back I can hear because of the other tests going on in the additional quadrants of the gym. I look around following each kick and punch by what others were doing. Now the self­defense was up and we were paired into twos. Great, I have a girl now I have to go easy on her. That thought quickly changed when I attacked her and all of a sudden my head is bouncing of the hard gymnasium floor.

After the self­defense, a wave of exhaustion decimates everyone's energy, and sadly the adrenaline has just worn off. That's why they save the forms, series of moves in a dance like style. My mind is split into scramble and fried eggs at this point but I feel good about my forms because of the prep classes I took. For the bong forms my arms felt like slush and I could barely pick mine up. It is not the bong that you smoke out of for the readers or listeners who are questioning this story. A bong is a wooden staff. My favorite part of the test was up, the breaking boards portion has little effect if you pass the test or not but it is the most fun. My one handed break probably would have broken my hand before the board. My dad has a picture of me smashing my foot through two boards with a jump 360 side kick, that I love. The last ten minutes is the worst part of the test because at the end, fifty push­ups, fifty sit­ups, fifty squat kicks, and one hundred jumping jacks are required. I sat down cross legged on the gymnasium floor and watch the second group; my body froze like a stone from the lactic acid build up in my soon to be very sore body. Exhaustion swept over me and I almost fell asleep sitting on the floor. My job was then complete I could not do anything but wait for the results. At the end of the day, I received a bag of fries and a foot long hot dog because that is a well deserved meal. The lesson is that persistence pays off and you are better off with it. So be stubborn and do what you love because it will

make you happy in the long run.

My personal Narrative

I saw society in a new light after that day, and it has changed my life ever since. The story starts

off with a plane ride that would show me the way to my revolutionary truth. The cheerful voice of the

flight attendant rings throughout the plane, “Ok folks, we we now on our descension into Tanzania.

Please secure your seat belts, put your tray in upmost position, and thank you for flying Qantas!” We

got off the plane and from the tarmat we walked to the international office. “Mom, I gotta pee. Mom, I

gotta pee.” My little brother and I are whisper. We get into the office. “Gotta pee. Gotta pee.”

“Passports!” the officer bellow. “Gotta pee. Gotta pee.” We pass customs, and we are in the lobby of

the very petite airport. My brother and I chanted as we ran down the corridor, “Gotta pee. Gotta pee.

“Gotta pee pee pee Gotta pee.“Gotta pee. Got to pee­ee. We grabbed the bathroom door handle, and

in a slow motion voice, “Got ................... to ......................... hang ....................... on!”

After the bathroom ordeal, “Mom where are we going?” I asked because I had no idea where

we were let alone where we were going. “Why does that man have our name on the front of that

paper?” I asked inquisitively. “he’s our driver honey. He’s taking us to the hotel.” “That means we’re

rich because we have a driver, so does that mean I can buy a baby giraffe.” Max hoped. “No, silly,” my

mom chuckled. As we drove on the road we saw the famous Mount kilimanjaro with its fog and

shrouded mystery. “We’ll be climbing that in a couple of days,” my mom said excitement in her eyes.

You know what, this part of the story is boring let’s skip forward a little. He clumsy she trees heard

who elephant in­front last place fossil alligator.

Ok, let’s start again. On a hot and stale morning, we drove through the dusty wasteland. “OK,

when we get there, let me introduce you, and then you may come over to them.” The car eased to a halt

with our stomachs filled with a swarm of butterflies like they trying to escape from a small bag. I saw a

man, his clothes were unlike my sweatshirt and jeans. We walked up to the chief, I got to shake his

gentle and rugged hands. His pipe left his mouth as he offered my parents some cannabis. They showed

us their rooms, and the simplicity was remarkable. The division between the rooms was a

semi­manicured bush; their beds were one sheet of Kudu skin and another for a blanket. Cooked meat

dangled from a branch signifying that they were saving it or it was leftovers. Well, the leftovers had flies

on it that crawled on every millimeter of it.

They led us over to the gathering area where they had begun to give us handmade bows and

arrows. “This is my kind of party!” Max grins wide­eyed. My brother and I aimed at a stump twenty

feet away. Arms cocked. Sight was clear. Breathing was steady. We fired. The arrow fell out of the

bow, and everyone started to laugh. Dad hit it right away. One of the kids came up to me, shook my

hand, his eyes filled with innocence of my world and experience in his. He didn’t know what a

gameboy, an xbox, and maybe even a computer was, but he definitely looked extremely happy at the

kind of work he did.

Kids his age and mine would have been herding cows hundreds of miles every day and I sit at

home watching tv or playing xbox. His smile changed me because I knew from then on that our society

is so corrupted by everything it is corrupting other countries. It’s like a pool that circulates it’s water and

if you drop oil in it will circulate through the entire pool causing the pool to circulate oil. We live in a

world that our government is being run by the people’s consumption of products. Why can’t we live

simpler? Do we need all of these products to survive or are we buying into the the greed of humankind?

Fiction

Conquering the fears within

I sink my feet into the sand, right where the water pushes up against them.

“Billy, come in the ocean.” said my mother and brother. “Why? I don’t like the

water it scares me!” “You’re going to have to get over this fear of drowning; it

happens almost never, and we will be right here!”

Slowly, I walk into the liquid graveyard. I am up to my knees when my

brother shoves me forward causing me to submerge. My eyes fly open, salt

suffocating my mouth, and I spring to the surface. I gasped for air and then realised

that I was fine. I splash my brother, “I hate you. You know I’m scared! Why do

you always have to make a joke out of everything?” He replies, “It’s because you

are so easy to trick you!”

I then realise that I was still in the water and was not dying, and I actually felt

great in the cool, refreshing water. That’s when I felt the tug on my ankle, “Tony

knock it off I’m done with the jokes.” I then see him on the sand with my mom,

eating a sandwhich. “What?” I get pulled under the water, each second the surface

is more further away. I flail my arms, hitting a nose, and rows of teeth that were

connected to my foot. The shark lets go, and I make a break for the shore. I emerge

from the water inhaling a mixture of salt water and air.

I look around for the shark and it is underneath me charging upwards, so I

try to swim in any direction but I can’t because I’m terrified. I feel the force of the

shark’s nose lift my body into the air as the shark breaches, and we propel into the

air like an act from sea world. I hit the water hard with the shark above me, and

everything goes black.

Revenge of the Spider Dear journal, I am Lenny the spider, and I am off to find the delicious jam. I have rope and a hook to help me on this voyage. Dear journal, This is my first mission from being a youngster and I am here to prove myself. I will get the jam for my family. Dear journal, I have stumbled upon little giants. They are reckless and I must watch out for them. No, they’ve got me. I need help. Dear journal, Ha, I’ve bit them, and they taste so sweet. There bones will be delicious when they soak for a little bit Dear journal, These humans are delicious I’ve gone through a family, and onto another house. I will be plump for weeks.

Lost, Alone, and in the Dark

The school bus seat was cold and rigid. I put on my flannel over my tank

top. “Ashley, got any gum?” Luke says.

“I tell you every day, Luke. I don’t have any gum.”

“Sorry, I just need a piece.”

When we are at the second to last stop before we get to school, the

unbearable Bruce comes walking through the aisle, and right on cue, his vulgaris

language always just slips out of his gaping hole in his face they call a mouth, right

as he passes me. Then he sits right behind me like it’s his job to sit behind me and

the next words out of his mouth are always,“ Hey Ashley, I know that you want to

change transportation, so why don’t you ride on the Bruce train.” This is always my

answer, “Sure Bruce but I always like to pay my ticket.” When he puckers up, my

hand with one swing slaps his face while leaving him shocked, and a handprint.

The bell rings when I walk into Mr. Selato’s french III class. My seat is in the

very back, which is great for daydreaming and looking off into the distance. I tap

my pencil like a beat to an african drum rhythm. “Mademoiselle Shepard, would

you like to share your essay with the class?” “No thank you Monsieur Selato, I will

share tomorrow.” The rest of the day is boring, lacks so much passion, and

intriguing events.

The bus ride home is quiet and relaxing with the rain, but I have a run to go

on as soon as I get home. I get home and no one is home yet. I put my under

armour and neon windbreaker, but something feels weird today. I shrug it off, and

open the door. At about a two miles in the pouring rain, I stop at the corner cafe to

catch my breath.

A blue sedan rolled by, came to a halt, and the man rolled down his window.

“Hello, do you know how to get to the motel on Hawkins street?” the man asked.

“Follow this road to the park and take a right.” I pant.

“Come here, is the park near that bench?” he replies. I go to the window and point

to the light pole with the american flag on the side hanging. “Thank you, I am glad I

found you.” I only see the smirk for a second, then everything goes black, I try to

scream, but my lungs were on fire. I collapse as someone picks me up and throws

me into the car.

I woke up as we were going over a series of bumps, and they cause me to

smash my head because both my feet and hands are tied. When the car stops, I can

hear water below us and cars zooming by like they are all racing to get to the end,

but I can’t see anything with the blindfold on. Why don’t they save me? The man

opens the trunk, and I feel the big burly guy pick me up then sat me down on the

invisible side of the car. The other man in a sharp tone whispers in my ear, “ Take

off your clothes now or you won’t live another minute.” I trembled in fear as I felt

the side of the gun and the click of a hammer cocking back. I removed my

windbreaker and under armour while sobbing and not knowing what else to do. I

quiver as he yells, “ Your shorts too now, or I’ll blow your brains, sky high!” I

slowly slide them off as I feel the cold, rough concrete on my skin.

They argue on how to dispose of my clothes, but then eventually agreed on

strapping them to a rocks. My dreams crushed as I heard each article of clothing

plop into the water. I was then lifted and laid into the trunk once more. Then two

things happen that shocked me, the first was the slamming of door and the second

was the sound of a gunshot with a feinted splash from under the bridge. The engine

roars to life as I fear my life is over.

We arrive to our final destination with my sense of time and distance blurred.

I feel sharp, jagged gravel penetrating my cold and pruned feet. I hear the creaking

of a cellar door. The steps are smooth and frozen. Soon I feel chains around my

feet and hands, but now the blindfold comes off. I see a man around the age of fifty

and very fit, but that is not what surprised me it was the eighteen other high school

girls chained to the wall.

They stared at me like an outside who intruded on them. All off them beaten,

skeletal, and worst of all almost fully naked. The door slams shut with dust flying to

a restful spot. “My name is Ashley. How did you­ When did you­ where did you

come from?” Everyone huddles under two shared blankets, leaving me exposed.

The door opens, “No talking or else you’ll go without dinner” Got it?!” I curl into a

ball, and I fall asleep to the pitter patter of the rain.

Weeks go by as my hope slowly diminishes with me writing my thirty­fifth

day tally. Girls were taken in and out by name but never mine, and I prayed it would

never be mine. They would always come back more bruised than ever. The door

opens and the man walks over to me to unshackle me, “Ashley, its your turn

today.” I had not felt where the shackles had been clamped on, and they felt raw

and untouched since I had gotten there. I walk up the stairs, we then travel to the

house, and upstairs to what I believe is a bedroom. The steps are tall and wide.

“Your hair smell just as perfect as when I brought you here,” he says with a grin on

his face. I elbow him in the shoulder causing the man to fall down the stairs, and I

desperately lock the bedroom door.

I look around to see whips, gags, and gallons of Chloroform. There is a

landline phone on the dresser. As I pick up the phone, the frayed wires hung shortly

under it.

I put the phone on the dresser. I turn around to see him bust the door off the

hinges. He runs at me causing me to fall on the bed. His rough hands were around a

pistol and his eyes locked on me. I feel him clench harder and harder until three

bullets entered my chest and another to my forehead. I felt an overt sense of pain

until the last shot hit my brain then everything went black.

I see my body laying in the ditch, cold, and lifeless as the man put dirt on

top of my body. Shoveling dirt until the hole was filled and smoothened. I then

realized I was in a cemetery as I started to fly away, and I see my name next to

someone elses. I can’t make out the name until I pushed forward. I was buried next

to my grandfather that day. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.

Author’s notes

Lost, Alone, and in the Dark

The school bus seat was cold and rigid. I put on my flannel over my tank

top. “Ashley, got any gum?” Luke says.

“I tell you every day, Luke. I don’t have any gum.”

“Sorry, I just need a piece.”

When we are at the second to last stop before we get to school, the

unbearable Bruce comes walking through the aisle, and right on cue, his vulgaris

language always just slips out of his gaping hole in his face they call a mouth, right

as he passes me. Then he sits right behind me like it’s his job to sit behind me and

the next words out of his mouth are always,“ Hey Ashley, I know that you want to

change transportation, so why don’t you ride on the Bruce train.” This is always my

answer, “Sure Bruce but I always like to pay my ticket.” When he puckers up, my

hand with one swing slaps his face while leaving him shocked, and a handprint.

The bell rings when I walk into Mr. Selato’s french III class. My seat is in the

very back, which is great for daydreaming and looking off into the distance. I tap

my pencil like a beat to an african drum rhythm. “Mademoiselle Shepard, would

you like to share your essay with the class?” “No thank you Monsieur Selato, I will

share tomorrow.” The rest of the day is boring, lacks so much passion, and

intriguing events.

The bus ride home is quiet and relaxing with the rain, but I have a run to go

on as soon as I get home. I get home and no one is home yet. I put my under

armour and neon windbreaker, but something feels weird today. I shrug it off, and

open the door. At about a two miles in the pouring rain, I stop at the corner cafe to

catch my breath. A blue sedan rolled by, came to a halt, and the man rolled down

his window. “Hello, do you know how to get to the motel on Hawkins street?” the

man asked.

“Follow this road to the park and take a right.” I pant.

“Come here, is the park near that bench?” he replies. I go to the window and point

to the light pole with the american flag on the side hanging. “Thank you, I am glad I

found you.” I only see the smirk for a second, then everything goes black, I try to

scream, but my lungs were on fire. I collapse as someone picks me up and throws

me into the car.

I woke up as we were going over a series of bumps, and they cause me to

smash my head because both my feet and hands are tied. When the car stops, I can

hear water below us and cars zooming by like they are all racing to get to the end,

but I can’t see anything with the blindfold on. Why don’t they save me? The man

opens the trunk, and I feel the big burly guy pick me up then sat me down on the

invisible side of the car. The other man in a sharp tone whispers in my ear, “ Take

off your clothes now or you won’t live another minute.” I trembled in fear as I felt

the side of the gun and the click of a hammer cocking back. I removedmywindbreaker

and under­armour while sobbing and not knowing what else to do. I quiver as he yells,

“Your shorts too now, or I’ll blow your brains, sky high!” I slowly slide them off as I

feel the cold, rough concrete on my skin.

They argue on how to dispose of my clothes, but then eventually agreed on

strapping them to a rocks. My dreams crushed as I heard each article of clothing

plop into the water. I was then lifted and laid into the trunk once more. Then two

things happen that shocked me, the first was the slamming of door and the second

was the sound of a gunshot with a feinted splash from under the bridge. The engine

roars to life as I fear my life is over.

We arrive to our final destination with my sense of time and distance blurred.

I feel sharp, jagged gravel penetrating my cold and pruned feet. I hear the creaking

of a cellar door. The steps are smooth and frozen. Soon I feel chains around my

feet and hands, but now the blindfold comes off. I see a man around the age of fifty

and very fit, but that is not what surprised me it was the eighteen other high school

girls chained to the wall.

They stared at me like an outside who intruded on them. All off them beaten,

skeletal, and worst of all almost fully naked. The door slams shut with dust flying to

a restful spot. “My name is Ashley. How did you­ When did you­ where did you

come from?” Everyone huddles under two shared blankets, leaving me exposed.

The door opens, “No talking or else you’ll go without dinner” Got it?!” I curl into a

ball, and I fall asleep to the pitter patter of the rain.

Weeks go by as my hope slowly diminishes with me writing my thirty­fifth

day tally. Girls were taken in and out by name but never mine, and I prayed it would

never be mine. They would always come back more bruised than ever. The door

opens and the man walks over to me to unshackle me, “Ashley, its your turn

today.” I had not felt where the shackles had been clamped on, and they felt raw

and untouched since I had gotten there. I walk up the stairs, we then travel to the

house, and upstairs to what I believe is a bedroom. The steps are tall and wide.

“Your hair smell just as perfect as when I brought you here,” he says with a grin on

his face. I elbow him in the shoulder causing the man to fall down the stairs, and I

desperately lock the bedroom door. I look around to see whips, gags, and gallons

of Chloroform. There is a landline phone on the dresser. “Hello, 911. What is your

emergency?”

“I’ve been kidnapped”

“What’s your name?” There is banging on the door.

“Ashley Shepard.”

“Do you know where you are?” The man is now trying to kick the door down.

“No.”

“Leave the phone on so that we can trace the call.” I put the phone behind the

dresser. I turn around to see him bust the door off the hinges. He runs at me

causing me to fall on the bed. I feel his rough hands around my throat. I feel him

clench harder and harder until my lungs are on fire. I kick as hard as I can, and he

stumbles back to catch his breathe. I tackle him to the floor close to the door, and

the floor turns red with blood. A door stop had impaled his head link crushed ping

pong ball.

“Hello miss. Are you there? Are you safe? I heard a commotion.”

“I’m here. I’m safe.”

Notes

This story was extremely hard to write because not only was it about a

serious topic but it’s also from a girls point of view. The reason I started writing

this was because awhile back there was article about this on the radio. I wanted to

write from a girls point of view because the best writers are the ones that no matter

the character the reader can’t tell whether or not what gender the author is. The

story was about a girl who’s life was semi­boring and like always she goes on a run,

but out of nowhere she is kidnapped taken to a place where the women are raped

and beaten severely.

She escapes and in the draft she escapes, calls the police, and then is saved.

In the final, she ends up escaping and getting shot by her captor then buried next to

her grandfather. I made this change because it turned out happy, I had to write in

things that were too “coincidental”. It became too easy to get her out like the

phone, him taking so long with the door, her putting the phone behind the drawer,

and him just so happens to barge in right after the phone call ends. Plus, more

suspicion adds when she is buried next to her grandfather. It was quite a challenge

writing this story as a girl, but an easy one to get into the zone and just write.

The Story of a Ghost

Her dress was so pretty and red. It was a shame, she was dead.

The train had not slept in many days,

so this conductor and girl never knew that this time it would haze.

The tracks were bordered by rows of the great oak tree. The vision here was straight ahead, only one way to see.

If only the girl hadn’t left her house to secretly wed.

Her soon to be groom waited on the other side of the tracks, his grin spread.

She bounded over hills and valleys eager to begin her eternal phase. When she ramped the street to see her love, but the train devoured her in a fiery blaze.

She was the one to pay the undeniable fee;

I know this because that sweet sweet girl was me.

Notes This poem was fun to write about because my class’s stories have been

getting darker and darker, so I felt inclined to repeat what they had started. The

draft for it was pretty hard because of the rhyming at the end that also had to match

the meter of the other lines. From the beginning of the class I felt unsure with my

poem writing, but now this piece I feel confident in the process and the final

product of it. Starting this poem, I thought of what I wanted at the end, so I want a

train crash and it to be her. I also wanted it to be a love story with two different

angles from the draft to the final, one with the daughter sneaking out to get married

and the other was that the groom was cheating on her and was marrying someone

else.

I wrote this because I wanted to test my self with a serious situation, the

challenge of the rhyme, and have that rhyme stick to the plot of the poem. I

changed it from a third person limited to a first person point of view. I felt this was

because of I wanted an even more disturbing effect of visualizing her burning then

realizing her groom was waiting for someone else. I felt that the more shocking and

more horrific the better, so I feel that I have accomplished that. This was a really

fun plot to write and I love poetry.

The Itsy Bitsy Patrol Dear journal, I am Lenny the spider, and I am off to find the delicious jam. I have rope and a hook to help me on this voyage. Dear journal, This is my first mission from being a youngster and I am here to prove myself. I will get the jam for my family. Dear journal, I have stumbled upon little giants. They are reckless and I must watch out for them. No,they’ve got me. I need help. Dear journal, These evil giants want me to squirm because I try to get away, and they grab me with their hands and rip my limbs. Dear journal, This will be my last entry for I am too tired to move from the icy fortress that they have put me in. Good bye.

Notes

It was great to write this twitter fiction about Lenny because it’s shocking

and absurd. Seeing the looks of my workshoppers faces was what I was striving

for including the name of Lenny with the reference to Of Mice and Men. I used

show not tell to illustrate the description of the children, and the intelligence of

Lenny. I changed the end for an even more shocking action where instead of being

killed, he kills the family, and gains a hunger for humans. In the draft, he is too nice

and innocent, but in the final piece, something snaps that the reader doesn’t see and

he goes on a rampage. This series of twitter fiction was a lot easier to do because

of having the journal theme.

When I first started this twitter fiction series I wanted a kid friendly story that

ended in him being killed. It began as coming of age story and he couldn’t get

through it. The end of the draft I felt I had to think of a really disturbing thing that

toddlers would do to a spider. In the final piece, I wanted to keep the coming of

age story, but give Lenny revenge and a plot twist. I wrote this because I wanted a

kids story that quickly turned bad and created a horrifying ending. In the final

writing I could have extended the journal to his life as a child to give background,

but I felt that it would change the dynamic of the story. I loved writing this twitter

fiction story.

Crackling of the fire

Flames dance with joy With the embers blinking The stars reflecting back

The sky is clear Outside is quiet Our minds silent

Darkness wrapping around us

His mouth says a few more minutes in the light But his eyes command otherwise Her arms reach out to grab his

They are swaddled together in the pitch black

I stare in peace Walking in the shadows My light is the darkness I see through the fire

Notes When I first started this poem, I was envisioning a campsite that had a fire.

When it became nighttime, the darkness encircled the campers, and started to kill

them. I saw the narrator as the devil. He walked around the campsite; picking off his

victims one by one. When I wrote the final version, I looked back and saw Pompeii

in the story, so I wrote it in a way that captures Pompeii in a clearer light. In the

draft, I wanted to capture each image as a still picture that when you add more and

flip through them a movie is played out in great detail. In the edited piece, I wanted

to capture one moment and have it play like a slow motion movie.

When I began the final poem. I crafted a world that was consumed by fire

and smoke. It became struggle to stay in one tense, but I felt that it turned out well.

Pompeii is one of my favorite places because the interesting history of the turmoil

and suffering. However, the beauty of it is that every person and building that was

burned and covered in ash was permanently frozen in time as memorial of the event.

I tried to capture this in the poem, and let it ring in the reader’s mind. I feel that the

free­verse poems are a lot easier to show a creative style as opposed to formal

poetry that shows beauty of a more analytical way. Both the draft and final piece

were one of my favorite to write.

Presidential Puppy

Through the presidential hall the pup did run

his energy rolled up into one big ball treats expected with one bellowing call

The very innocence of life that carries so much fun.

Notes When I first started this poem, I was imagining a puppy barreling around the

entire White house finding a food bowl. It knocking things over and having the

personality of a six month baby after a nap. The hard part about this poem was the

rhyming because of trying to coming up with words that fit the subject and fitting

the rhymed words. I wrote this to show life as a kid, and to show both teenagers

and adults that when you are young, you are innocent and naive. That with valuable

experience, time, and wisdom comes the corruption of a child’s innocence. This is

because it’s socially wrong to still believe in the tooth fairy and now start making

your own income for survival. On the same note, to believe in Santa Claus because

now you have to not believe in him but be excited enough convince your children

so that when they grow they have to misguide their and for generations to come.

This also is included with the easter bunny because when kids are really young it’s

much easier to shove candy into baskets then, if the family was religious then telling

the story of Jesus Christ. In the final project, I kept the puppy but I saw him as

clifford the big red dog destroying a city. It’s a little darker but I felt that bringing

life to a childhood thought in the draft then crushing another would be fitting. It was

a very fun to write, and I enjoy our poetry lesson.