Random

Lindsay stood there in the descending rain like a cookie getting dunked in milk. Waiting impatiently for that car to pull into her drive way. Not just any car, the big truck of Will Olewinski. Finally, she saw the headlights of his Ford truck, with the red neck music blaring out the sides. However, tailing close behind was another car, the car of Nick Knoke and his gang. Will had stolen Lindsay from Nick back in the 8th grade, 10 years ago. Now it was time for Nicks revenge. While Will drove his car over the bump to get into the driveway and got out, Nick was nearly leaning halfway out the side of the car window, and fired a Uzi at him rapidly, and hit him 14 times, leaving no room for life. Will collapsed to the wet, lifeless sidewalk, while Lindsay stood in shock and fear as Nick and his gang hopped out of their car and snatched Lindsay, and threw her struggling body in the trunk. She screamed and kicked, but to no avail. Nick would take her back to his house, where he would do the worst, and most torturing of things…..a tea party. The 3 of them. Him. Lindsay, and his stuffed bear, Harry.

Pitching

The umpire yells the count, as I stand impatiently on the mound waiting for the batter to take his steps into the batters box. I can feel the sweat in my hair, my breathing and heart pumping. I grip the ball, waiting for the catcher to give me the sign. Seeing the sign that was given by my catcher, i shake my head not once, not twice, but three times until he gives me the sign I want. Fiddling with the ball in my glove until I feel the seems up against my fingers, the rough feel of the ball that is gritty with dirt. Taking a step back I wind up, and then comes my high leg kick, with my knee almost hitting my chest. With my long stride towards the plate, I feel my metal spikes secure themselves into the dirt, like a dog sinking its teeth into a bone. Feeling my arm whip as I let go of the ball, letting the ball fly towards the plate and a soaring 73 mph. As my back leg comes up almost as high as the sky, I see the batter swing and misses, yet again. Trotting back to the dugout, I feel the aching of my arm from pitching so much. Yet, I don't mind the pain as much anymore, because the pride of knowing that I can dominate any batter outweighs the pain, the struggle, and whatever errors we may make along the way.

Raymond's Point of View

All I do is stand there. All I do is trot along with my sister, keeping up with her. That's pretty good though, considering she wins every race. I might not be that bad at running. Then we run into that ugly girl and her friends, and I watch the 3 of them argue with my sister. Then they turn to me, asking a question like I'm a 3 year old. It's humiliating being treated like a little kid who can't talk yet, and has to get fed by his mom. Finally they pass on, minding their own business. I'm glad that's over.

Frustrated, angry, and confused with my thoughts moving through my head faster than a bat out of hell. I know there's two places I can go where all my troubles will all vanish, at least for the time being. The basketball court, or my music room. I storm into the music room, where papers lay scattered, and chords for guitars and microphones are jumbled. I plug my guitar headphones into my I-Pod, flip the switch on my amp, and grab the neck of my guitar and swing it up to my leg. After the short time it takes me to find a song on my I-pod, I'm picking away. My life disappears, all my problems are gone, and nothing else matters as my fingers slide up and down the steel strings. Next thing I know, I've been playing for an hour, and I think about what just happened. I snap back to reality, to realize that what I've been living in for the past hour was just a fantasy.

The year was 2081. There were many projects going on to help the earth, they couldn't be counted. The Earth was a total mess, but we still had the money to waste on $200,000 dollar cars, or better known now as placars. Cars that could fly, yet could still drive on land. The Earth was a total mess, and the USA was dominating other countries. Greed has taken over our lives. The government is controlling everyone, whether it be regular people, or celebrities. We had walked on mars,we had people living on the moon, and Osama was officially 6 feet underground. The world was in pandemonium.

Personal Narrative

I passed the ball and looked back at the clock. 3 and a half seconds left. I called for the rock back after my guy collapsed. I probably got the ball back with 2 seconds left. I was already squared and ready to shoot, so I rose up, and released the ball. "Get in. Get in," I thought to myself as the ball spun towards the basket. It seemed to stay up in the air forever, but I heard the buzzer start to ring a little after I touched back down. Next thing I knew, the ball hit the side of the rim and went straight down. I turned towards my bench with my fists clenched as my teammates swarmed. It seemed like it lasted forever, even though it was only about 15 ticks of the clock. When I went through the line, the other teams perspiring heads were down, with a look of adversiteyon their face. That was one of the greatest feelings of my life.

Homework

Homework

You look over at the clock below the TV, and realize it’s past midnight. “How much more homework do I have?” you think to yourself impatiently. “I must have been doing this for at least 4 hours!” Your eyelids feel as if they have weights hanging down from them, and it’s a struggle to keep them open. You’ve tried everything to keep yourself awake, from splashing water on your face to blasting music into your ears. Nothing seems to be working. It feels as if your brain is being tenderized with a mallet. Your eyes are flickering now, and they shut. You snap them back open, forcing yourself to stay awake and focused. You must stay awake. You must finish your homework. You must keep your eyes open. You must get this done. But then, you take just a small mental break, and feel your eyes shut, and they don’t open back up. Later, you wake up to noise that seems louder than a gunshot, even though it's just the TV on low volume. Disoriented, you drag your head up off the couch and glance over at the clock and realize its 3 in the morning. “What more can I do?” you think as you hike back to your room where you will flop yourself down on your bed, and even that seems like a marathon.