Today is a very special day, no that doesn't even cover it. Today is one of the best days ever? No that isn't it either. On this day sixteen years ago one of the most amazing girls ever was born. I know what you are thinking with this explanation and no it is not me but thank you for the flattery. Today is the celebration of the day one of my best friends in the entire world was born.

It is this girl the one to the right of this picture yeah the one who took your breath away when you looked at her. That super mega foxy awesome hot girl's name is Savannah, or is it Samantha, or Vivianna, or Elizabeth, or Kumquat, or blotchy, or Katniss, no I am sure it is Savannah. Now I know at this point you are just so captivated by the beauty in this picture that you are completely ignoring my words but let's get back to the words on this page.

This (the word amazing doesn't even begin to cover it but that word is all that I can think of so I will use it) amazing girl is having a birthday today. She entered the world sixteen years ago, I don't know much about her origins but she was either born in the USA or the planet Graffindelicatusbillyboop from which I know that she just recently escaped. Though this girl's origins are a mystery and much of her young childhood is a cloudy area that few know much about; the later years of her life are better known. She lives in the best city in the entire world *Cough* sorry my fingers seem to be typing all of my actions as well as what my mind is thinking, I want some apple juice. She has a younger sister whom deep down she loves very much very DEEP down. She lives a happy life with her parents and sister and is as to my knowledge content with this life.

I mean I know that everyone wishes for more but that is what writing is for right? You can put yourself anywhere you want to. Oh right I forgot to mention not only is this fabulous girl unnaturally beautiful but she is also a very gifted writer. Her books can make you laugh in one paragraph but want to cry and put out that stupid fire in the next. Her blog posts are so insightful and full of nothing but pieces of the immense knowledge she possesses. Here is a link to her blog if you want to check her out. Best blog ever!! she is ugh I just really can't think of the right words to describe how incredible she is. Her words are so creative and bright.
She has done a lot of things in the years I have known her, she was Maiden Marian in probably the best production of Robin Hood ever! She rocked everyone's socks and if they weren't wearing any the next time they put socks on those socks were rocked. She has been in many plays in fact she was in; two separate productions of A Midsummer Night's Dream, Treasure Island, Right You Are If You Think You Are, Up the Down Staircase, The Great Divorce, and is working on an actor's showcase with our theater company. She is just a incredible at acting as she is at writing. She evokes so many emotions with her performances that you will think she was your best friend and you will want to go up and give her a hug if she is crying on stage.

She has so many more talents that come to mind when I think of her; she is very smart, a great singer, a fast learner which she has put into practice to become a very talented guitar player, her humor is well hilarious, her photographs are good, and some talents that people wouldn't really consider talents are her strongest points. Her ability to know when something is wrong and come rushing to your side to talk about it. She always knows what to say to help you through or to make you smile when you are down. She gives great advice, and when she doesn't know what to tell you she will pray with you and for you to have the knowledge that you need. She has such a strong relationship with God which makes her relationship with others stronger. I remember one time about a year or so ago when we were praying together in the bathroom at church, we asked that God would strengthen our friendship, and that He would be ever present in our lives. He hasn't failed us yet, I mean we have fought but He has always brought us back together.

I admire this girl who is so strong and so kind. I must admit though that she has some very strange quirks. I hope she doesn't kill me for saying this but she snorts when she laughs which just makes us all laugh even more. She says some of the most random things that make everyone smile, not to mention her great facial expressions.

Just look at that face in the back of our picture. She is always such a bright light to me, constantly making me laugh. She is so incredible and so meaningful to me, she is that girl that everyone is friends with and I feel so privileged to say that she is one of my best friends. There is so much more that I could say about her, but I prefer to keep much of it private and so I will just tell her. She really is incredible though and one of the brightest lights in my life and i hope she has an amazing sixteenth birthday, and I hope that I am around to wish her so many more. Well maybe I could just borrow the Doctor to ensure that I am there for each and every one in the future. Enough of me talking though I just wanted to let this girl and anyone else who read through this entire post to know just how amazing this girl is to me and to the world. Go read her blog, Seriously go read this she has so much more to say about herself than I do and she has abetted way with words than I do at 12:33 in the morning. I love you Savannah and don't you ever forget that Kumquat. ;)

Paul and Miriam

Paul and Miriam Kauffman met the old-fashioned way. Two young kids who became friends and later got married. Everyone reaches their expiration date. We're like milk cartons in a store. The store manager is God, and before we get to go on the shelf, he stamps us with an expiration date. The shelf is life, so if we fall off, we're in trouble, but if we get bought we're doing well.
One day just as the sun was starting to rise a man came slowly down the street. His skin was wrinkled and folded with age, sagging around his eyes and mouth like a basset hound with no fur. He was hunched slightly, his hand holding tightly to a sturdy wooden cane that helped the hobbling footsteps stay balanced. As he passed a few other early birds waved to him, greeting him by name in a pattern so familiar it felt like it had gone on for forever.

He did not stop, only smiled a crooked smile at his acquaintances and kept walking. This was not unusual, and the people continued with what they were doing without another thought about it. The man had walked by them every day for years, and though his path had brought him new people every so often, he remained a constant on the street.

Few knew what drove him to stumble from his home so early and walk clear to the drug store three blocks away. Some whispered about his motivation, suggesting things that made little sense. A seldom few knew the real reason behind his quest, and they kept the knowledge to themselves generally. There was no harm in the old man, everyone could tell that whether they were new or old to the tradition. No one waited for him to stop and have a chat on his way, because he would not. He did not stop until he'd reached the drug store.

Pulling out change from his pocket the man went to the payphone outside the drug store and placed his money into the narrow slot. In long repeated motions he dialed the number, waiting with quiet breaths for the rings to silence at last. Finally a voice came on the other end, its tone sweetened with age and bright with cheer.

"You've reached the Kauffman residence," the woman's voice said in the same tone he had heard for years, "sorry we missed you. If you'll leave your name and number after the beep we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Thanks for calling."

The man did not wait for the obnoxious beep to ruin his moment and hung up the phone, his smile now brought into full view for the world to see. As he exited the telephone booth he stopped to talk with a mother who had recently moved to the street, smiling kindly at the two children who clutched her skirt tightly. He walked slowly back to his house, stopping every so often to tell and shop keeper that their fruit looked especially ripe, or to converse on the weather with the newsboy who seemed desperate for something to do.

The others could not see the reason behind the old man's actions. They did not know who he called every day, and the few that did thought he was mad. When he was asked who he was calling by an adventurous passerby he answered that he was simply calling his wife. It didn't take long for someone to let them know that his wife had died two years before, leaving him in his solitary treck up and down the block.

They did not understand what he gained by making the journey, and it seemed that happiness was not a large enough prize for most. Only the man knew what her voice really did. It filled his heart with warmth, made him smile the way only she had known how to. Most of all, if only for a moment he could imagine her standing beside him talking to him just like she had for more than forty years. Just for a moment, it was like he had his wife back, and that was enough to keep him going.

Death comes not to the living soul, nor age to the loving heart.

They were an odd pair, the boy and the man who sat beside him every day in the park. They had been meeting daily for months, each glad for the other person's company. It was unsightly, a woman once scolded them, that a mere child and an elderly person should be friends when they were no relation to one another. Words that the boy did not understand were thrown at them in muttered conversations between the middle ages, tossing accusations like "pervert" around as if it were mere fact that the encounters could have no other meaning.
At first the man was weary of befriending the child, knowing what it would look like to the rest of the world. Still, the day that the boy had sat down beside him on the park bench he had been unable to stop himself from beginning a conversation. Any parent would have done it, he reasoned. Any person who was from a time period far before "pedophile" was a common word wouldn't have even had the moment of hesitation that he had.
It was just that the boy looked so sad. When he sat down his head drooped so that his chin was nearly touching his chest, and his mouth was turned down into a miserable little frown. Though his feet dangled above the ground as he slid onto the bench, they remained hanging lifelessly rather than swinging back and forth.
"Something wrong, boy?" the old man asked, smiling kindly down at the boy.
Looking up in surprise the boy shook his head.
Chuckling a little the man said, "You look awfully sad for a boy whose got nothing wrong."
"It's not that nothing's wrong," the boy said finally, looking reluctant, "it's just that my dad says I shouldn't talk to strangers."
They exchanged looks for a long time, and for a moment the man was tempted to nod politely and let the bench fall back into silence. He probably would have, had he not noticed the way that the boy was still looking at him, as if wishing to be contradicted. It was the same look he remembered his son giving him years ago when he wanted to tell him something but wasn't sure how.
"Well you know," the man said cautiously, "if I introduced myself I wouldn't be a stranger."
The boy smiled just a little bit, "You wouldn't?"
"I don't suppose so," the man said, his eyes twinkling, "then I'd just be an acquaintance. My name's William McCarty."
"I'm Bobby," the boy said quickly, "it's very nice to meet you Mr. McCarty."
"It's very nice to meet you as well, Bobby," the man answered evenly. He paused a moment, as if to let the new introductions settle before asking, "so is that thing that's wrong anything you want to talk about?"
The boy hesitated, shifting in his seat as he thought through all the advice his father had given him. Then, glancing back at the man's kind blue eyes the boy knew that whatever advice his father had given him was for scary strangers, not acquaintances like the old man. "He didn't show up," the boy said finally, letting his breath out as though a very large secret had just been released. "He promised he'd come, but he didn't."
For the first time the man noticed something that he was sure he should have noticed long before then. Even as people passed them on every side as they sat chatting on the park bench, no mother stood hovering nervously beside her son. No father was nearby checking his watch impatiently. It seemed to the man that the boy was very much alone. Looking closer at his new acquaintance the man was sure that he could not be more than nine years old – much too young to be walking around the city without an adult.
"Who didn't come?" William asked, hoping that the boy's answer would answer his other questions as well.
The boy stared down at his shoes, blinking hard against the sudden moisture in his eyes. "My dad," he whispered, "he promised he'd come, but he didn't."
Understanding dawning on him the man said, "Was he supposed to pick you up from somewhere?"
Silently the boy nodded, brushing his sleeve against his eyes sneakily as a loud snuffle broke the stillness. "He was supposed to come see my music program at school," he said, "and then take me home."
"Do you need to call someone to get a ride then?" the man asked, reaching slowly towards the phone in his pocket. Adamantly the boy shook his head, and the man let his hand fall back into his lap.
"I don't want him to know where I am," the boy said angrily through his tears, "he promised to come and he didn't. He never does anymore. Ever since he went away he's been breaking promises. Well I'll show him… I'll run away and then he'll have to wonder where I've gone."
The man frowned, thinking of a father searching wildly for his son. He could imagine the guilt that would creep at him from all sides, could picture the worry that would suffocate him and the fear that would strangle him. "Surely that's not what you want," the man reasoned softly, "he'd be so worried about you, Bobby. And your mom too… Think of how worried she'll be."
"She doesn't care," the boy said quietly, sniffling again, "all she cares about is making sure that I'm not in her way. She won't even know I'm gone. Neither of them will until Rachel tells them I'm missing."
"And who's Rachel?"
"My nanny," the boy said, shrugging. "She's the only one who's really around anyway, and as far as she's concerned all I am is a smudge on her otherwise perfect day. She can worry too. They all can. It would serve them right."
"Let me tell you a story," the man said suddenly, looking down at the top of the boy's head. When he did not protest he began, "once there was a little boy, quite like you, who wanted everyone to keep their promises and have things back how they used to be. He wanted his parents to get along, and to get rid of the babysitter that always came by when he least wanted her there. His father, quite like your father, had trouble keeping his promises and often ended up not showing up for things when he said he would. Because of this, the little boy decided to run away."
The boy looked up, his eyebrows drawing together questioningly, "This isn't one of those stories that you make up about how you were really that little boy, and I'm supposed to listen to it and learn from your mistakes, is it?"
"No," the man said, chuckling, "not quite like that. You see, this little boy did run away just like you said. He let his father and mother worry, and you want to know what happened? They found him, and instead of crying with joy and all that stuff you see in movies they were very angry. The little boy was punished, and nothing changed except that, as the years went by, the little boy let himself become angrier and angrier at the situation."
Interested in spite of himself the boy asked, "So what happened?"
"He grew up," the man said softly, "he grew into an adult so angry and hurt that the soonest he could get away from his parents, he did. Now, even though his parents are sorry, and even though it has been nearly thirty years since all of this happened, the boy has never spoken to his parents since the day he graduated high school."
"Then what?"
The man looked down at him solemnly, shaking his head a little. "That's the end of the story," he said quietly, "not everything ends with 'and they lived happily ever after'."
"But that's stupid," the boy said angrily, "why didn't the boy talk to his parents if they wanted to talk to him? Why weren't his parents there for him in the first place? What was the point of all that? Who was the little boy anyway?"
"The boy did not talk to his parents because, as I'm sure you can imagine, he felt they were not there for him when he needed them most. His parents weren't there for him because they made a grave, terrible mistake in thinking that providing for him financially overruled spending the time with him that he deserved. The point, was to make you understand what happens in real life, and the little boy," for the first time in his answers the man paused, taking a deep breath, "the little boy was my son."
The boy was quiet for a moment, staring at the old man as he tried to understand what his last answer implied. Finally he seemed to realize, hot anger searing through him. He wasn't sure who to be madder at. He wanted to tell the old man that he was foolish and stupid for ruining his son's life that way, and yet, it seemed like he already knew. Looking at the kindness in the man's face he knew that he wanted to go find the son and tell him just how wrong he was, and how sorry his father really seemed to be. The boy didn't do either, just shook his head at the old man.
"Sir, do you love your son?" he asked him, his voice strangely quiet after all the storming he'd been planning to do.
The man smiled sadly, "With all of my heart."
"But you weren't there for him?" the boy clarified softly, "You didn't come when you said you would, and you didn't show up when he needed you?"
"After my wife and I split up things were hard," the man murmured, "It seemed like I was working all the time, but I never seemed to have any extra money. I was poor all my life, and more than anything I didn't want my son to go through the same thing. More and more I found myself trading time with him for an extra paycheck, and by the time I realized what I'd really sacrificed it was too late."
"Mr. McCarty," the boy said slowly, "I think I want to go home now."
Smiling a little the man nodded, "I'll take you back to your school," he said quietly, "and we can wait for your parents there."
They both stood up, the boy in an instant by sliding off the bench while the man took longer to pull himself to his feet. Though he was not yet old enough to need a cane, as he walked his back bent in a constant bow to those around him. Without hesitating the boy placed his hand in the older man's, closing his tiny fist around the man's palm so that he could lead him forward. The man followed with a smile still faintly on his lips. Together they strolled through the park, man led by child in a sight usually unseen.
"That was a nice story, Mr. McCarty," the boy said softly, "it's awfully sad about your son, though. Do you think he'll ever change his mind?"
"No," the man answered regretfully, "I'm afraid some hurt never goes away. Perhaps someday he will realize as I have how silly our feud may be to outsiders, but by then it will be too late to do any good."
"It's not silly," the boy said firmly, remembering all too well how angry he had spent the last few hours being at his father. He was still angry, just less willing to do something rash.
The man nodded knowingly, hobbling slowly after the boy. "I didn't mean that your anger was silly, Bobby," he said quietly, "Your anger is understandable. But there's a difference between a small boy being angry with his father from time to time and two full grown adults too stubborn to apologize to each other."
The boy glanced up at him, watching the way that the wrinkles on the man's face drew together, his eyes seeming to shine with an unspeakable sadness. More than anything he wanted to make the man feel better, and before he knew it he was speaking.
"Mr. McCarty, I have my third grade graduation next month," he said, stopping suddenly. "It's not a big deal like fifth grade graduation or anything. The teacher just hands us our certificates, and it's just our class that does it because she thinks that we should have a fun graduation every year, but I was just wondering if you'd like to come."
Surprised, the man looked down at the boy, meeting his eyes silently. On the boys face was not the look of someone who was carelessly inviting whoever he saw to an event, but someone who wanted more than anything to hear him say, "of course I'll come." He could remember his own son, passively mentioning events that had secretly meant a lot to him. Guiltily he could also remember not taking the invitation.
Meeting the boy's eyes the man spoke, each word a promise to them both. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
And he didn't. When the boy received his diploma there was the man, filling a seat that had been left empty too many times before. Every evening since the day the boy had run away they met at the park bench, talking and laughing together like two old friends. In those moments where their laughter became intermixed and their voices were one and the same, age seemed to disappear. Rather than an old man and a boy sitting side by side on the bench, two friends sat sentry, laughing into the evening about the follies of the rest of the world.

The good man is a friend of all living things.- Mohandas Gandhi

I lay on the couch, looking out the window. The world is full of such beauty, play and love; a fancy dress ball. Trees and wind dance the tango, laughing at themselves as they step off beat; sparrows diving and twirling amongst the crowd ever so gracefully; butterflies finding their true love in a moment of a courting dance…

I close my eyes and think... What would you be at this elaborate masked ball? Usually you’re a mixture, maybe the inebriated sparrow not quite elegantly dancing with the sassy wind. It makes me smile when I think of nature dancing happily.

But I sometimes wish that you were a Monarch butterfly, looking for a charming lover to gracefully twirl and dance with to a French love ballad in a small garden blanketed by a sheet of diamonds, fragrant with the smell of wild flowers. But alas, I stay a tree, swaying to the music of nature while the clumsy,the love sparrow dives and swirls among all the trees in the forest ball. So I sit and smile at the thought of our next ball, for my next dance.

There are three musts that hold us back: I must do well. You must treat me well. And the world must be easy. - Albert Ellis

There is nothing more horrible on this Earth... Than being the new kid.
The quiet, weird, strange, funny looking, lonely, anti-social, new kid.
The kid that always gets picked on.
But its not just the new kid. Oh no, surely not.
Wether your the....
The tallest kid.
The tall lanky kid.
The overweight kid.
The small anorexic looking kid.
The kid with acne.
The kid with ADD, or ADHD.
The kids that aren't "Normal"
The quiet, anti-social kid.
Even a "Normal" seeming kid, with a nice life.
They wont leave you alone.
They catch you when your all alone in the halls, outside, on the bus, walking home.
They gang up on you.
They torture you. Call you names.
Poke at your problems.
Your life problems.
Your appearance. Your stature.
They don't care who you are.
As long as there's something that they don't like about you.
They wont stop. They wont be quiet. They wont go away.

It is because we all have these things holding us back.
I must do well.
You must treat me well.
The world MUST be easy.
We all have to make the choice to not let those hold us back.
Make the good one.
The right one.
That everyone can be happy about. Even you can be happy about.
Smile and be happy.
Try to make friends.
They wont always come to you.
And if they do, their real friends.
Friends who care about you, for being you.
Be yourself.
If they dont like it, too bad.
The'll be missing out on alot.
On you.


We're all only human.
We don't have special powers.
We aren't all smart.
And we all aren't stupid.
We are us.
With our own hearts.
Our fears.
Hopes.
Dreams.
You are you.
No one else.
No matter how hard you try.
You wont be like someone else in every way.
You won't be able to always do well.
You won't always be treated well.
And the world won't always be easy.
You have flaws.
And you have your moments.
You have your smile.
And your own life.
Take hold of your life.
Drive it.
Dont try to control everything.
It isn't possible.
You cant control what your parents do.
Your friends.
Nor anyone else.
The only person that you can control,
Is you.


Smile at your enemies.
Because that, is what, will truly...
Drive them insane.

Dont smile for anyone.
Smile and be happy...
For yourself.

Smile for God because He will always be there.
He knows you have done well.
He will always treat you well.
The world may not be easy, He knows that too.
But He has an amazing world waiting for you.

Singing world- One Syllable

If you asked your best friend, a friend you had known and loved for all of your days, if they had ever seen the world and not just glimpsed at it, they would give you a look of doubt and say, “What do you mean? The world is what it is. What else is there to see about it?”

Should your life be a thing like mine, you would stare straight back at them, your thoughts a mess of your own self doubts. To me, the world is a place that most can’t see; or at least, not the way that I do. It has been that was since I was young. Most could claim I still am young now, but when you look at the ground from the sky, you find that age is a lot less than you would have once claimed it was.

Of course, I don’t mean to speak as if I am more wise than my years call for. There is nothing rare about me; I am just a girl. But I am a girl who can feel that her world is one that sings, and it sings to each one of us from new places. Some of us can’t hear it, and most of us can’t dream of the sight our songs could be born from, but it is there. It is masked in every gap and void of our lives.

I can’t help what God has put in front of me when my are eyes open. I don’t know if I’m right or if this is all in my head, and from time to time I sit back and think about it, as my blue skies fade to cool gray and chilled black. But each time, I see that even if I could, I would not change a thing. God has made the best world of all. I would never want to change it, the world always shows Him in every song that I can hear. I can wake up each day knowing my world will dance with the song only some hear, and only some can see, and it will go on for as long as God does, till the end of all.

Dream House

As I approach the island on which my dream house awaits, I catch a quick glimpse of it. It is huge, and is the most noticeable building in the area. My private plane lands on the air strip next to the house. I get out of the plane and start my journey through a heavily wooded path leading to my dream house. I walk with anxiety toward the house at which I will spend the rest of my life. All around me lie the most beautiful trees and plants you have ever seen. It is peaceful but you can hear the sounds of birds chirping and small forest creatures frolicking in the under brush. As I continue to walk along the path the end starts to appear. I now see my house for the first time up close. Nothing could have prepared me for the moment I was about to experience. My house that I designed is all I imagined and more. It is a four story dream on a huge fifteen acre lot. As I approach the stairs at the entrance to the house I am surrounded by four columns leading to the most elegant doors I have ever seen. They are made of mahogany and have a stained glass window in the center. The handles and the frame is made of brass. As I continue around the house I come across three windows overlooking the entrance to the house. There are black shutters on each window. As the porch continues to the south side of the house I am now looking over the Pacific Ocean. A huge eight foot picture is facing the same way I am. As I look down and observe the ocean I see two piers jutting out into the Pacific. On either side of the piers are huge boulders protecting the coast line from erosion. The house's walls are made of stucco and it has an old fashion shingles that are a clay color. As I walk into the back yard I am surrounded by a lot of things. I walk toward the road and I first come across a basketball court. To the left of the basket ball court is a tennis court. On the opposite side of the yard there is an in ground swimming pool that is connected to the pool inside the house. As my journey comes to a close I notice a white gazebo off to the east of the house. It is in a position such that you can see anyone entering or leaving the lot if you are sitting in it. As my plane leaves to go home to pack I take one last look at the house. I think to myself, "Yes this is my dream house, My dream house."

Walter Dodge

Until I stumbled across an article about him in the paper, I never realized how much Walter Dodge and I are alike. First, we are both trapped in this one-horse town. The biggest difference is only my students and a handful of waitresses know me, but everyone knows Walter. He’s their very own Boo Radley. Walter, in all his Boo-ness, wanders the streets dressed in a yellow slicker and green hip waders, even on the hottest days of summer. If all you see in passing is a burned dome of scalp, a permanent yarmulke, sitting in the center of his dirty gray hair, you know its Walter. And there’s not a stronger smell in town, not even when the wind catches the pungent odor of the Burton pig farm a mile out of town. Yet everyone in Stockbridge, full of birth-born Christians who have never doubted in their shared God, treat the eye-sore as if he’s the second coming.

The bad economy, in tandem with the controversy spurred on by the close-minded parents at my teaching job in Chicago, has forced me to seek employment any place I can. I called my old boss the day I got the job and told her she was wrong—someone would touch me with a ten-foot pole. I didn’t mention that it’s teaching tenth grade English to farm kids, most who have never finished a book and will never see the inside of a university. I would’ve told her that it was a step below Hades if I hadn’t feared her laughter.

My first spring in Stockbridge was my induction to planting season. Not a boy was present for six weeks. When I counted them absent, Mr. Bird, a fist-cousin to the infamous Larry Bird, a fact he shared during my interview, pointing to a large portrait hanging above the desk of his family at a reunion, the basketball player positioned in the center, made a visit to my classroom to explain how things work in a farm community.

            “We tend to look the other way during planting and harvest season. The daddies need them to help out, drive the tractors and such.”

            “Then how do they learn the material?”

            “More times than not, they don’t. Just do your best to catch them up. And don’t worry about including the assignments when it comes time for grade cards.”

            “How’s that fair to the others?”

            He shrugged. “Most of the other students are from farm families, so they understand and don’t make a fuss. I know it’s not really on the up and up, but you of all people should understand how that works.” Mr. Bird held my gaze until I looked away. It was the first time my situation had been mentioned since the interview and I’d convinced myself that it had been forgotten…

Greysen

Name: Greysen Chance
Full Name: Greysen Leon Chance
Nickname: Marcy
Age: 14
Birthday: August 8
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Cajun on his father's side, Irish on his mother's
Hair: Dark brown, straight, shoulder length, with bangs
Eyes: Hazel
Skin: Light
Body: Average
Face Shape: Oval
Smile: Wide, somewhat cheesy
Takes After: His father
Handedness: Right
Voice: Has changed, medium pitch
Laugh: Throaty
Accent: Southern
Style/Clothes: Casual
Catchphrases: "Yes, ma'am." (with a Confederate-soldier-like salute and love-struck expression) (when a pretty girl asks him to do something)
Religion: Episcopalian
Personality Strengths: Funny. Outgoing. Friendly. Witty. Intelligent.
Personality Flaws: Cocky. Stubborn. A little dense. Girl-crazy.
Way Of Expressing Emotions: Impulsively and loud
Dream: To be a writer
Role Model: Robert E. Lee
Hobbies: Basketball, soccer, writing, reading
Likes: The South, the Stars and Bars, antiques
Favorite Color: Burgundy
Favorite Food: Cornbread
Favorite Music Genre: Country
Favorite Artist: Johnny Cash
Favorite Movie Genre: Slasher movies
Favorite Animal: Elephant
Dislikes: Waking up early, chemistry class
Fears: Concussions
Love Interest: Zoey Saberhagen
Best Friends: Ellison Vonner, Amory Costello
Family: Greysen's parents are Elizabeth, 38, and Andrew, 37. He has two sisters: Sadie, 20, and Emily, 16. Sadie is married to Kimbra and Amory's father. He loves lording it over the twins that he's practically their uncle.

Love of Beauty is Taste. The Creation of Beauty is Art.

Once upon a time, not long ago and not far away, there lived a wise and skillful artist who loved to paint. He delighted in making magic with color and bringing all the images he saw in his head to life in his pictures.

One day, he was painting something extra special. His brush dipped in and out of the swirling colors and flew across the canvas in expert strokes; dabbing here, blending there, moving swiftly in a joyful, marvelous dance of creation.

And at last, the painting was complete. It was a picture of a pretty young girl on a swing at a park, with a rosy-cheeked face and sweet brown eyes. She was wonderful.

The Artist stood back to admire his latest masterpiece and smiled in satisfaction. It was very good.

Suddenly he gasped in surprise, for something happened! The girl in his painting...moved!

He rubbed his eyes hard and looked again, but it was true! The girl had frowned for a moment and slipped off the swing.

"Oh dear..." she sighed, running her slender fingers through her chestnut hair and glancing over her shoulder at the other children in the park.

The Artist felt even more surprised to hear her speak aloud, let alone move; but his surprise soon vanished into concern. She seemed to be rather unhappy about something.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh nothing. It's just that..." She trailed off and looked down at her shoes, biting her lip.

"That what?"

"I'm not...pretty," she said, a small tear glistening on her painted cheek.

"What on earth do you mean?" asked the Painter, feeling confused. Why would she say a thing like that? She was beautiful!

"I'm not as pretty as they are," she said, looking back over her shoulder at the others in the background and particularly taking notice of another girl with a pale face and golden hair. She looked back at him for a moment then frowned down at her shoes again, unable to look him in the eye. "I think you made some mistakes with me."

"Like what?"

"Well...there's my feet, for one thing. You made them way too big. And my nose must be some kind of joke! It looks so stupid."

The Artist patiently listened as she continued to list all her faults and compare herself to the others he had painted.

"...my eyes are boring, I'm too fat, my legs are...I mean, why couldn't you make me look like that girl over there? She's prettier than me..."

"Stop," he finally said, holding up a hand. "Stop. Look at me."

His voice was so quiet and filled with sadness that she closed her mouth, and had to look at him.

"Listen to me, dear one," he said, "and listen well: I painted you. I created you."

The girl blushed and tried to look away, but instead found her gaze firmly held by his calm gray eyes.

"I chose the color of your hair and eyes," continued the Painter. "I chose the shape of your nose and the length of your arms and legs. I made you. And I believe you are beautiful.

"Yes, the other children I painted are pretty; but not any more or any less than you. They are beautiful simply because I made them each different and wonderful in their own way - just like you."

The Artist lovingly brushed his fingertips over the painting as tears ran down her face.

"You really think I'm beautiful?" she whispered.

"Yes," he answered. "I think you are very beautiful. I am the Artist. I made you - and I don't make mistakes."

"And you know," he added, "it rather hurts my feelings when you say you don't like the way you look, or when you compare yourself to others. I wish you'd instead try to see yourself the way I see you."

"I'm...I'm sorry," the girl murmured, blushing again and dropping her eyes in shame.

"I forgive you," chuckled the Artist. "Gladly and completely. But from now on, I want you to stop putting yourself down and remind yourself more often of how wonderful I think you are. Could you please do that? For me?"

He gave her a small, hopeful smile.

The girl in the painting smiled back at him through her tears, eyes shining with joyful gratitude, and whispered,

"I guess I can try."

~ The End ~


Psalm 139:13-14 "For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

Long year

It had been a long year, I thought as I look at my big brother. He looks so broken, all covered in tubes and needles. I want to rip them out of his wrists and take him home. I want him to play with me and laugh like he used to.

        My little brother stands in the doorway of my hospital room. I hate to see him cry. He looks so alone.
        He blinks through his tears and looks at me mournfully, "Mum and Dad say there's a way for me to help you."
        I feel a rush of adrenalin and look away from him, watching my heart rate spike on the monitor. I don't want him to help me; he's in enough pain already. I won't allow them to put him through surgery with false hope, just because it might change my prognosis.
        Realizing that he's still watching me with tears on his cheeks, I look back. "No," I say, trying to be strong but my voice trembles.
        I don't want him to know how scared I am.

        He thinks he's so strong, but I know the truth. He shivers in his sleep and whispers prayers when he thinks I'm not listening.

        He blinks again and tears land on his faded jeans, which used to be mine. I pretend that his tears are enough for both of us, and hug him silently while he shakes in my arms.
        I feel so weak.

        With every beat of his heart against my cheek, I become more and more determined to change this. I'll give anything just to have him back.

        "I love you," he whispers, and my heart breaks into a million pieces.

Genius

They tell her parents that she is a genius. She can hear them talking with the doctor, a specialist Daddy said she was called, in low voices. The doctor is nice, an older lady with a little bowl of chocolate kisses on her desk. And games. And books. Lots of books. She even had Harry Potter and was really impressed when Amelia told the Doctor that she had already read the first two, on her own. The Doctor had her play a computer game. It was boring. She told the Doctor that too, after the twentieth question. The Doctor just smiled and said that Amelia could play with whatever toy she wanted or read whatever book she wanted to if she finished the game. Amelia did. And the Doctor let her take the third Harry Potter book home with her.

That was a month ago. The Doctor called two days ago and Amelia went in to see her with Mommy and Daddy. They don't let her come in this time. She sits outside, on a scratchy chair and then presses her ear to the door, spying, with her invisibility cloak. Just like Harry. She can't hear too much. But she hears genius. And she knows it means someone who is really smart, kinda like Hermione. She gets scared because the way her Mommy and Daddy and the Doctor sound, it makes her scared. She isn't sure why, because no one sounds angry or sad. She goes back to her seat and sits, patiently, until the Doctor opens the door and tells her to come in. She scrambles into Mommy's lap, even though she getting too big, and the Doctor starts telling her that she is very bright and special. Much more special than other kids her age. Her Mommy nods as she strokes Amelia's red hair.

And she knows that because everyone in her class is still reading picture books and Amelia Bedealia and sometimes even the teachers read to them, while she sits at the back and does what her mommy calls "staring into space". She used to enjoy those books but only because Amelia had the same name as her, but Amelia Bedealia made slot of mistakes that she would not have made.

The Doctor says that Mommy and Daddy want to take her out of school and take her to another school, or even have her go to school at home. She says that it isn't good that Amelia feels lonely at school, because she should have friends that she can play with and read with. And having friends would be really, really nice, because at school, in the back of the room, no one talks to her and the other kids make fun of her at recess because she always raises her hand and cries sometimes and still sucks her thumb. She nods and her Mommy unwraps a chocolate kiss and gives it to her. She lets it melt in her mouth, the sweetness stinging the back of her throat.

The Doctor says that Amelia is what people call "a genius". And she asks Amelia if she knows what that means and Amelia nods and pops her thumb into her mouth. Her daddy interrupts and says
"Being a genius doesn't make you a bad person, there is nothing wrong with you." He nods while her Mommy says,
"Of course not." Amelia sucks her thumb and leans against her mommy's neck and shoulder.
The doctor nods and says "There is nothing wrong with being a genius."
But Amelia can't really believe them.

First Trip To England

England

It is my fourth time on an airplane. As the other three times, I feel woozy and almost disoriented at take-off, and despite my intention to read the book I bought at the airport I find myself unable to. For a moment, I wonder whether I am fainting, but a few deep breaths later I feel somewhat better.

The clouds below look like solid snow; one can almost imagine people sliding down, down, down, only to walk back to the top again in an endless circle.

At times, I think I can see the sea, but if I am to be honest, I would rather not see it. Even though I’m not afraid of flying – perhaps I should be, but such is the arrogance of mankind: we do not doubt our technology – seeing the clouds and knowing we are above them is quite a difference from knowing how far up we are.

The clouds look more like foam, or perhaps cream, now. Sometimes the wings cut through the ones farthest up, and I see them skimming on the surface of the wings; like water on a stone when the tide comes rushing in. Tendrils of white spread out like waves on sand.

If there is one thing I love about flying, it is the way white foam surf along the surface of the wings, like the steam from my tea cup.

I imagine sitting on the edge of that wing: tiny water droplets clinging to my skin, hair, my clothes. The cold, cold air rushing through me. For a moment, I can almost see her – red hair whirling, scarf pulling on her neck, but she looks free, exuberant.

We are flying like the birds we wanted to, yet we are caged.

My head acts up again when we descend a little. It feels strange, almost like a power outage. The clouds look like a sea of thoughts and memories.

The girl has gone – to join them, perhaps. Perhaps she is sitting on the wing of the airplane I can see to my left, barely more than a few millimeters in length at this distance. And perhaps I will see her on the wing, next time, as we are carried across the sea.

I can see the reflection of clouds on the wing’s surface, now. They look no more than shadows, but the sun creates a marvelous effect – and it is in moments like these I imagine sitting on Falcon’s back, being carried away in a story of no end.

An eternity of clouds stretches in front of me. They are white, opaque, as no man (or woman) should know their future. Sometimes clouds above cast shadows on us, other times we catch a glimpse of the world, of reality.

I close my eyes.

We Need To Talk

Look we need to talk. Hello. It’s me again; your shoe. What, you don’t remember our earlier conversations? Really? Well I suppose we can get around to discussing your alarmingly short memory span some other time, but I have a bone to pick with you now. I honestly don’t feel like you appreciate me to the extent that I deserve. Have I not served you faithfully since the day you picked me from the shelf? Aside from the blister or two that your heals acquired, and believe me I do apologize for that. At first I was ecstatic that my twin and I were selected out of the many other options to work with you, but I’ve now come to the conclusion that I should have been despairing rather than joyous. Forgive me if I sound rude, I’m just trying to get a few things off of my chest (it’s just a figure of speech, don’t take it seriously).

I must admit that while I find it so enjoyable to be viciously stomped on all day, I don’t exactly want to be thrown willy-nilly across the room when you are finished with me. Your feet are cramped from the confinement and you wish to free them. I feel for you, truthfully I do. However, it is rather frightening to shoot through the air, usually to collide with something much denser than I am, and land some distance away from my twin. Who else am I going to chat with while you’re gone? A dust bunny? I don’t think so. Also, your ‘casual toss’ is an alarming acceleration to one who isn’t accustomed to moving without a foot to propel them. Please, I beg of you, just slip us off and set us gently in a place where you’ll remember us.

This next issue may sound a little harsh, but it is the most important to me, and I want to be very clear about it. I am required to put up with your disgusting feet day after day, and yet you have the audacity to be frustrated with the way I smell. That putrid stench that I have is your fault, I’ll have you know! I don’t care if you shower twice a day; if you don’t send me through a washing machine once in a while, I’m not exactly going to smell like a bed of roses. I enjoy being clean, it means I can attract more positive attention (alright, I admit it, I am vain).

Finally, I want to discuss retirement. When I am falling apart at my seams and drooping from extensive wear, I would rather not go out with the next load of trash. Don’t you dare give me that innocent look; the socks told me what happened to my predecessors. I want to be rewarded for my service to you, not shunned away as if I meant nothing. I do not mind that you will replace me some day, I just want to be cherished even if I am no longer useful. Is that asking too much? Am I being too forward for your liking? I’m positive that you would want the same if you were in my shoes. See, I can crack a joke even if I’m upset. That does not in any way imply that the issue is not important to me. I just want to relate to you. I’m rambling, aren’t I? Moving on…


I sincerely hope that you will remember what I’ve said this time, and take my requests into consideration. I won’t get my hopes up in any case. You will probably just dismiss this as your psychotic brain hallucinating on you once again due to the stress levels of school, or your job, or whatever it is that you do now. I am at the point where I just enjoy the ranting, and the expression on your face when you realize your shoe is talking to you. I suppose I can cross my laces and dream of a day when you will be more gracious to me or any of the generations of shoes that will come after me. I am a little cranky, but I feel that I have been generous, and I would like for you to return the favor.

The Pirate

The waves crashed against the side of the ship, as the rain beet down on the deck. The crew, at my orders, were trying their hardest to navigate out of the storm.

"Captain Tennant, Sir, excuse me, but could you join us at the helm?" My second mate John said as he came into my quarters. I grabbed my hat with a long black feather in it, and put it on top of my short brown hair. Taking my jacket I walked out onto the deck.

The rain had come down to a light drizzle and the waves had stopped crashing against the side of the ship. I followed behind Barrowman, as I called John, we walked across the deck to the helm. I could tell all of my crew went to hide because they were no where to be seen. Waiting there was John Simm, who we called the Master, because he was in charge of the helm and navigation.

"Captain, the storm has brought us close to the shore, and we have to dock." Master said as I approached.

"Why must we dock?" I replied. "I have no need to stop here in England."

"We have no more food for the crew sir," Barrowman said.

"That is no problem of mine." I replied annoyed that they had interrupted me for this. "If you need food go and get it."

"Sir we have to have your permission to dock since you are wanted for piracy in England." Barrowman said.

"If you need food then you can go and get it." I said yet again. To emphasize my point I grabbed the Master by the scruff of the neck and shoved him off the side of the ship and he splashed into the water.

"Sorry sir we meant not to offend." Barrowman said, putting his hands up for defense. I reached for my sword and pulled it out, pointing it at his face. "It is time you left anyway and returned to your parents. You belong on land not at sea. I will see you around John."

He got the hint and took his hat saying goodbye before he jumped into the water and left. I stood up at the helm and watched as they swam away. It was time they left I needed a new crew they were far to soft for me. I needed a crew that was tough and could withstand all things. I was one of the most ruthless pirates on the seas. I needed a crew who was the same.

From below the mast came my most loyal crew member. She was a girl who was as tough as any man. She took charge but still did what was necessary to keep my ship going. She was swabbing the deck trying to get all of the water off of it by sloshing it down the sides.

"You have just been promoted to my first mate." I yelled down to her.

"Oh have I?" She asked sarcastically as she kept mopping.

"Yes you have you are also now in charge of the helm." I said and she just looked at me flabbergasted. "Now I am going back to my quarters and I expect you get the rest of the crew in order. I would also like supper ready for me by sundown. Tell all of those who are afraid that they haven't seen anything as of yet. NOW GET TO WORK ALL OF YOU!"

I yelled the last part to my crew who I knew had listened to all that had happened. The smallest one either a little girl or boy not sure which sprung up and cried, and crawled on the floor swabbing the deck. I turned and walked away my boots clanking on the wood below my feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later I was called to supper. I sat and had my meal placed in front of me. It was corned beef and cabbage. I hated corn beef and cabbage. I picked my plate up and threw it across the room.

"How dare you feed this to me!" I yelled at the woman who had served me. I stood and walked to my quarters and stood there fuming for a bit. I have told them this before yet they repeatedly make stupid mistakes. I heard a knock at my door but ignored it. A man walked in I knew he worked for me but I did not know what he did.

"Would you follow me?" He asked and without waiting for a response turned and left. I stood from the chair I had sat down in and followed him. He led me to the far corner of the ship where there was another woman waiting. She had a smile on her face and there behind her was a plank. I stopped dead in my tracks they planned on throwing me overboard.

The man grabbed me by the arms and took off my hat, coat and boots as he pushed me toward the edge. This was mutiny my crew was turning against me.

"Mutiny, I tell you this is wrong!" I yelled as I tried to run take out my sword which I then noticed the man had also taken from me. As I yelled the rest of my crew came out to see what was going on. "How dare you all turn against me, I am Captain David Tennant!"

"Yes yes no one cares now get just get in."One of my crew members said from behind me.

"Now go jump in the water," The lady I had made my new first mate, said as she pushed me into the swirling blue abyss below.
I fell in with a splash. I swam back up to the surface my hair sticking to my face as I looked up at the side of the ship. I could hear the crew cheering saying finally their plan worked. They had no doubt been planning this for a long time. Oh well I thought I could get a better ship and a much better crew as soon as I make it to shore. I was glad now that I had no clothes to weigh me down as I started swimming.

The shore was not to far away from where I was now swimming so I decided to get a move on before it started to rain again. As I swam there were fish swimming along next to me. I tried to grab one but it was too slippery and swam right out of my hands. As I neared shore the fish left me but now I had something else to deal with, the waves. They crashed over me soaking me all the more.

I was a few dozen yards from shore when I was suddenly caught in a rip tide. All of the foam from the waves surrounding me as I was pulled into the watery depths. There was water swirling around me it took all of my strength to swim out of it. I was exhausted by the time I ended up on the white shore there was soft sand beneath my feet and I realized I was freezing.

I saw someone approaching in the distance. It was a man he had a kind sort of face and look slightly old. As he neared me he started to laugh. I began to get angry at this man. How dare he laugh at me while I was standing here cold, naked, and wet. He was carrying a blanket which he then handed to me.

"Here you are lad dry yourself off," I had not heard anyone call me lad in years. I was very young only around twenty five but I had inherited my ship and crew from my father when he died. I was used to being called captain, used to being in charge! I took the blanket though and wrapped it around myself as the old man gripped my should and walked me to his home, a little cabin about half a mile from shore.

Once there he got me some clothes and said I could stay the night in the guest room. I accepted knowing I I could not make it to my own home tonight, seeing as I had no idea where I was. As I drifted to sleep it occurred to me that maybe I did not have to be a pirate, I owned a home after all. Plus being on land felt good after spending almost my entire life at sea. Of course if I decided to not be a pirate I would still have to deal with the law and being wanted to piracy, but I had enough money to pay that debt off. Oh well, I thought to myself as my eyelids became heavy, I can figure out what I want to do next once I have had a good sleep.

Romanticism- Weeping Willow

Walking by the waterways, I spied a weeping willow,
Green of leaf but bent in grief, a masterpiece of sorrow.
Unsure of why this tree were broke in lowered voice I softly spoke:

"Willow, why do you weep? Do you despise the hum of flies?
Are you sick of water deep? Do you look upon the glaring skies
And long for hollow sleep?"

"Human I have watched this world for many years in silent thought,
I've reached for stars with limb unfurled, twigs and branches overwrought.
That lofty race was never won and I who stretched towards the sun
Ceased to grow and now I know that truly I am nearly done.
For such as us live fleeting lives and only grow so tall,
When willows reach a certain size our leaves begin to fall.
This is how you find me here, sick from unknown ill
And is it weak to shed a tear my mind will soon be still?
Though may I ask you sit with me and read some rhyme out loud?
Perhaps of immortality to lift this morbid cloud."

"Forgive me Willow if you would, this book of paper page,
It's worth the murder if the words should still your heartwood's rage.
Now I'll sit and read to you a story never heard,
A tale not of tiny shrew or lofty soaring bird.
But of the ways of modern man and city not too far,
Bridges built to a river's span and roaring motor car.
In the west glass towers rise to stand among the weather,
Their tips near scraping greying skies, giants hulked together.
Ever watching with glazed face as if they were alive,
Below these greats the human race; truly this the hive-
Of decadence and crystal glitz, our currency excess,
Patrons seeking daily hits and pleasures of the flesh.
Ground is paved with concrete walk, our steps are eased by drink,
Endless people daily talk, perhaps a hundred think-
Of fragrant grass not in a joint... but as the night comes on, my tree
I'll press upon the point; Your dream of immortality
Is not some childish fantasy: A thousand years metropolis
And waxing still its girth. No ravages could topple this
Grey titan of the earth."

I closed the book I'd brought with me to see the Willow still,

"Now I must go home sad tree, I feel the evening's chill."

It only spoke one final time with this concluding rhyme;

"I have listened well and good to all you had to say.
Now give this humble firewood the last word of the day.
It is true the good pass young so from what you have said,
If city shall swallow all the land... I'm glad that I'll be dead."

King Arthur

We lined up, one by one
One by one, we stood against impossible odds.
We were a fallen kingdom.  

"Take our castle
Take our land
Take our lives
But take not our pride."

And true it was...
We shouted that until
Everyone of us drew
Our last breath

We lined up one by one
One by one, we stood against impossible odds.
We were a proud people

Pacing his horse in front of us
He shouted praises
Oh! That man could speak!

A great orator
Never to be quoted
The most valiant calvary
Ever to call themselves

"Soldiers!  Stand tall!
Fight with honor!
Fear not your death
But embrace it!"

No matter how much fear shook you
No matter what thoughts crossed our mind...
We stayed calm
With our serene glares piercing through our armor.

We grew up with stories of heroes.
Mythical people
They were never scared.

We were in no way mythical
We learned soon enough that we were not composed of words
or nice thoughts.
We were

"Men! There they are!
Prepare for battle!
On my mark!!!!"

We were human.
We bled.
People would not tell of our stories.

"Men, fight not for revenge!
Fight not for glory!
Fight for honor!"

King Arthur! Defender of Britain!!!
We shouted.
And with that, it began

"We might not be the victors of this battle
but the Saxons will forever remember
King Arthur and his valiant knights!
CHARGE!!!"

And we did.

Arrows flew.
Lances were thrown.
Swords were slammed against one another.

Clearly outnumbered
We fought on.
They saw hell first hand that night.

As we killed three times
the number of our army,
one by one we died.

Death taking us one by one
We thought of our wives
never to be seen

Death taking us one by one
We said a final prayer
for divine intervention.

Death taking us one by one
We were a proud people
And entire army with the
same
dying
words...

"For...... honor......"

I would live in a Capitalist country

For homework my cousin asked me to decide whether I would like to be woken in a capitalist country or a communist country. I found this rather difficult to answer. She only asked which one she did not specify when as in what time period. If I was to wake up in a communist country now it would not (in my opinion) be as good to wake up in as if I were to wake up in it say fifty or a hundred years ago.

If I were to wake up at around the beginning of communism's takeover then it would be better. If I did not work at a very high level I would make the same amount of money as everyone else! I would be able to survive without having to work very hard. Of course that does not encourage productivity but I wouldn't care. I'm sixteen I would go work at McDonalds or whatever was around back then and make the same amount of money as say a doctor.

If I were to wake up in a communist country today though.... Well I'm not even sure. Yeah people defend it all the time but I don't know enough about it to make a good decision. The only thing I know is that I would not want to wake up in one today because I would be in big trouble. I am a Christian so I would at the very least be sent away if not killed especially if I have a bible.

On the other hand though if I were to wake up say a hundred years ago in a capitalist country it would mean no school. I would have to go to work at a factory everyday. Which would be much harder than living in a communist country. Long hours, no breaks, very little money to live. I would not want to go through that. Depending on the class I was born into though I might have to.

Waking up in a capitalist country today though is different. No big factory to work in, and freedom of religion. Still though my job would depend on how much money I have for schooling. The upside to this though is that once I go to school though I will make more money to support myself. If I had to choose I would pick this one because that is kind of the country I already live in. I have nothing against the other countries but I would always choose the capitalist over the communist.

The Mother

I am a mother. The mother of an Astronaut, Explorer, Wizard, Artist, Time Traveler, and today a Knight. I am the mother of only three children the oldest being a sixteen year old girl named Blaire, a baby girl named Karen, and a five year old boy named David. I am the mother of a boy with an amazing imagination, and serious sense of trouble.

At this moment I had just sent David to his room for a time out after her went into his older sister's room without knocking. I told him not to move for five minutes then her could play again. I set the timer so that I would know when his time was up. About thirty seconds left I thought to myself as I put the last of the clothes in the red front load washing machine and pressed the start button at the top. I walked downstairs just as the timer beeped.

"David you can come out now." I called up to his room. I heard some noise and then his door open. I walked over to my pot of stew that I was making for dinner and gave it a stir. I look over to Karen who is sitting quietly in her play pen in a corner of the kitchen. She will probably get hungry soon so I decide to make a bottle of milk for her. I hear a racket upstairs and figure it is just David playing.

Moments later after I finished making the milk I leaned over my pot of stew and heard David walk in.

"Let her go evil witch!" He exclaims, I decide I will play along. I laugh and stand up all the way to look down at him. He is wearing one of his father's suit coats as a suit of armor I was guessing, he had a stick for a sword, and one of the lids to a pot for a shield. What made me laugh though was the fact that he had one of Blaire's gray bikini tops tied around his head as a helmet. Guess that was what he went into her room for.

"Bubble bubble toil and trouble." I say as I stir my pot of stew. His eyes open wide as he looks at me. Then Karen starts to cry in her play pen. Yep I was right she is hungry. I grab the bottle from behind me and walk over to her. I pick her up and give her the bottle full of milk.

"Here this will make it all better,"I say as she starts to drink and very quickly she falls asleep.

"No do not drink it! It is poison meant to kill you." David yells but she already drank it all and fell back asleep. I place her back in the play pen and turn to David.

"She is not dead, just sleeping." I say laughing, yeah sleeping a lot of princess in fairy tales do that right? Of course sleeping beauty, Snow White, the princess and the pea.....

David turns around and walks over to the freezer her reaches for the handle and finally grabs it turning to call me over. I walk over to him and he laughs.

"You should have stayed where you were because now I have the power to freeze you!" He says as he yanks on the door to the freezer opening it. The very light breeze of cool air hits me and I pretend to be frozen as he runs over to his sister.

"Princess please wake up," He says. "Please princess!"

I hear her make a noise and him go to run and grab the grey step-stool we have in the kitchen. He picks her up and runs past me to the front yard where I can hear his father pulling up in his car. I close the freezer door as I hear David exclaim my husband,

"My king I have your daughter. I saved her from the evil witch!" I laugh and stir the pot once more and go to check on my laundry. I walk up the stairs holding onto the railing with the pillars. I walk down the hallway toward David's room and see a pile of gold and gray football jerseys on the floor. They were dirty from the match David was in last week he was the goalie and did rather well for a five year old.

The pile of clothes on the floor was nothing though as I turned to look at the washing machine and dryer. Both were turned off and the washing machine had its door open with a puddle of clothes and water on the floor. I screamed and Blaire opened the door to her bedroom taking her headphones out of her ears.

"Woah mum what did you do?" She asked.

"I did not do this did you not even hear when this was happening?" I asked her in return. She shook her hear and closed her bedroom door just as my husband Alexander came running up the stairs holding Karen. I started to pick up the clothes as he explained how David slayed a dragon.

"We can't punish him for having a good imagination." My husband explained as I mopped. He was right plus it was all cleaned up now. I went back down stairs and finished making dinner which I then called the family to. David came riding in on his little stick horse still wearing all the silly clothes. He sat at the table and told me of his adventures that day. Blaire walked in and screamed.

"Why is Davie wearing my bikini top on his head?"

"Because," David explained, "I am a brave knight named Sir David John Tennant. My mates call me Davie though. I live in Paisley, Scotland and I am a hero to my people. And this," He indicates the bikini top, "is my helmet."

The End

The Knight

I am a brave knight named Sir David John Tennant. My mates call me Davie though. I live in Paisley, Scotland and I am a hero to my people. As of now though I am stuck in a high tower of a castle, that a witch locked me in. At the moment I was trying to figure out a means of escape. I had to go and save the beautiful young princess who was trapped in the horrible dungeon below. Along the way though I would have to fight past a dragon that spewed hot water instead of fire from the depths of its mouth. As well as get past the evil sorceress undetected so as to rescue the princess, return her to her father, and claim my reward, a bag of gold.

At the moment I was stuck to the floor my eyes looking at the corner, unable to move from this spot. I had to wait a certain amount of time before I could move. I was under a spell from the enchantress she had frozen me here and I would not be able to budge until the spell wore off. I heard a distant pinging noise and a far off call saying,

"David you can come out now." As the sorceress spoke the words I felt that I could move again. She always fought this way froze you and then let you come and fight for what you wanted. I quickly ran over to the other corner of the room and picked up my suit of armor. I put it on and grabbed my helmet, making sure to cover my ears so the roars of the dragon would not deafen me, I tied it under my chin. Grabbing my sword and shield I ran to the door and opened it slowly.

The dragon was just down the corridor I could hear it's belly grumbling. I walked slowly, there were no windows in this corridor so it was dark. There was something on the floor that I did not see and I tripped. I put my arms out in front of me but to late I was in front of the dragon and had pulled its riches on top of me in my fall. I decided to hide for a moment as the dragon looked around searching for me.

It was big and red and had two giant eyes that were also its mouths, which it had two of. The eyes spun around and around looking for me. I pulled out my sword and ran at the dragon. I jumped up on top of it and it made a noise as my foot got stuck on its mouth which then opened hot water spilling out. I pulled my foot up as fast as I could and stood up on top of the dragon's back. I stabbed the dragon with my sword on the two spots that I knew to be its weak points. It once again made a noise like a chirp but then stopped moving and making noise.

I leaped down from the dragon's back onto the wet stone floor. I picked up my shield which I had not noticed that I dropped and quickly ran down the corridor to the grand stair case which led down to the dungeon where the witch was holding the princess captive. I leaped down the stairs two at a time until I came to the bottom the dungeon was just down one last corridor.

I crept around the pillar at the bottom of the staircase and made my way quietly to the entrance of the dungeons. There she was the evil sorceress standing there brewing an evil potion in her cauldron. I then caught sight of the princess she was trapped in a cage in the far corner of the dungeon.

"Let her go evil witch!" I exclaimed with my sword pointing the witch in the face. She laughed and grew to a giant size four times bigger than myself.

"Bubble bubble toil and trouble," She said as she continued to stir her cauldron. The princess let out a scream and started to cry. The witch took something from behind her and walked over to the princess and picked her up. The princess was now in her evil clutches. The witch took out a glass filled with a white liquid and handed it to the princess.

"Here this will make it all better," The witch said but I screamed something at the princess.

"No do not drink it! It is poison meant to kill you." I yelled but it was to late the princess had finished it all. She stopped her yelling and closed her eyes moving no more. The witch put her back into her prison, and turned to me.

"She is not dead, just sleeping." The witch said a chuckle in her voice. Sleeping that meant there still might be hope. I knew what to do!

I ran over to one of the walls and searched around for the handle that I knew was there. Aha I found it I called the witch over to me and she came, I laughed.

"You should have stayed where you were because now I have the power to freeze you!" I said as I pulled on the handle and cold air escaped. She yelled and stopped moving. I left the door there and ran over to the princess.

"Princess please wake up," I said. "Please princess!"

She opened her eyes and looked at me her arms reaching toward me. I grabbed a rock by the table the cauldron was on and used it to stand on. I reached down into her prison and lifted her up into my arms. She smiled and I quickly leapt down and ran to the entrance for the castle. Just as I left its door a carriage pulled up. Exiting from it was the king.

"My king I have your daughter. I saved her from the evil witch!" I exclaimed running up to him and giving him the girl who had once more fallen asleep. The king took her in his arms and smiled.

"Thank you Sir David," He said. "Here is that bag of gold I promised you." He handed me the bag full of 30 gold pieces.

"It was my pleasure sir, I killed the dragon and the witch." I said taking off my helmet.

"Oh a dragon too, well done." He said then we heard a scream from behind us back in the castle. "Say where was this dragon?"

"It was in the upstairs corridor, out from its mouth spewed hot water and it had riches surrounding it. Not to worry I defeated it." I said proudly.

The king ran past me into the castle and I knew my job was done. I saw my horse near the entrance to the castle and walked over to it. I threw my leg over its saddle and rode away knowing I had done well.

The End

Favorite Thing In My Room

Above my bed there is a jar of fireflies. Every night as I drift to sleep I watch them flicker and light up the room. Tonight as I look upon them, my eyes start to close, but they are opened abruptly by how much light is now in my room. I gaze up to the jar to see it full of light. I sit up and grab it in my hands, it appears as though the fireflies have multiplied and to a great number.

This can not be though, the fireflies in this jar they are not alive. I take the lid off of the jar to take a closer look. As soon as it is opened they fly out, hundreds of them soar across my room. There is one left at the bottom of the jar and it flies out slowly. I reach my hand toward it and it lands upon my finger. The others come closer and land upon me. I was almost scared, but they lifted me, all of them, together.

They stared flying toward my wall. Now I was worried I had a painting upon my wall and we were going to crash into it. I closed my eyes, ready to fall onto my bed, but instead felt a breeze upon my freckled face. It was cold and sent shivers down my spine. I opened my eyes and saw that I was in a forest.

It was night and everything looked blue. The moon shone above my head bright and white. The fireflies were still carrying me flying me through this wood. It looked just like the painting in my room, only it was real. I looked below me and saw the stream all light and yellow as it rushed across the tiny hills.

The fireflies flew me down closer to the water and I reached out my hand and felt how cold it was. After I lifted my hand back up the bugs soared high. We went through the leaves of the trees and looked down at world below us. It all looked so real but then we turned around and all that was behind us was my bedroom. I looked back over my shoulder and saw this world stretch as far as my eyes could see. But as I gazed it faded away, and now was nothing but a painting on the wall of my room.

I did not have enough time to look at my room itself though before the bugs flew me again into a painting. This one was all purple I had painted it after a book that I had written. We glided through the canvas and I saw all of the majesty that was my Glass Kingdom. There was an orange river flowing through the blue grass. And before my eyes was a giant castle made entirely of glass.

I looked up trying to take in the entire thing so many towers all of them glimmering in the light of the giant moon overhead. We flew through to the castle gates and I could see though the entire castle, but as we flew through the doors the palace was made of stone. I could no longer see out not that I wanted to. All around me there were treasures; gold, silver, tapestries on the walls, and all of the elegance that a castle should have.

The fireflies flew me into the throne room and there was a beautiful woman sitting on one of the chairs. She looked like she was made of porcelain but I knew who she was and she was not good.

"Let us leave," I whispered to the fireflies and they listened. We turned to leave just as a big man walked in and said,

"My love the children are in the mountains." They stood together and left.

The fireflies flew me away from the room and out the castle doors. We flew to the river and followed it past the forest where the elves reside, past the waterfall where the faries fly, and up to the mountains. The mountains were purple and all capped with snow. They flew me down to a blue grassy meadow where there was a cabin with five children outside of its doors.

"I know what happens now," I said to the bugs. For I did I wrote the book did I not? But they floated me down and set me on my feet. They nudged me forward so I walked.

"Alright now how about someone go and open the door,"Quentin said. I felt weird but the bug shoved me forward and I reached out my hand pushing the boy Clarence who then reached out and opened the door. The fireflies lifted me again and we soared up into the dark purple sky.

'I really am apart of my book now' I thought to myself as the fireflies flew me once more back into my room.

I expected them this time to put me down we had already had so many great adventures for the night. They did not and instead flew me into one last painting the one above my head. We were in a field of yellow flowers and they set me down. I looked at my hands and feet to notice that I was in black and white. I was wearing my white nightgown and my skin was a dull gray color. The fireflies started to spin around me and so I spun too. My dress poofing out and my hair whipping around my face I closed my eyes and smiled.

That is the way we stayed me spinning and the fireflies circling around me blending in with the yellow flowers. I opened my eyes to see my room. The paintings still on the wall and my favorite jar of four flickering fireflies still above my head

Unicorns, Penguins, and the Moon!

The young girl with freckles crept forward carefully, eyes shining with anticipation as she crawled through the lush vegetation. Her heart beat fast when she reached the edge of the valley, brushing aside one last fern until she had a bird's eye view of the life in the river basin before her. Her eyes grew to the size of baseballs as she finally caught sight of the animals that were the very reason for her perilous journey: unicorns.

Her small hands trembled with delight, and she seated herself on the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley of the unicorns. She reached carefully into the front pocket of her purple overalls, and withdrew a pad of paper and an green crayon.

Her tongue protruded from the gap where one of her front teeth used to be as she concentrated on immortalizing the sight before her in colored wax. Several minutes and three crumpled sketches later, the girl laid down her crayon and held up her drawing for inspection. Eyeing it critically, she scrunched up her face before breaking into a broad grin.

"Perfect!" She pronounced, folding the page carefully and placing it back into her pocket with the notebook and crayon.

She got to her feet eagerly, and turned back the way she'd come with a bounce in her step. She pursed her lips to whistle, but when no sound came out, she closed her mouth and hummed cheerfully instead.

Fighting through grass and ferns, she eventually came to a tall hedge that stretched seemingly endlessly in either direction. Undeterred, she turned to follow it, still humming merrily to herself. It wasn't long before she came to a small gap in the foliage, and sank to her knees beside it with a satisfied grin.

"Here it is!" She announced to no one in particular before placing her hands on the ground and squirming eagerly into the hole. The greenery was so thick that the leaves choked out the sunlight entirely and formed a sort of tunnel within the hedge. Unconcerned, she wiggled forward, eventually emerging on the other side.

She giggled delightedly, burying her hands in the fluffy white powder coating the ground.

"Snow!" She squealed, flopping down and enthusiastically waving her limbs to carve an angel into the frozen ground.

Still laughing, she sprang up, scooping up handfuls of snow and throwing it into the air, only to shriek with glee and cold as it rained down on her again. Eventually, she started forward once more, shuffling her feet to form a trail in the fresh powder. She crested a small ridge and was about to begin her descent when she heard a disgruntled squawk from behind her.

She turned to see a short, squat bird waddling in her direction, flapping its wings uselessly against its tuxedoed breast.

"A penguin!" She gasped, mouth gaping at the sight of this odd little bird.

The penguin sauntered up to her, blinking rapidly as it stared at her with its head cocked to one side. Abruptly, it squawked once more, and threw itself down the hill, gliding smoothly along the snow on its stomach until it reached the end of the ice and plopped into the ocean a short distance away.

The green eyed girl turned around again to see a long line of penguins eyeing her curiously as they shuffled toward the hill in the track that she had made with her feet. She giggled with delight, plopping herself down in the snow and pulling out her notebook again, this time selecting a blue crayon.

The crayon moved furiously against the paper as penguin after penguin disappeared into the ocean before her.

With a self-satisfied nod, and an emphatic "Just right!", She once again tucked the paper and crayon into her pocket. The last penguin slid past, and then the girl gave a shout of joy and threw herself down after it.

She closed her eyes as the wind whipped through her hair, and her smile widened with each passing second. She picked up speed, sliding faster and faster down the hill until it felt like she was flying, and then suddenly the ground dropped away from beneath her and she opened her eyes to find that she was!

She soared over the ocean with outstretched arms, studying the water that churned with frolicking birds until it grew too small to see, and she found herself speeding through the stars.

"Hello, Moon!" She called as she approached, and laughed to hear her own greeting echoing back to her in the emptiness of space.

Her feet landed softly in the dust of the moon, and he tilted her head back to admire the stars. Almost of their own accord, her fingers found the thick pad of paper and a yellow crayon, and she sat to capture proof of her latest adventure.

She had just moved to safely store away her artwork when she heard a distant voice calling her name.

"Amelia!"

Eagerly, she got to her feet and launched herself once more into space.

"Amelia, it's time for dinner!" the voice announced as she neared Earth.

"Coming, Mama!" She answered, swooping beneath the clouds to finally land in a small, fenced-in backyard belonging to an even smaller suburban bungalow.

A tired looking woman with shoulder length blonde hair appeared at the back door, a smile transforming her face as she looked down at her daughter. "So what did you all see today?" she asked her daughter.

Amelia leapt forward, almost tripping over the large cardboard box she had so carefully labelled Imagination Station as she ran toward her mother. "I met unicorns, Mama!" She shouted, brandishing her drawings as she raced to her side. "And me and some penguins went sliding in the snow! And I went to the moon!"

Her mother took the drawings, ushering her daughter inside and carefully admiring each page before crossing to a refrigerator that was nearly covered with crayon artwork, and adding them to the collage.

"That's wonderful, Amelia," she told her, helping her onto her chair before taking her seat at their worn table.

"Tomorrow, I'm gonna drive a race-car!" Amelia announced, bouncing up and down in her chair. "You can come with me Mama, if you promise to wear your seatbelt!"

She laughed, and ruffled Amelia's red hair fondly. "You know Amelia," she told her, "I just might do that."

If I had a magic tree what kind of tree would it be

Once upon a time, in the center of the world there stood a giant tree that towered past the mountains and the clouds and even the stars. The roots of this tree stretched across the bottom of the ocean and twisted and turned beneath the surface of all the lands. Though the tree bore no fruit, it was connected to every living plant in the fields surrounding it.
In a village close to the mighty trunk of the tree lived a little girl who’d seen her first chick hatch in the spring and built her first snowman in the winter. She was a playful little girl with hair red as flames, and every day she would go to the tree and she would sing. Around her the singing would echo as it came and arose from every plant every flower in the field. Sometimes she and her friends would sing together or listen to music as they would drift to sleep and the tree would show them so many colors.

One day her and one of her friends sit down after a short scan of the field. She pulls a bag across from her shoulder, searching for a source of music it as it dragged its way round her. She takes out a item; it's an mp3 player. As she sifts through the endless list of tracks her friend slides himself down into a more comfortable position beside her. Hitting play she lays back to join him, and the magic starts...
The first few notes of the song escape from her speakers and fall around them like the first drops before a summer downpour. She turns her head to the sky, the first few notes flow across filling the deep blue above them. They breath deeply and start to sing, now drawing their attention to the planes soaring way above which leave behind their cloudy trails; criss-crossing each over randomly, like the roads of a busy city. The air traffic begins to clear and she closes her eyes lost in the song. They begin to float above riding upon the wing of a plane way up high, looking down on the cities and busy people, with hardly a care in the world. The song drifts on, and they open their eyes to look at the field of flowers surrounding them the colors changing and the flowers swaying as the music plays and they sing magical words.
A new song starts like a fresh dream, painting over the colors of the old one. Each melodic dip creates new shades of color across the once still field. Her eyes follow the flow of the colors, moving across the flowers only to then suddenly leap up and grab her friend's hand as they sing and dance to a song for children. As they dance along laughing and singing the tree's branches move with them every skip the tree moved its branches. The music flowed all around the field and as they skipped along the flowers started flying around them in a whirl of color.
They jump. The new sounds, much more upbeat, throw them from my their dancing. Standing still their eyes flicker to catch a bird flock as it gushes from the tree to fill the atmosphere with their airborne acrobatics. She strains to keep my focus on one continuous bird as they dart past each other too quickly to follow. Their similarities making it much more difficult to keep track of one specific bird among the group. The birds begin to tweet and sing, the tree amplifying it and making it into a beautiful song.

Gasping, they rub their eyes, amazed at what they are seeing. A rainbow; the largest and brightest ever seen strung out across the patchy blue yonder. The colors and moods harmonizing with those of the blue sky and murky cloud alike. Contrasting only with the diagonal stripes, still lingering after the long departed planes, running against the arch of colors. They lay amongst the dancing flowers breathless, smiling up at the splendor of the atmosphere. Studying the rainbow's colors, she drifts into a hum and beams back at the sky once again as colors fade into a deep purple, engulfing the burnt orange aura of the setting sun. The evening stars just breaking through she velvet sky, still tinted with the rainbows colors, tattoo-ed with silhouettes of the tree's magical branches and birds encrusted with diamonds of dew, that reflect the colors of the evenings stars. They look around, enjoying all the views one last time: the sky; in all its beauty, the crickets; their light whistles now adding to the symphony, in tune with the music, the pale blue of the far eastern horizon; a contrast against the deep amber of the west, the beautiful flowers as they sway and move and make the song become their wind.
They walk back to the tree and lean against its trunk. They find that the music on the little girl's mp3 player had stopped long ago. But as they drifted off to sleep they music continued coming from the tree and the flowers in a sweet lullaby. The branches of the tree enveloped them both in a hug lifting them into their branches high above the ground. The leaves from those branches wrapped around them like a blanket. The last of the music fading as they drifted to sleep.
I awoke in my bed, arose and crossed to the window. I looked out across my backyard at the flowers that covered the lawn. I looked at the big tree and remembered when I was a child dancing in the field with the magical tree. My friend and I would see the tiny little sparrows and thought them giant flocks of birds. The music that surrounded us as we danced and played. Then there was falling asleep and being held by the branches. We did indeed fall asleep but it was our parents arms are the ones that would hold us and carry us in to cover us with a blanket as we fell asleep. Our giant magic tree, the tree that played music, that swayed and reached across the entire world. The tree that everyone loved because everyone had one. Our magic tree is the tree of imagination the best magic of all.

In the beginning

Dear Internet,

Well I have another blog but it is only for cooking. This one is going to be for writing, I am creating it because my cousin who is also my English teacher asked me to. I will be posting both assignments from her, which you are welcome to read, and my own writing adventures. So here it goes this is just the beginning and so sit back and enjoy!

Sincerely,
Linette Soberay