The sky was dull, dar, and cloudy over the misty, empty field. Mihitabel trudged across the depressing scene, pulling her fleece jacket close to her throat. "Walking against the wind is hard," she thought. "No! My hat!" she screamed as it tumbled away. She turned, reaching out with splayed fingers to grab at her hat, but it remained just out of her reach. Suddenly, a gale swept the hat up and took it far beyond her vision. It became lost in the ever-suppressing mist. Mihitabel sighed and continued on - without her hat.
That was my grandmother's hat... what will Mom do when she finds out I lost it? I know it's simply a hat, bur Grandma just died, and mom is a fanatic about keeping everything Grandma owned. God, she's going to make me come back out here and search for it. Or sort through Grandma's stuff, organize it, put it into new boxes, and on and on. I can't stand the way she cleans and organizes and adjusts everything ALL THE TIME! She can't even stand the attic being in disarray. I mean, it's an attic... you put junk up there... it's supposed to be junky. I would love to get a room, trash it, and just leave it that way. That would be wonderful. I need messiness in my life. Untidiness, trash, muck, confusion; somehow it clears my head. Which is why I'm out in this soggy field in the first place. I need to clear my mind so I can think. I need to think so that I can figure out how to get rid of my mother.
All in bold was written by members of 3rd period creative writing.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Walk
In dark, gloomy shades of gray, blowing in from the North, a small group of children walk silently and apprehensively.
The wear black robes, but glow in the darkness nonetheless. With bolts of lightening and shattering booms, jungle noise fill the night, heard but not seen. Pellets of water come crashing down, and little lights drift in the mist. The group keeps walking.
The Professor appears from the faded blankets of gray. She slowly makes her way to the head of the group. The all fall to the earth, down, down, then are tossed up again by the playful wind of the North. Now they all have small candles, lighting the way, so soft, so silent. Hearts race, spirits flutter, as they breath this air.
They glide to the top of a steep hill. The rain is hurling down, this torrent from the North, but the sky is getting a bit lighter as the group ascends. It is blue and purple, though the dark clouds still remain. They lend an ear to the lamenting booms as they reach the top. Four, stark white pillars rise before them, 50 ft. high, in the shape of a square, topped with a flat roof. On and on, splish, splash, flash, and boom.
The structure twists and sags - an eerie stillness claims the air. Silence creeps in from the North as they glide under the roof. Lightly the drops come down, down, tapping the elaborate structure, sprinkling the air. The Professor inhales the sweet, clear, stormy air, and raises her candle to the fathomless gray. The children follow suit, and jungle sounds rise up from below.
The wear black robes, but glow in the darkness nonetheless. With bolts of lightening and shattering booms, jungle noise fill the night, heard but not seen. Pellets of water come crashing down, and little lights drift in the mist. The group keeps walking.
The Professor appears from the faded blankets of gray. She slowly makes her way to the head of the group. The all fall to the earth, down, down, then are tossed up again by the playful wind of the North. Now they all have small candles, lighting the way, so soft, so silent. Hearts race, spirits flutter, as they breath this air.
They glide to the top of a steep hill. The rain is hurling down, this torrent from the North, but the sky is getting a bit lighter as the group ascends. It is blue and purple, though the dark clouds still remain. They lend an ear to the lamenting booms as they reach the top. Four, stark white pillars rise before them, 50 ft. high, in the shape of a square, topped with a flat roof. On and on, splish, splash, flash, and boom.
The structure twists and sags - an eerie stillness claims the air. Silence creeps in from the North as they glide under the roof. Lightly the drops come down, down, tapping the elaborate structure, sprinkling the air. The Professor inhales the sweet, clear, stormy air, and raises her candle to the fathomless gray. The children follow suit, and jungle sounds rise up from below.
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