Short Stories and Prose

Phantom Me

Long ago I was told,

Darkness would surround me

It would make something happen

As yet it's not found me

Tonight it will find me

Tonight I won't hide

I can no longer stay safe

I am hollow inside

The last rays are swallowed

The sun is now gone

The stars disappear

As the curtains are drawn

I turn around slowly

And see nothing at all

My heart starts to race

My breath starts to stall

I grasp in the void

For the one thing that can save me

I strike a match

And light the candle he gave me

Now I can feel it

That something's developed

Since the very first second

That darkness enveloped

I stare in the mirror

And something has changed

Somehow my reflection

Is slightly deranged

His candle slips through my fingers

And falls to the ground

There is smoke in my nostrils

There are flames all around

I run to the window

Lightings flash as rain pours

It puts out the blaze

But leaves all the sores

I fall to the mirror

And yet again stare

I nearly collapse

Due to such a large scare

My white dress is now black

And due to the fright

My once ebony locks

Are horribly white

But what worst of all did

My soul terribly jar

Is the left side of my face

Is one huge ghastly scar

The one I have chosen

Now enters the room

The disgust on his face

Confirms my love's doom

The one I rejected

Was right all along

How I wish I had listened

Closer to his song

I run through the halls

Though he calls my name

I know that things now

Cannot be the same

Down flights of stairs

Through water I wade

I feel the old me

Has started to fade

And there on the table

What I used to represent

Now completes the conversion

To what I used to resent

Dear Annabelle,

Well, we're finally moved insort of. I mean, we've got all our stuff in the house; it's just not out of the boxes yet. Even though Mom brought us up here to visit last year, I'm still feeling pretty unprepared. I mean, it's just so completely different here. You should see it sometime; I'm sending you a postcard with this letter, but pictures only speak a couple of words, if you ask me. So, how are the Greats, Aunt Polly and Uncle George? Aunt Polly was going to teach me how to knit, but I guess that'll have to wait. Kylie is already happy as mouse in a cheese shop here. She already has a best friend. She's at her, Millie's, house right now. Oh, and our house, Annabelle. It's definitely not like our good old Nebraska home, no sir. It's tall and narrow and it looks just like all the others on the street, which is very long. Oh, and it's very hot here, right now. Mom says it will get really cold later, but anything's got to be better than this heat. Mom wouldn't let me carry my paints with me in the car, and they all got crunched and crumbled in the moving van, so I can't even paint right now until mom gets me some new ones. Well, that's all for now; Mom wants me to help her unpack. adparams.getadspec('c_billboard1');

Love,

Lise

September 20

Dear Annabelle,

I was so glad to hear from you! What took so long? I know, I know, you've been busy, huh? School and everything. Us graduated-last-years don't have to worry about stuff like that. I was sorry to hear about Cousin Sarah'sincident. I never knew she would get involved in anything like that. Well, don't you ever do anything like that, and I mean it! Mom got me some new paints. I'm going to paint my street for you, and then you can be here with me. Ok, big news. Guess what! Mom enrolled me in a junior college, so I lied when I said I don't have to worry about school. Mom said she wants me to go there for two years, until she can afford to send me somewhere better. I don't officially start until spring, but I went to stake out the place and I met a couple of kids who seemed pretty nice. They invited me to go to the library with them to study. Well, they all studied; I browsed through some art books and listened to music. Books were always your thing anyway. By the way, have you ever read Catcher in the Rye? Because they were all talking about it, and I didn't have a clue.

Blissfully Ignorant,

Lise

October 12

Dear Annabelle,

Thanks for filling me in on the book. Maybe you can summarize all the classics so I won't seem like such a dummy next time. It turns out they have a lot of art classes at the college. I'm actually taking some remedial math and lit classes pre-term right now, so I'm at the library a lot. You would love it. Mom says I'm getting an accent from hanging around all those kids so much. She said I say "dwag" and "pawhk". I can't tell. That Bret guy you wrote about sure sounds cute, but when did you suddenly become so boy crazy? Just don't get into trouble, okay? Oh, and thanks so much for the pictures and the candy you sent. That was really sweet. I'm not sure when I'll be down to visit. Soon, I hope.

One Hug, One Kiss, and I'm Out Like This,

Lise

October 30

Dear Annabelle,

Just a quick letter this time. I've got to head down to Sparro's pizza. That's right, yours truly got a job! I can now pay forthings. Paints! Yes, paints. I'll be getting you that painting anytime now, you can bet your buttons.

Later,

Lise

November 29

Dear Annabelle,

Things are fine. Mom's job's good. Kylie's getting good grades. Got new paints. Read a couple pages of Catcher, got bored, stopped. Got Internet now, and satellite, pretty sweet. Well, gotta run.

Luv,

Lise

January 2

Dear Annabelle,

Your last letter was a little weird. I mean, what was all that stuff about me not being the same? Is this because I took so long to write back? Or because the letter was short?

Well, sorry, I was late for work. I've been so busy lately. Anyway, aren't you on winter break still? So, you've got plenty of time on your hands, I'm still busy. I got snowed in yesterday and my boss yelled at me for 15 minutes straight. It was insane. And you know perfectly well I don't have enough money for traveling right now, or of course I would visit you.

Yours Truly,

Lise

February 3

Dear Annabelle,

I started taking classes at the college. It's pretty cool. My friends and I all went down to the mall to celebrate my first day, and they bought me all new outfits. Wasn't that sweet? You should see them. I started my painting this week, the one of the street. Remember? I think it'll turn out pretty good. Oh, I almost forgot: I got my hair cut. It's pretty short now, and highlighted. Well, later.

Ciao,

Lise

March 14

Dear Annabelle,

Look, I've just about had it, okay? What is going on with you? Your last letter was completely off the wall. I mean what in the world could you have possibly meant by "You've changed, Lise. I've stayed the same, kind of, but I have no one to look after."

When have you ever looked after me, Annabelle? Don't take that the wrong way, or anything, but I believe it was the other way around. Anyway, let's just forget it. In other news, thanks so much for that line you added in there about Catcher: "And though Holden protected the hat, the hat was, in reality, his protector. But Holden went off to New York and forgot his hat. And without the hat, the rain got to Holden's head, and it washed him all away until he was new. And the hat changed, and got dirty, and the threads unraveled, until it was gone. And Holden's head was very cold and bare." With a little cleaning up, it's genius, so I put in my essay. I'm totally getting an "A" with that kind of "original thinking."

Ha!

Lise

April 30

Dear Annabelle,

I've got a bone to pick with you. You must have known I didn't pay much attention to the book, to be able to slip that one by me. Ha ha, very funny. You know perfectly well Holden didn't forget his hat. What were you making stuff up for? I got a "D+" thanks to you, missy. Your last letter was very short, you know, but you didn't see fit to include that little bit of information? Anyway, I have to go re-read the book so I don't fail the final, too.

Thanks a Bundle,

Lise

May 18

Dear Annabelle,

Your last letter was so nice to read. I loved the poem about seasons; it was great. So what's going on? You never tell me anything about yourself anymore. I have to write this poem for class about a color. I chose yellow, but I can't think of anything. You're so good at poetry. You think you could help me out?

Thanks,

Lise

June 12

Dear Annabelle,

As I sit here between the lions on the library stairs, I hold your last letter in my hands. Oh, Annabelle, how was I so blind? How was I so stupid? All the time, you were trying to tell me. And then you showed me in the only way you knew how. You wrote my poem for me, the one on yellow. Only, you didn't write on paper, you wrote on your life, didn't you? Wow, listen to me, getting all metaphorical on you. Well, Aunt Polly wrote about where they found you: between the rails on the train tracks, wearing a yellow linen dress, with yellow daisies all around you. But they had been blown around a bit by the wind of the train going by. She said you must have looked like an angel, lying there like that. She said she couldn't really describe what you looked like after, though. She didn't want tojust that you looked like you hadcome apart. You were undone. Aunt Polly said you were just where we had found Tiberius, your yellow sun-cat, all those years ago. That was the same year I thought you had drowned at the lake, right? I'm sending the painting along with this letter; I finished it. Aunt Polly's going to hang it in your room. It's of my street here in New York, and you're laying in the middle of it, in your yellow dress and yellow hair all around. Everyone is throwing yellow daisy petals down at you from their windows Oh Annabelle, I love you and always will. I just wish. I just wish I had been able tosee. The rain stopped. The sun is peeking out through the clouds, and my head is warm. For now, just for now.

Yellow or Red, Cover My Head,

Lise

Asia Sanchez

Mrs. Somers

Creative Writing/Block 1

28 February 2006

Plot Treatment

Setting: New York, near the outskirts of the city in a fairly nice brownstone house, modern day. The story begins in August and ends in July of the next year. The weather will be changing accordingly.

Situation: A 19 year-old girl, Lise, has just moved to the city from her country home in Nebraska, because her mother got a new job working at as a publicist for an up and coming modern artist. She has a little sister, Kylie, who is 6 years old and already adjusted to the move. She has a dog named Mop, because he looks like one. Lise has left behind her extending family and her best friend/second cousin Annabelle. They now communicate through letters, since Annabelle doesn't have email and Lise hates talking on the phone. Lise's mother's name is Jo. Lise's father died when she was 8 of liver cancer and Jo has been supporting them ever since. Things are tighter now that they aren't living in the giant country house with Jo's parents any longer, but they Jo has hopes of furthering her career and of Lise and Kylie going to a good university. Lise is having a little bit of trouble fitting in with her new friends and a little trouble balancing her old life with her new.

Asia Sanchez

Mrs. Somers

Creative Writing/Block 1

28 February 2006

Character Sketch: Letters

Lise: Lise is a 19 year-old girl, just graduated from high school and recently moved to a new city, her first city. She has straight medium brown hair with bangs and big brown eyes of a slightly darker color. She has thick eyebrows and is quite thin. She loves to paint, especially scenery. She is country bred, and not used to the warm New York summer weather. She misses her family and best friend Annabelle, but she also longs to fit in with the new city kids she's met. When Lise was 9 and Annabelle was 8, they had gone down to Old Lake Munk, and found an old rope swing. Annabelle had grabbed the swing right away, ran back, and flung herself, dress and all, into the lake. Midswing, the rope had snapped and Annabelle had landed in a shallow, scummy spot and sank out of sight. Lise had panicked and ran. Two hours later, she had come out of her room, tears streaming and told her mom that she thought maybe something was wrong with Annabelle, then she had turned and ran back to the lake, her mom in hot pursuit. When they got there, they had seen Annabelle covered in mud, sitting under a tree, munching on an apple. She had a big lump on her head and a gash through her left eyebrow, but when she saw Lise and her mom, she gave them a toothy grin. Ever since that day, Lise has felt the need to protect Annabelle, to make up for almost letting her die that time, and now that they have been separated, they keep in touch through letters. Lise had only agreed to leave when Annabelle had fully assured her that she was grown up and capable of surviving on her own for a while.

Annabelle: Annabelle has a very frail look about her: very pale blond straight hair, pale blue eyes, and pale skin. However, she has proven herself to be anything but frail on many an occasion. She looks up to Lise, but feels she is actually the one protecting her, primarily emotionally. She sees Lise as fragile and gentle on the inside and she thinks Lise needs to feel that she protects Annabelle, even if she doesn't exactly understand why. Annabelle used to have a yellow cat named Sol, but he was ran over by a train when Mop chased him into a hole on the tracks. Annabelle had pretended not to care too much, but Lise had noticed that she didn't eat for 4 days and never walked near the tracks again, which had been their old route to the lake and their spot for playing "Chicken" despite their mother's warning about the little Boone girl down the road being threatened by a man who had come off of a train. Annabelle has never been unpopular among her peers, but she has never quite fit in. She would much rather sit on a hill and read while Lise sat next to her painting the sunset. Annabelle was raised and is still living with her grandparents, in the same house Lise grew up in after her dad died, because her dad had run off when she was 3 and her mom was useless afterwards, in bed most of the time and constantly threatening to die any moment.

One Last Feeling

The strain on the pins in Mrs. Wilshire's hair was too much, and as she sat in her favorite spot on the edge of Clara's Cliff, her dark brown curls broke free and tried to fly away with the wind. Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, as she felt the presence of someone watching her.

"You've come back," she, quietly, flatly.

"Yes, that's right, I have," said Rachel. "I wish you would."

Mrs. Wilshire continued to stare out at the darkening horizon and restless sea.

"Come on!" yelled Rachel. "I have two one-way tickets back to Rhode Island right now, and I want you on that plane next to me."

Mrs. Wilshire slowly closed her eyes, and a single tear squeezed out, unwilling to roll down her wind-chapped cheek. Why couldn't anyone just leave her alone, leave her to grieve, leave her to indulge herself in the one emotion she had left. She just wanted to feel the pain and live in the peaceful darkness for the rest of her days. adparams.getadspec('c_billboard1');

Rachel once again yelled, "Leah!"

At the sound of her first name, Mrs. Wilshire found herself transported back to that bright winter day, eight years ago. She had just had a terrible day at the office, and as she left the building, she had tripped, dropping her folders and her beloved secret project, the manuscript for The Manor Widow flying every which way in the crisp breeze. She had dropped to her knees, tearing her only pair of nylons, and desperately tried to gather to escaping sheets of paper, when, suddenly, a hand had appeared on top of hers. She had lifted her tear-streaked face to see the kindest blue eyes she had ever seen. He had helped her gather the rest of the text and then had helped her to her feet.

"Thank you" she had started to say, when suddenly she had heard, "Leah!" Rachel had run up and put her arm under the stranger's. "Leah, I'd like you to meet Liam Wilshire."

"Leah!"

With this last call of her name, she stood up and whipped around. "Why are you still here?" she shouted. "Why can't you understand? I'm never going to leave here. Never!" She stood facing Rachel, eyes gleaming, inhaling and exhaling rapidly, deeply.

"You have to snap out of this, Leah," Rachel shouted over the howling wind. "You have to get back to reality. Everyone's worried sick. Two months, two months it took me to fin"

"Who's worried sick? Who? Stop lying, no one cares, and you know it. You just want me to cave so you can bring me back and show everyone you won. You always have to win!" Leah's face was lit up by a brilliant flash of light as she shrieked the last word, temporarily blinding her in the next second. Rachel's face faded into view, filled with pain and confusion.

"When did you start hating me?" she choked. "Where is thishow did this happen?"

"MeI loved you, Rachel, like my own sister, I loved you." She couldn't tell where her own tears ended and the rain began, but at the next roll of thunder, a black cloud of loathing filled her visage. "It was you! You're the one who betrayed me!" she cried, pounding her fists on Rachel's chest. "You knew he'd never stop loving you, you stole his love from me!" Leah screamed a horrible banshee cry as Rachel reached out and grabbed her flailing arms; Leah tore away, stepping backwards, twisting, until she had broken free, falling backwards into the rain-pelted grass. Shock and sick terror overwhelmed her as she heard Rachel cry, scream, and then nothing but the howling of wind and the hammering percussion of thunder. Leah rolled over and crawled forward, mud covering her skin and soaked white dress; she looked down, down into the churning black waters, and the lightning died, and she saw nothing.

Story of My Life

Daniel walked down the hallway, sneakers squeaking, trying to get the mess of papers in his hand into a neat, organized pile.

"Is that you, Danny?" he heard a piping raspy voice ask. He looked over the pile and saw Sharon Anderson looking back at him with questioning blue eyes.

"Umlast time I checked." He replied.

"Here, let me help you," she said. "What is all this?" she asked as she looked through some of the papers she took from him.

"Story ideas," he said.

"UmDanny? I hate to be the one to tell you this, but these are all blank."

"No, they're not," he said. "Look." He pointed to one tiny, penciled word on the upper left hand corner of each sheet.

"Whatever. I'm not even going to ask," Sharon rolled her eyes. They walked together to the homeroom they both shared. When they got there, they had to kick the door until someone got up and let them in, as their arms were too full of papers to open it themselves. Daniel took the rest of the papers back from Sharon and walked over to the teacher's desk, where he set them down and attempted to staple them together. He eventually managed to secure them into what somewhat more resembled a chicken preening its feathers than a stack of story ideas. He put the pile in Mr. Moreno's "In" box, walked back to his desk, sat down, and grinned. adparams.getadspec('c_billboard1');

Mr. Moreno leaned forward in his seat as the bell rang and pulled down his black, rectangular shaped glasses, eying the feathered mess with which he had just been entrusted.

"Mr. Charles." Daniel looked up.

"Yes, Mr. Moreno?"

"What, may I ask, is this monstrosity?" Mr. Moreno leaned on his left hand and pointed at the stack with his right.

"Those are my first drafts." Daniel replied.

"Drafts?" Mr. Moreno raised his dark, thick eyebrows so high that Daniel thought maybe this time they'd just crawl right into his hair and never come back down again. "I only recall asking you to write one first draft."

"Well, I kept changing my mind, so I'd start again, but I couldn't decide which one was best, so I brought them all. I was just getting ideas down, you know. Down drafts," Daniel explained.

"Well, they certainly do resemble down, I must say," said Mr. Moreno. "But next time, try keeping the inevitable doom of the rainforests in mind when you decide to start a story with "the" and quit."

"Yes, sir." Daniel blushed and sank down in his seat a bit as the class snickered.

After class, Daniel met up with his best friend, Luke.

"So, still working on that story, bud?" Luke asked.

"Yeah," Daniel answered, frowning and scribbling a few notes in the notebook Mr. Moreno had given him right before class had ended.

"I'm done," Luke said, as he stretched his arms to the side and back and yawned.

"What?" asked Daniel. "We haven't even done any peer editing yet."

"Well, Mr. Moron-o won't know if I change it later or not, so I'm done."

Daniel sighed, squinted up at the sun, and jotted a few more notes in his notebook. He was determined to make this the best story ever. This was not going to be some normal 10th grade assignment. Oh, no. He was going to dazzle them. He was going to render Mr. Moreno silent with awe, and Mr. Moreno was going to FedEx the thing straight to Harper Collins, and Daniel would be famous world wide as the youngest literary genius of all time.

After school, Daniel and Luke were sitting under a tree out in the schoolyard. Luke was tossing a baseball up and down, and Daniel was writing furiously in his notebook. Suddenly, a shadow fell over the paper. Daniel looked up to see Sharon's silhouette against the glaring sun.

"Still writing?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, squinting up at her. "I think I'm getting somewhere. I had this idea for this book about this kid who finds out he has magical powers and goes off to study them and"

"You mean likeHarry Potter? Or a billion other stories?" Sharon saw the shocked look on Daniel's face. "Sorry," she said.

Daniel looked down at what he had been writing. He ripped the pages out, crumpled them up and threw them away. He had to start again. Daniel sat back against the tree, put the notebook open over his face, and tried to search the paper for ideas.

At home that night, Daniel sat at his desk with the lamp turned on, staring at his blank page. He happened to glance up at a picture of him and his dad on their river-rafting trip last summer, andsuddenlyinspiration struck. He again began to write in a flurry of words.

The next day, Daniel sat on the floor in the hall by the drinking fountain, staring at the notebook and chewing on his pencil eraser. "Hey!" he yelled, as suddenly water was being squirted all over the paper. He rolled out of the way and saw Luke grinning wickedly down at him from the drinking fountain. "Come on, knock it off man," Daniel said.

Luke frowned. "You knock it off! You've done nothing but work on that story for the last two days. When are we gonna play some ball?"

"When I'm done, okay?" replied Daniel, wiping the wet pages on his shirt and waving them up and down. Right in the middle of one of these up-waves, Luke grabbed the notebook and held it above where short little Daniel couldn't reach.

"Hey! Give that back," yelled Daniel, jumping up and down.

"I wonder what's in here," said Luke, slowly. He opened up the book and started walking down the hall, reading out loud, Daniel in hot pursuit. "'My best friend and I got off our injured raft, as we'd found an island, and found the supplies we needed to repair it. Then, we hid in the bushes so no one would find us. Little did we know we were about to embark on a grand adve Hey! This sounds familiar. Like, umOh, yeah! It sounds like that book we just readumHuck-somethin'."

"What? It does not! Lemme see!" Daniel finally jumped high enough and snatched the notebook out of Luke's hand. He quickly scanned his writing. Then, with equal speed, he opened his backpack and tore through it, until he came upon the tattered copy of "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" by Mark Twain from last semester. He flipped through it, read the back cover, dropped both book and notebook on the floor, and walked away.

"Hey, Danny-O, wait up a minute!" Luke called grabbing Daniels things off the floor. He followed as Daniel marched up to the men's room, flung open the door, and stormed in. Daniel turned on the sink, splashed water on his face, and stood hunched over on the sink, fists clenched on the counter, staring in the mirror with a hot, red face and gleaming, brown eyes. "Hey, Danny, manbuddy?" Luke walked over to where Daniel stood and patted him on the back. When there was no change on Daniel's part, Luke sighed, took off his hat, and stuck in on Daniel's head. Then he turned it around backwards so that it twisted Daniel's hair in front of his eyes. First, there was what sounded vaguely like a stifled cough, then an unwilling breeze from Daniel's nostrils, then a raspberry, and then he was flat out laughing. Luke laughed nervously along with him.

"I'm a loon, Luke," Daniel said. "Lock me up and throw away the key, I'm crazy!"

"Well admittance is the first step to recovery, my boy," replied Luke, raising his eyebrows to wrinkle his brow and deepening his voice.

"Luke, I've been going about this all wrong! Don't you see, I've been thinking like a kid, like all those stories our teachers had us write in elementary school. I need to think of something big, something important. Something that asks and answers a profound question," Daniel closed his eyes in thought.

"Well, that's great man," said Luke. "How about you work on that, and I'll just be outside, you know, living." With that, Luke walked out the door, leaving Daniel alone with his thoughts.

The next Thursday, Daniel sat in Mr. Moreno's class with his filled up notebook in front of him. He appeared to be staring at the papers, but he was really accepting his Pulitzer Prize. The crowds were cheering "Daniel! Daniel! Daniel"

"Daniel. Daniel. Mr. Charles!" Daniel's head snapped up to find itself face to face with Mr. Moreno. "Thank you for pulling yourself away from whatever demanded your attention so. I do hope I can make my class captivating enough for you in the future," Mr. Moreno stood up and continued his walk down the aisle, swinging a yardstick up and down on his palm. "Alright, class, your folders are due tomorrow. And don't forget to be working on your stories. They're due next Friday, and I know how you love to put things off till the last minute."

Daniel smiled a little at that comment as he looked lovingly down at the story he had been working on. He flipped through the pages. Genius, he thought. A++++Full ride scholarship! He flipped through the pages again. Okay, maybe not quite, but still

After class, Daniel walked up to Mr. Moreno's desk with his notebook cradled in his arms. He stood there, watching Mr. Moreno grading papers. Mr. Moreno's pencil stopped moving. He looked up and noticed Daniel standing there. "Yes, Mr. Charles?"

"Um, Mr. Moreno, Iuh. I have this story I've been working on, and I was just wondering if you could uhI mean if you, um," Daniel stammered.

"Daniel, would you like me to look over your story for you?" Mr. Moreno asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, sir. Please," said Daniel, handing the notebook to Mr. Moreno.

"Alright," said Mr. Moreno, taking the book. "Let's see what we've got here," he glanced through the pages and sighed. "Tell you what, Daniel: this is a lot to read. How about you come back during lunch to pick this up?"

"Okay. Thanks," said Daniel as he walked out the door.

During lunch, Daniel walked back to Mr. Moreno's room with Sharon and Luke. When they got to the door, Daniel stopped. He started breathing deeply and holding his stomach.

"Nervous?" asked Luke, smiling.

"No," Daniel glared back, composed himself, and opened the door. At his desk, Mr. Moreno still sat, reading Daniel's story. He looked up as Daniel and friends came through the door.

"Daniel," he said. "I was just finishing up here." Seeing the questioning look on Daniel's face, he said, "I also want to tell you, Daniel, that you've got the start to something really great here."

Relief poured through Daniel. "You like it?" he asked.

"Well," started Mr. Moreno. "There are some technical errors that need working on, but the idea is good." He grinned. "You could be the next J.D. Salinger."

Daniel froze mid-smile. "Why Salinger?" he asked.

"Well, your story bears a striking similarity to The Catcher in the RDaniel?"

But Daniel was already out the door, followed by Luke and Sharon.

"Daniel!" yelled Sharon. "Come back! What's wrong?"

"The kid's crazy," gasped Luke.

Daniel ran down the hallway, ran into Mrs. Bills' room, and ran out bearing paint and a paintbrush. He ran down until he got to the end of the hallway, dipped the brush in the can of paint, and painted a big red X across four locker doors. He stood there staring at his work, leg's spread, and arms to his side, paint dripping from the brush. Luke and Sharon ran up behind him. When they saw what he had done, they stopped and stared.

"Why did you do that, Danny?" asked a shocked Sharon.

"Yeah Dan, what gives?" asked Luke.

"II don't know," said Daniel, cocking his head to one side.

"Good Lord!" they all gasped and turned as they heard a deep voice behind them. There they saw Principal Chesney standing behind them. The fluorescent lights from the ceiling were reflecting off of his shiny scalp. He pulled off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and replaced them, blinking. "What the blazes is going on here?" he shouted.

"Mr. Chesney, sir, Danny here was justuh" started Sharon.

"Making an artistic statement?" Luke tried. Daniel just stood there, staring.

"Well, I think the artist needs to come with me so we can discuss this statement'," said Principal Chesney.

"Mr. Chesney," Everyone in the hall looked behind Principal Chesney to see Mr. Moreno coming down the hall in long strides. "I think there's been a misunderstanding here, sir. I think I can handle it, and I'll see to it this gets cleaned up."

Principal Chesney looked at Mr. Moreno, then at Danny, then at the big red X, and everyone in the hall and back. "Um, alright," he said. Then, with more confidence, "You see that it does, Mr. Moreno." He took a final glance at everyone, sighed, and walked away. They all watched him leave. When he'd turned a corner, Mr. Moreno turned and looked at Daniel with one raised eyebrow.

"Well, Mr. Charles, I think you have some cleaning to do." Mr. Moreno saw as Daniel's eyes brimmed with tears. "Well, let's go back to my classroom and have a little chat first, okay?" The three friends followed him back to the room, Daniel dragging behind. When they got in the room, Mr. Moreno turned to Daniel and asked, "So, Daniel, is there anything you would like to share with us?"

"I don't know why I did that," Daniel said, head hanging down. "Something just snapped.

"But why?" asked Mr. Moreno.

"That was the third story I've written for this assignment. And each one has already been done by someone else. I just can't come up with an original idea!" yelled Daniel.

"Daniel," said Mr. Moreno. "What I read today showed some real skill and, believe it or not, creativity. It doesn't matter if you subconsciously have been picking up bits and pieces of literature that you have included in your work. That shows me that you've been paying attention. But Daniel, today you ran down that hall, stole paint, and vandalized school property in a very sudden and demonstrative way. I'm sure that a book about the motive behind that would prove brain food for any school psychiatrist," Mr. Moreno grinned. "And it also might get an A. Not that that matters to an artist of such integrity as yourself."

The following Friday, Daniel was walking up to the school, carrying a thick pile of papers. Luke and Sharon came up and started walking next to him.

"Is that your story?" asked Luke.

"Yes, is that yours?" asked Daniel, looking at the two sheets of paper in Luke's hand.

"Can I see your story?" asked Sharon.

Daniel hesitated. "OOkay" he said, handing the stack to Sharon.

She looked through it as they walked. "This looks pretty good," she said. "But some of it kind of sounds famil"

"Stop right there!" yelled Daniel. He smiled. "I don't want to hear it."

Ben was an average 28 year-old kid living in his parents basement without their knowledge. Due to an enormously, outrageously unlikely sequence of events, Ben had never been exposed to that which had formed much of his generation: rock. Rock? If you had asked Ben what rock was, you may have received a highly informative lecture on the various mineral composites which may form on this planet and others. And Roll? The first thing Ben would think of would have been avalanches. The concept had simply never been introduced to him. He had never heard of bass guitars, goth, punk, emo, classic, heavy metal. Heck, he had never heard of Elvis Presley. The King. Ben had heard of Mozart, Sousa, even the pipers of Australian outback. But not Elvis. Which is why it was that on the eve of the annual "Ben Finally Left Home" party upstairs, Ben was in for the shock of his life. In the eerie glow of World of Warcraft, Ben was suddenly bombarded with a pop up just as he was going to pwn someone so hard. Instead, he pwned that pop up so hard, and that pop up pwned Ben for the remainder of his natural life. For, see, this pop up was a quiz pop up questioning Ben as to his preference: Rolling Stones or Beatles? Avalanches and Insects? Well, thought Ben, Insects, for sure. So he clicked. So he discovered. So with the first twang of the first chord on the first youtube video of the first recorded Led Zeppelin concert flew through Ben's body like an electric current. Suddenly Ben questioned how he could have gone his entire life without knowing of this thing called "rock and roll"! Suddenly, Ben ran up the stairs, catching his father putting up crepe and his mother fixing rum punch. Suddenly Ben said: "Mom. Dad. I am living in your basement. I am not paying rent. I have many secrets and I want some of that punch. And I WILL embarrass you in front of your friends!"

"HOLY-! I mean, hell, Ben," Ben's father said. "What's changed?"

Ben looked his father in the eye and said: "Now I'm doing it with a guitar."