The Spirit: A Short Story

The five-minute warning bell goes off. I rush to my first class of my junior year, eager to see my classmates, who I was going to spend the rest of the 9 months with. I find myself stumbling into a classroom plastered with decorations of Denzel Washington with a Dr. Seuss book in his hand, a t and college flags galore. My AP English 11 class suddenly seemed so appealing to me. As a beautiful, curly haired short lady stood in front of me and said “Welcome to AP English 11,” I knew that I had found a treasure so much greater than just a pretty classroom. Little did I know, that short lady was going to inspire me throughout my challenge filled second-to-last year of high school.

Getting to know Sydney made me realize a lot more about life. Going into college I felt agitated because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, and maybe moving here was a mistake, but Sydney reassured me. Although tomorrow is a mystery, we need to have faith that it’ll bring us exactly what we need. Her story of having a youth full of uncertainty and now having a life of complete sense has given me hope that I will be okay, and to just enjoy today and it’s opportunities.

The story of Junior Spirit takes place in The Absolutely True DIary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie, a young adult fiction novel. In the story, Junior/Arnold Spirit, a 14 year old boy living on the Spokane Indian Reservation, comes to* terms with the identity crisis that comes from belonging both on the reservation and at the nearby white school, the importance of his own world, and the obstacles that come in making friendships. Gordy has had the most valuable impact on Junior because he made Junior realize that he belongs in many myriad places, gave Junior a new perspective on his sect of the world, and gave him a much needed friendship during his transition to Rearden.

The familiar aroma of coffee fills the air as I enter the not so common area. I feel very bewildered in the labyrinth of hallways searching for my classroom just like I had stepped into corn maze as a child. At last, I locate the secluded room tucked away inside the massive building. Even though the number on the door matches the number on my schedule I am still second guessing if I am in the right place. The door opened up as students poured out. Finally, I took my seat at the back, trying my hardest to sit down unnoticed. My hands were shaking as I wrote the class name at the top of my paper. After what seemed like ages the professor proceeded to

number of dead bees on the ground near her hives, she checked the hives herself. She ''pulled on her leather work gloves as she walked outside to change the racks of honey in her beehives and to check for signs of disease'' (Hogan, Mean Spirit 45). Furthermore, Belle became sick and tired of oil drillers because '' '[T]hey burn the poor birds out of the sky' '' (Hogan, Mean Spirit 76). Belle's great connection with the natural world is explored in her extreme resistance of the oppression of nature; she fiercely attacked the eagle white hunters who used to hunt eagles and send them to the city to be sold as souvenirs. One day, on her way to Watona to deliver eggs to an old lady there, Belle was extremely shocked by the sight of some eagle hunters who were busy in counting murdered eagles taken away in the back of a truck:

The low ceiling cowered above and the black plastic chairs formed a restless crowd around me. From my seat, I could smell the acute scent of cleaning fluid, whiteboard markers, and the nauseating perfume of the girl sitting next to me. Like so many other students, she exuded concentration. Her brows were drawn as her hand moved rapidly over the testing booklet, only pausing to reposition herself or cast an almost imperceptible sidelong glance. The effortlessness of her actions furthered my anxiety as I began tapping my foot uneasily against the speckled linoleum floor. Through the dusty shades that hung precariously in front the only window in the room, I could see the outline of a solitary building shadowed by the dense gray fog that clung to the courtyard outside. At that moment, I would have given anything to be able to run and scream at the top of my lungs. I had an inexplicable urge to break free from the confinement of that room and what it

We arrived at our destination… so I took my headphones out, and I put my iPhone away. I stepped off of the bus to see a large brick school building with some bricks missing and multiple cracked windows illuminated by light bulbs glowing brightly in classrooms full of innocent children. I began walking to the entrance of the school, trying to avoid the large cracks in the sidewalk that were filled with ice on this bitter December day. Snow was falling and the bitter cold and my new surroundings were shaking me to the core.

The morning was foggy and I could see the front of my school through my window. It was a nice sight to see. I walked into the kitchen to make myself a bowl of cereal and there she was with her head down on the table. I could tell that she arrived a couple of hours ago because the tears hadn’t dried from her cheeks yet. I got myself ready gave her a kiss on her forehead and headed off to school. I had walked into class eager to see what my teacher Mrs. Padron had in store for today. Every single day there was something new to learn and there’s something about that infinite nature of learning that really appealed to me as a child. I cherished those 7 hours I spent in class the most I could and I dreaded the mere thought of having to go home where I would have to face the

Abigail Jay stood in front of the school on the rain drenched steps, rocking on her heels. She was waiting for Jimmy, her uncle to close the shop for ten minutes to come and get. Most of the other students had already left from the campus once the last bell rang, they booked it. Abigail was use to waiting for Jimmy, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be late and if anything she’d be worried if he was on time. Abigail tangled with the pull strings of her hoodie, an excited smile on her face.

It was early July in Southern California: the sun was high, the air was warm, and the palm trees were swaying. Unfortunately, the bright sun could not light the darkness of the pit I had been slowly falling into during my tumultuous school year at my new charter school. On that day, when the other girls were tanning beachside, I was sitting deskside. I was trapped in a tiny, moldy, yellow-carpeted education office at the school I had transferred to the year prior. Like my fading hope, the dusty chandelier was barely hanging on from the ceiling. The room’s peculiarity added to my anxiety, as I felt failure lingering in the musty air. Though I had been sheltered by my parents’ optimism, I knew what I would soon hear: “I am so sorry sweetheart,

What filth dared pass your unworthy lips, pitiful urchin? I will declare, am the heir of the Elders, I have led our people out of tragedy single-handed, and I have destroyed over 300 white demons. I am learned in the arts of the earth and sky, and none are more connected to the Great Spirit than I! You are but nothing to me, prey. I will have your head hollowed for a gourde, my word is sacred! Do you think your magic will allow you to continue to disrespect me like this? Think again, dog! Even as you stand, my brothers from across the land are circling your home and your sacred place is being hunted right now, so prepare for the onslaught, rat. The onslaught that will decimate your very way of life from your people's history. You are a breathing

All of the walls are plastered with student work of hand-cut construction paper snowflakes and stockings. In the mornings, excited students swarm the hallway as they look for their classroom and their teacher. Echoes of “good mornings” bounce around the hallway from student to teacher. But farther down the hallway, the older students are not as excited for the day while the bare walls match their expressionless faces. About halfway down this hallway is a wide staircase down leading to the fourth grade classrooms. It is rather quiet in this hallway because there is a distinct lack of

The roads and air became thick and disgusting, making them sweaty and constantly having to get out of their car to go and stretch and cool off. They stopped several times on the road, but their last stop was at a neighborhood, where all houses were burned down and abandoned, except one which still remained up and well. As foolish as they were, the college kids became anxious to enter hospitality and receive directions and possibly a cool drink. As they were walking towards the house, they noticed a basement window creak open and close quickly, with a shadowy figure moving away. All unexpectedly, the door swung open and there stood a man and woman who seemed friendly and inviting, a bit too

Pastor Ed, it was so wonderful to meet you and your team. I was sitting down today to write a thank you note to the Connect Team for your wonderful hospitality and love. I have been telling everyone about the amazing ministry that Gateway has that ministers to the Body of Christ and Churches. We are now discussing ways to implement some of the things that we heard. I spoke with Pastor Aeneas about some the things we can implement quickly, like weekly meeting with key leaders, establishing a pray team for him and his family, and rotating volunteers so that they can get a break. We have a lot to accomplish, and as you know it is sometimes a challenge for The Spirit Church.

The alarm clock buzzed loudly beside my ear. Feeling like a gong that was being hit repeatedly was placed right beside my head. I sluggishly pulled myself out of my bed and dragged myself to my closet. The words, first day of school moaned ghastly in my head. Summer was uneventful and school was just going to be hell. I picked out an old, worn out flannel and a pair of jeans to wear. Not rushing at all, I struggled to put the raggedy clothes on. They smelt like horrendous lies and rumors. Exactly what this state and my school are built on.