Creative Writing: Crescent Middle School

I ran, my feet bloodied and aching, my ankle unsteady and shrieking in pain. I ignored it, gasping

Sunshine was pouring out from in between the buildings, casting shadows all around Ponyboy and the gang as they walked to Pony’s school. They were taking their time walking down the streets and for the first time they all were really seeing what was all around them. Memories were surfacing in their minds showing them what it all meant to them. With every step they took on the sidewalk they remembered a different memory as if they were walking down memory lane. Ponyboy didn’t think it was possible for him to be walking down this street for the last time as a high school student, but he had gone through the years with great grades that earned him many scholarships.

I comfortably drive my car into the desolate street, Perusing the deserted buildings, Smashes windows and rusted For Sale signs. The car locked up like Fort Knox. I observe the street for trouble. Two young boys look at me from afar as if I'm an alien. Do I stand out that much same greasy hair, expensive clothes, a smart car I suppose I am out of my comfort zone? “Mister, you don’t belong here” his hand gripped his switch. “Pony.... Ponyboy Curtis” I stammer “I live here or at least I did, I'm here to see two-bit’ The Boys turn around “geez his old now” the boy's chirp. The boys stroll away in awe that they saw the great Ponyboy.

Turning off the TV, Andrew grabbed his keys and rushed to the garage, angry for not being more cautious. Driving down the street as fast as he could to get to the cleaners, he said, “I wonder if Margaret has her phone. I will call it,” he said, pushing the buttons, he waited, and said, “Oh, no; it went directly to voice mail. She must have turned it off, but why would she do that?”

There was a sense of impeding doom that turned my stomach. Although I couldn't bear to look at the mask I held outreach to you, my eyes were tempted to look to you. I side-swiped a glance at you before you took the mask. My eyebrow arched as you looked at me, visibly distraught. My eyes did a double take, and my gaze fell curiously back on you. I sensed a feeling of unease from you, and became immediately confused. “Your master never teach you Torture 101, Mr. Ren?” Although I was mocking you, there was a sense of concern in my voice, as I looked over to the Dug and then back at you. “You look like you've seen a ghos-” Holding out the mask in front of you, I watched you intently as your eyes fixated on the item. My eyes narrowed at that reaction, and suddenly, it made sense to me. Perhaps you had seen a ghost. Fully educated in the many various connections within the Force, I wondered if in this moment you had seen anything. If in this moment, his darkness had fallen on you. I pondered the horrors you had witnessed... and if any one of those horrors was my own. I wondered if it was pain you experienced, and even... if that pain was my own.

This is it. The championship game is in the last quarter, down to a minute and a half. The line of scrimmage is at the 10-yard line. Jeffery, the quarterback, fields the snap, and he looks for an open receiver. Tommy, his best friend and the tight end, is unmanned in the end zone. The throw is perfect. The crowd roars in excitement that Thomas Jefferson High School won the State Championship.

But I only give ya ten minutes. Anymore and I calls the cops. Take the first turnstile, on your right” He pointed to the turnstiles that lead up into the platforms.

I never knew the Smokies were so close to my grandparent’s retirement village. Every summer all the cousins jammed into Grandpa’s Ford for our jaunt up the mountains. But back then the hills had no name. They were recognized only by the pop of our ears and the pink silk trees bowing down to the highway. Since those days I have grown partial to any patch of grass with “National Park” tacked to its title. Today the mimosas still tossed their petals to traffic, and the truck remembered its ever-present perfume of damp golden retriever. But today we were going to The Great Smoky Mountains National Park. “Cade’s Cove, next left,” the road sign read, and two bikes bumped along on the car hitch.

The raspy wind rises in swirls, encircling the entirety of my lean body. The parched, coarse sand scrapes across my angular face, burying and scraping itself into the warmth of fresh, open wounds. The sun scorches my skin raw, condemning the violence, the blood, and the screams that seem to echo all throughout the lifeless mountain side. Welcome to Afghanistan. Bitter laughter fills my head.

I’m currently a freshman at Cape Coral High School and so far everything has been going well. Teachers and staff are always eager to reaching out and helping students with concerns. Along with that, the hallways, the side stairways, and the happy, marching music are effective during the changing of classes.

A tall robust boy with dark hair and yellow eyes entered Ellingburg middle school school at exactly 7:55 on september the 18th, it was the second day of school. His big build is easy to locate in the rush of teens. There is a tap on his elbow he looks sideways, at a medium sized boy, something changes in his eyes. Jack is short compared to Sebastian. Jack is a skinny boy with long legs, his dark hair hanging loosely over his dark brown eyes. A loud bell rang and Jack grabbed Sebastian's arm. Sebastian froze for a second and then ran. Sebastian knows Jack just thinks of him as a friend, but it is different for him, he does not know if Jack knows.

In my sixth grade year, 2015, I was sitting on the couch reading a book. Suddenly, a scream rang out. As quick as a cheetah, my mom ran into our living room and showed me her computer’s email. Excitedly, I took the computer. On it, was a few sentences congratulating me on making ILMEA orchestra. It was a music festival with a choir, a band, and obviously, a orchestra. I was so excited, I had to call my teacher, Mrs. Lafranzo. So, no more than four months later, I was in my car heading to Oswego East High School for morning practice.

One day, I walked upstairs to my warm third grade class at John Stewart Elementary school. As I started my morning work, which usually included math, that was on my desk, my teacher, Mrs.Biddle announced, "Today we are going to pick table names!"

Soggy streets, bland houses, and terrified citizens fill Rivertown, Virginia. Dark, gloomy weather has been rampaging since the death of a freshman at Rivertown High School, six months ago. The leafy, emerald pines that make up the forests of this small city, have been dulled by the rain and lightning. These forests are now considered dangerous due to the mud, roots, and the hills that are scattered across the land. Disappearances of more high schoolers in the area have the whole state terrified.

After Mildred closes the door behind her, I'm left there stunned. Not only by what she said, but how she said it. It sounded sweet, almost caring, as if she cared about me could she? I ask myself. I shake my head. No that can't be, I'm loosing it, just like I almost lost it when she asked me about the girl., so I had to lie about it to protect her.