Short Story: Garden Grove High School

"Will that be all, Mother?", asked her daughter, hauling the last of the ground roots and herbs inside the dungeon rooms and setting hem on the floor near her mother's feet, Abigail smiled, nodding a little at the girl. "What's all this for anyway? You turned into a witch?",, Abigail laughed. "You wish, my darling. But no, it's for something rather special, I have to call upon something, and I've been told this-", she gestured to the candles, chalk and herbs in Mason jars around her, 'was the only way to do it.". Her daughter, smirked, looking around the room, "I would stay, but- witchcraft isn't really my thing.". Abigail shrugged, "Understood.". She one she shouldn't have bragged to Maxim earlier about her wonderful daughter, but how

My throat was dry, and I couldn’t speak well. "...Why do you... say that...?" It seemed a villager heard me since they replied "We heard that you've been recently going deep into the forest Viola. The reason we don't let you go into the woods is because witches live here and she's one of them!" I looked Ellen, contrary to me, she was calm. That couldn't be true right? Ellen couldn't possibly no, isn't a witch beyond a stretch of imagination. 'The villagers were just edgy with all the suspicion going around,' I reasoned. "Ellen isn't a witch," I fiercely retorted, "She's just crippled and sick! What makes you think she is one?" Then my father stepped up from the mob with a solemn look on his face. "Viola this forest is big and easy to get lost even for us. But how does a child know the navigate through the forest so

Ms. Annette made a soothing noise. NO Kendall hadn’t known a world where she would have lied or ignored the whispers, like the ones that named her home the witch’s house. Kendal had only known the world where other children’s mother would whisk them if Kendall tried to play at the park or where bakers and butchers would refuse service to ‘abomination according to the Bible.’ But Kendall Obsurne face her trouble. Kendall thought of herself a brave. Her Grammy had often called her stubborn.

She took a quick look around the last turn before the main street that led to the school. She noticed several boys and girls in the alleyways on both sides of the narrow street. It looked as if every class at her school, several young ladies and even her teacher waited for her in ambush. She ducked back before they could see her, hiked up her dress, and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her in the opposite direction of the angry mob. She didn’t stop until she had found the forest path that she needed and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard no one in pursuit. The forest surroundings felt different for some reason and it frightened her. It had a forbidding feel to it this dawn like she had never felt in the past.

Many of the old people in the village had claimed they had been marked by the witch when they were little while sleeping in their very own homes including Bryan’s Grandma Mrs. Ojeda. The family was enjoying their first chilly night under the stars that were clearly visible unlike how they were back home. It was a perfect time for Bryan and his nephew to ask their grandmother to tell them the story of the witch on the corner of Babylan St. that was just 4 houses away. Bryan finally broke the silence of the night by telling his grandma, “ Grandma can you tell us the story of the witch on the corner of the street?” Bryans Grandma had agreed but told us not to tell their parents she had told them the story. She said,” The rumors began when a family had moved into the house a week before Christmas. Time had passed and the day was Christmas Eve and as traditions went, they would blow fireworks starting at midnight and burn the dummies they had made of hay and fireworks with old clothes they saved all year. The family did not want to do fireworks that night so they stayed inside the house for

Fire ran up the arms of the beautiful teenage girl. She went deep inside herself and pulled from the strength of her ancestors. The strength of the witches she came from. Her mother all the way to her great-great-grandmother.

“ In the early month of May at the Menifee Middle School, it was a normal day until ‘YES’, ‘HIT HIM’ ‘HIT HIM.’ Students were pilling out into the schoolyard toward the echoes of cheering. With the excitement in the air, it was the chance for students to grasp the glimpse moment of exhilaration.

One day in Lindley Middle School there were two girls in Mr. Foreman’s classroom and their names were Anazia Maisonet-Snell and Lanecia Hayward. So as they were just sitting in class doing their work Lanecia decided she was going to take Anazia’s pencil case because her pencil broke and when Anazia saw Lanecia took her pencil case Anazia said, “Give me back my pencil case” and Lanecia didn’t which made Anazia very upset. Then Anazia got louder because she knew that that would make Lanecia give back her pencil case. Since Lanecia gave Anazia back her pencil case Lanecia didn’t bother trying to take it again.

Aziz got out of bed right as his alarm clock went off. He was ecstatic for the day ahead. He needed to hop in the shower and then eat breakfast before he could start the exciting part of his day. Today was the day for high school basketball tryouts at Glenn High School. Aziz shouldn’t be nervous, but he was. He couldn’t think about anything other than tryouts and was extremely scared of missing all his shots. He could just picture himself going up for layup after layup; the ball barely grazing the rim on every shot he took. He tried not to think about it, but it just wouldn’t erase from his mind. But once he got in the shower he started to relax just a little bit. He rinsed his body and was calming himself down. It was around nine thirty in the morning, and try outs were at eleven thirty. He could have slept longer if he wanted, but his body wouldn’t do it. He needed to get to that gym. He wanted to eat a healthy breakfast, so he got out some pots and pans and started cooking himself some eggs, bacon, grits, and sausage. Right after he finished cooking it, he wolfed

Jake was a freshman, having just enrolled at the local community college. He was for the most part a good kid, except that he had hung around with the wrong crowd, and this had made him the unfortunate victim of circumstance.

There is a school in Rhode Island called Opequonsett High. It is full of jocks, mean girls, and popular kids. Hidden deep inside of the crowd are what you might call the outfitters. Vice Principal Mr. Brenigan wants anything BUT outfitters! The kids who did not fit in were usually the ones who got into trouble. Stella got in trouble for wearing an inappropriate shirt. Wen got in trouble for using bad words in class and Mo got in trouble for skipping class and behaving badly. They all got in big trouble for what they did. While they were in detention, a catchy song started playing. Wen started tapping his foot to the beat, then Stella started tapping on the desk. Finally Mo began humming along. They sounded

I’ve been at Barrington Middle School for three years. It is the place where I transitioned from a child bright-eyed and ready for the world, to the older, if not wiser young adult, that I am today. I’ve been here through the good times and the bad as I went from year to year. I am leaving this institution of knowledge more prepared because of AVID. I am leaving ready for my life ahead.

One Thursday morning when I was in the school with my friend two boys were picking on me and my friend it happen on the bus and the hallway. That made me and my friend upset me and my friend goes to Arnall Middle School. it happen 1 week ago. What happened was two boys were picking on us so we told them to stop. But they keep going so we told the teacher. So he was talking to them out of the classroom door. So they can have a conversation about bullying.

A stranger in the village is someone that is new to a place or isn’t familiar with something. Approximately two years ago I moved, which meant I had to move schools too. I was 15 years when I moved to McEachern High School but it made me be a more independent person.

I feel as if happiness is a joke and no one ever let me in on the punchline. I see others enjoying it and having a grand old time, but I just don’t quite get it. There are times when I think I have figured it out, but it will slip from my grip and I’m left miserable, once again finding that I was wrong about it all along. It’s a vicious cycle of never-ending despair. That’s just my life for you.