Archive for May, 2009

Adventure by Ali Neace

Posted: May 18, 2009 by aneace in Allie

     We decided to take a hike up the mountain. We had done it many times before. The air was humid, typical for a mid-summer’s day. I was aggravated because my nan made me wear sweatpants; I was prone to get poison ivy every time I thought about that waxy four-leafed plant.

     The mountains called to me, however, and I could complain no longer. We started up the path behind my nan’s house: I knew we were in for an adventure, even if we had to make our own. We passed headstones and plastic flowers on our way, for the graveyard was the path.

     Our hike continued in companionable silence most of the time. Eventually we reached the facing of a giant rock formation. We pulled out our rope and pretended to be rock climbers. Once on top, we rested on the edge, looking down on the world we would soon have to re-enter. The orange sun was starting to go down, so we took the fastest route down the mountain. And that was sliding down on our behinds, tons of fallen leaves to cushion.

     When we finally reached our destination, which was the faded bluish-gray house, my nan made me wash off, but she should have known sweatpants wouldn’t keep the oil from that fiendish plant off of me. The itch was nothing new to me, so I put anti-itch cream on and tried not to scratch. Of course my cousin didn’t get it. She was always the lucky one when it came to things like that.

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controversial topic by Kelli

Posted: May 18, 2009 by kelliakers in Kelli

Hunting is now such a controversial topic. Its either people 100% disagree, 100% agree, or could honestly care less. I, however, agree with hunting. I love the watching the excitement rise from people from the preparation, scouting, and the final hunt. It’s all so common to me. My dad has hunted for as long as I can remember; I guess someone could say I was raised in the sticks. But, I can’t call myself a hunter, because I’ve only went squirrel hunting a couple times and I was too loud and never killed anything. I can see hunting in my future one day though, especially with a bow. Not so much a gun; they scare me. The pulling back of the string, release on my wrist, finger on the trigger ready to pull. It’s all such a rush to me.

Life’s a chance

Posted: May 18, 2009 by alexbestep in AlexE

Life is a chance

Alex Estep

 

I have done things that I wish I had not, our minds are made up in a split second and although sometimes we know we shouldn’t do things, we do them anyway ready to handle whatever consequences may come out way.

Most of the time I don’t think about the “what if’s” that could often turn fatal, I just decide and whatever happens, happens.

Life is about taking chances, and if it’s not, then why are we here, we take a chance each time we step a foot outside the comfort of our homes, never knowing if a mass murderer or beautiful day is waiting on us.

Life isn’t about taking chances, Life is a chance.

A Slice of Something Real

Posted: May 18, 2009 by elb2011 in Elyse

I was born off the Atlantic Coast in the middle of a grunge era. I adore the

West Virginia hills. I bought a heart shaped box made out of ivory that I keep a necklace

my grandma bought for me. I have lied to the world. I never admit to me liking being sixteen.

My friends’ faces have lost their innocence. When I was two, I over-dosed on Children’s Motrin because

I thought it was candy. My favorite thing to do is pray and my favorite time of day is dawn.

They are the only favorites I possess.  I still hear my paw-paws hack early in the mornings. I have met about a

quarter of West Virginia. I cry when my sciatic nerve hurts. I love blankets and kitties. I plan on

being so happy I can’t stand it. I am Elysse. I want to be independent.

 

E. Burkhamer

I sometimes wonder.

Posted: May 18, 2009 by alexbestep in AlexE

I Sometimes Wonder

Alex Estep

 

Sometimes I wonder how a room of people can agree how cruel and heartless it is to kill a animal, yet the same people think abortion is acceptable.

I wonder how they see a difference in the two. Both animal and child are innocent, and helpless, both of which never harmed a soul. Something beautiful a miracle God allowed happen.

The only difference I find is that one was created with your help, and ready to throw it away like a piece of worthless trash, that nobody would ever desire.  You say you don’t have time, you can’t afford a child.

Look around, there is a person that can afford children, which would love to start a family with someone they love, but cannot.

You are not only killing an innocent, your ruining a couple’s dreams of ever having a family. And not that that have you not realized all the danger you have put yourself in, of the illness which could consume your being.

Sometimes I wonder if people ever think before they act, sometimes I wonder if people ever think period.

When I was young on the move in Logan

Posted: May 18, 2009 by desirae13 in Desirae

By:Desirae Akers

 

When I was young on the move in Logan

I remember I never had much friends

I was never in one place long enough to make any.

I remember I never had the chance to ride the bus to school,

I always walked alone on the long narrow bridge

that same bridge I tossed petty rocks into the muck of the water on my way home.

 

When I was young on the move in Logan

I went to my grandma’s every weekend.

There she would always fix me my favorite dish,

hot noodles with butter and shredded cheese.

Often we had sits on the front porch to watch the rain lash on everything it touched.

Now days I would be lucky to even get to hear her voice.

 

When I was young on the move in Logan

I was a canvas to my mother.

She used me to make a new picture everyday.

She always dolled me up with her bright eye colors and red lipstick.

I remember the aroma of the perfume she sprayed on me

and the likeness we shared when she was finished.

 

When I was young on the move in Logan

I always stayed up late with my two older brothers.

We sat on the soft sofa playing their video games,

or watched horror movies that scared me so bad my eyelids were glued open.

I was terrified to sleep alone; afraid of the nightmares that came.

 

When I was young on the move in Logan

all the things I once loved took a break.

I remember the hard times rather than all the good times.

I learned through those times to ignore and make best with what I had.

That was the childhood I had, the fun I had before all the bad stuff happened.

It seems like it all went too fast, but if I could, I would never go back.

 

Eltee’s Daily Freewrite 5.14.09–First Draft

Posted: May 14, 2009 by eltee in Eltee

When I was seven and my brother Kelly eleven, he spent the entire summer trying to catch a bird.  Our grandfather told us that if we could put salt on a bird’s tail we could catch it and it would be our devoted pet.  The very idea fired Kelly’s imagination, and he decided he had to accomplish this goal. 

 At first Kelly simply took granny’s salt shaker from the kitchen and openly stalked any bird landing in our yard.  The glass container with stainless steel lid made hundreds of trips around the house, clutched in Kelly’s sweaty hand, as he slithered down the side of the house sneaking into the periphery of the bird’s vision, which always flew away.  Granny would call from the house from time to time “Son!  Bring me my salt back!  I’ve got beans in the pot!” and he’d put the shaker back on the stove, and wait for another opportunity. 

 I soon grew bored.  Stalking.  Waiting.  Slithering.  None of these qualified as fun for me; at seven years I could see only the freedom my first big girl’s bike offered me that summer.  Patience has never been my strong suit, even in childhood.  He worked methodically, not racing to catch a bird, but thoughtfully.  He was a marathon runner ready for the duration, not a sprinter like me, only good for the shortest of times.  While Kelly became bored with the style of the hunt, he didn’t get bored of the hunt itself. 

 His second incarnation of the quest to salt a bird’s tail involved an intricate system of traps that he designed.  He placed a cardboard box held up by a Y shaped stick under the neighbor’s weeping willow tree.  He tied a cord to the stick, and placed birdseed and bread under the box.  His goal was to entice an unsuspecting bird to waddle under the box, where he would yank the string, pulling out the prop.  The box would drop over the bird, trapping it, until Kelly could get his salt-shaker filled hand under the cardboard to do the deed. 

I don’t know how many hours he sat there, under the tree, waiting for the bird.  The long willow fronds hung down, making a nice shaded cool area, and the dirt under the tree was comfortable for resting.  When my legs grew weary of endless pumping the bike up and down our street I would go rest under the green tent with him, flopping down in the cool dirt and leaves, usually irritating him by my noisy entrance, which he avowed scared away the birds who were JUST THEN read y to have taken the bait if I hadn’t made so much noise and scared them away. 

 As the summer progressed Kelly continued his silent slow quest.  I remember his curly red hair and freckled face filled with excitement. He hid his hair under a green bath towel granny allowed him to take out and use as camouflage.  He believed for a while that the shade of his hair, not being something found in nature, was perhaps the reason the bird didn’t take his delectable offerings. 

 I see him now in my mind’s eye, head towel draped, hands clasping string and salt shaker, legs crossed Indian style under the canopy of the weeping willow.  In my mind the light shines through the leaves, dappling the scene, and I wish to go back, for just a brief moment, to my childhood, and revisit the home of our youth.