I could feel the cold sand between my toes, the cold water tickling them as I stood looking across the cold water.
I could feel the cold breeze as it wrapped around my cold body.
The cold air invading my cold nose.
Then a searing hot hand on my arm, pulling me away.
Cubed root
The frustrated teacher looked over his shoulder as the student replied, “I’m not doing it.”
Mr. Calveri snaps back, “Well, maybe if you actually focus, you won’t end up on the streets like you’re headed right now.”
“I’m not going to be homeless. My parents will support me,” he says with a smirk.
Mr. Calveri turns around and walks over to the student.
“Your parents will support you until they can’t handle you anymore. You want to know why they can provide you with your nifty cell phone and your freakish hair dye and money to pay for your piercings?”
Here the math teacher’s voice lowers to a whisper.
“It’s because they knew how to find the cubed root of a number. Unlike you. So if you don’t step up and learn how to support yourself, you will end up poor and without that obviously fake black hair of yours.”
That student did a complete 180, went to college, and is now happily married and knows how to find a cubed root. He never dyed his hair again.
Shy
“I don’t think I’m pretty. Only girls tell me I’m pretty. And that doesn’t count because they could be lying. I’ve only had one real boyfriend, and that relationship lasted less than 3 weeks. I guess I’m just not pretty.”
Shyly, he whispers, “you’re beautiful. Girls tell you you’re pretty because guys are scared of being rejected…. And sure, the girls are lying because you’re not pretty, you’re more than that. You’re beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, cute, funny, understanding, talented…. That boy didn’t know what he had. No one is lying to you, you’re lying to yourself.”
Jealousy
He walks in and sees that she’s been crying.
“What’s wrong?”
She looks up from her hands and says, “I don’t know… I get jealous easily.”
He knows what she’s jealous about.
“… Oh.”
My name is Annabelle Marie Holmes. I was born October 5, 1872. On the same date, 1891, I died. This is my account of what happened.
I was born in Boston. Just about one month before the Great Boston Fire of 1872. At least 20 people died in the same fire that killed my parents. 776 buildings were destroyed, including my home. You see, I am a miracle. I should not have lived for 19 years. But something happened that night, and it kept me alive.
My parents had no idea they were going to be on fire in fifteen minutes. Of course, I cannot remember any of this, but they laid me down to bed around 8:00pm, and were dead at 8:15. The fire consumed me, although it left leaving me painless. The fire was supernatural. If you have ever taken a small candle and passed your hand quickly through the flame, you have felt the experience I had when this occurrence happened.
When I was engulfed in the flames of this otherworldly fire, I was marked on my chest with a deep black rash. The blackness of the impurity was darker than night itself; as dark as hell.
I was found the next day by a housebreaker looking through the remnants of my home. Luckily, this person was not unkind. He took me with him to his squalid domicile. The Great Fire and my parents were forgotten, until the day I turned 18.
I lived with this housebreaker, Jim, and his friends Renee, Shane, and Elizabeth for years. They took care of me. Altough they picked pockets for a living, they did a fairly good job of feeding me and keeping me clean. Elizabeth would stay with me when Jim, Renee, and Shane left to “earn” a living.
LIKE OH MY GOSH I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMOREUH////
Until next time, my geographical friend.
I walk out
I look up
and there you are.
it’s night
it’s dark
and you’re right above.
white on
black
you’re a little to the right.
circle on
rectangle on
circle on
square
I can hardle see you anymore.
I taste dew
my eyes burn
because I’m tired.
but it’s worth it.
and there you go.
my heart swells
I’ll miss you
until next time
my geographical friend.
HOW’S THAT FOR NO CLICHES HUH!
Who can tell what I’m talking about?
Right behind me.
I went somewhere new one day, only to meet you. We became good friends.
Now you follow me everywhere. Isn’t it obvious that I can’t handle you anymore?
I had a free place to go and pour out all my emotions and heartbreak, but you found out.
Like always, you were there.
You found it, you came, and now you’re here.
You’re always right behind me.
I found this in my history class. These are my thoughts:
I don’t believe in this. I think war is death.
I get that Emile Zola would think this, maybe because she grew up with war all around her, or maybe she didn’t believe in God or happiness, but I really don’t believe this is right. There was peace and happiness once, there can be peace and happiness again. i.e. Adam and Eve.
Sure, nations have prospered, but what about the nations who lose? When you lose a war, you lose a lot. Germany lost the first World War, and they had to pay for it. Guess what? Germany finished paying for the First World War a few weeks ago. The war was almost a hundred years ago, and Germany just finished paying for it. Can you believe that?
I know a person can learn a lot from war, but would you like to learn that way? Always thinking about what would’ve happened if he did this, what would’ve happened if she didn’t do that…
War is not life. War is death.
