- Pretend you are riding on a bus and overhear one person say to another person, "I'll never forgive you as long as I live." Write a story that tells who these people are and what happened before their conversation.
- Write a story rich in dialogue. Some examples are: a dialogue between a child and a grown-up involving a monkey; a dialogue between two people stuck in an elevator together; and a dialogue with a friend after they've broken their friend's favorite possession.
- Write an essay about trading places with someone. This can be someone famous or someone who lives down the street. Describe your day in detail as that person, and that person's day as you.
- Begin your piece by writing "I remember" and write down any memories that come to mind. It doesn't matter if a memory happened five minutes ago or five years ago, just to write down what you remember. The point of this exercise is to generate ideas without worrying about how the words are coming out or analyzing them. If a memory is particularly vivid, a writer can stick with that memory and add detail about it. Later, writers can go back to their memories and choose those that seem most interesting to write larger pieces about.
- Think of something you dislike and write about it as though you love it, then change perspectives and write about it as though you dislike it, and then write about it as though you don't care one way or another about it. This exercise is a great challenge for your imagination, and a means for getting them to explore different writing perspectives.
Have fun with this and we will share them on Monday! Enjoy your weekend.
49 comments:
I remember when my cousins, sister, and I got locked in the bathroom at my grandparents house. This was when I was about five, my sister was six, and my cousins were six, eight and ten. Every year my family and I celebrate June birthdays because there are six of them. One year my oldest cousin had to go to the bathroom, so not knowing better I followed her in, and then all the other kids went with us. We jammed ourselves into a very small bathroom and then, my youngest cousin locked the door. The lock wasn’t a push in button like most of them are now but it was a key lock. After locking the door, we stayed in the bathroom for a bit. Not having a care in the world or ever thinking that we would get locked in, my cousins and I looked out the window and chatted for a while. Then, we tried to get out of the bathroom but no one could unlock us. That is when the screaming and crying started. All that racket attracted my parents, my grandparents and my cousins parents. They all stood on the other side of the door trying to guide us through how to unlock the door. As you can imagine we were all very stressed and no one could get us out. I was balling my eyes out and thought we were going to be stuck in that little bathroom forever. At last, the parents gave up on trying to tell us how to unlock the door and my grandfather went to the garage, got a ladder and climbed to the second floor window where the bathroom was. He climbed through the window in the bathroom and unlocked the door. I can’t even explain how happy I was to see my parents and to know that I wasn’t going to be stuck in a bathroom for the rest of my life with my cousins. After this little incident in the bathroom, that dreadful key ended up in the garbage and no one ever got locked in the bathroom again.
I remember when I didn't remember. I remember when ignorance wasn't even existent. I remember when I was less considerate based on that same nonexistent ignorance. I remember when what I didn't know couldn't hurt me... and when it could. I remember thinking that I knew what love was. I remember discovering something so empowering that I didn't have to care about anything else in the world— that is, until something more important came along. I remember when I cursed my flaws, penned up my anger, and kept going anyway. I remember when all that anger disappeared, and when I had absolutely nothing to worry about. I remember when everything was perfect.
I remember when I hated myself for the worst reasons, and loved myself for the best.
I remember my friends. I remember who they are now, and who they once were. I remember my enemies, and the ones who have become close friends. I remember all the acquaintances, and how I would never have thought that they would ever be such a large part of my life... And I remember that this process doesn't ever stop, and that anything can happen at any time.
I remember what I'm bad at, and what I'm good at. And I remember that somewhere in this world, there are people who appreciate my strengths and my flaws.
And I remember what my dad always told me to do: "surround yourself with great people".
And so I have.
Kendra,
I like how you picked to share a memory from an age during which everything seems to be emotionally amplified. This kind of thing is much more traumatizing when you're younger.
It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon, and the bus ride was miserable. We were all jammed into seats, three people squished together on the hottest day of the year. As we drove through the deserts of Arizona the sun burned the sand around us. Once and a while one could see a lone iguana, bathing in the light on a rock through the window. Cacti cast long shadows on the flat land. We were all on our way to the field trip destination for school. The bus driver, a tall, thin, creepy looking guy sat on a leather seat in the front of the bus, sweat gleaming on his forehead. He wore blue tinted sunglasses and was missing several teeth. We all listened to music and talked to our too close for comfort neighbors. I was sitting next to Tommy, and Sally. They had been a couple for the past three years and all had gone well until recently. Since my iPod was out of battery, I had no choice but to sit in silence in this yellow oven. I overheard the fuming Sally spit these words to Tom, “I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.” I looked out of the corner of my brown eye and saw Tommy turn to the window, his black hair clinging to his head from the heat. Sally, with a indignant puff, got up as the vehicle came to a stop to let some buffalo pass over the road, and went to sit next to Suzie and Buzz, the only other people with a seat free. I sat there awkwardly and turned to look at Tommy.
It had all happened yesterday at Saturday High, our school. It was a free period for lunch and Tommy sat with Sally. They were alone, sitting on a picnic table outside, exchanging giggles. I sat with my friend George while we told our tales of what had happened over the weekend. All of the sudden, two beefy thugs walked over to Tom and Sal’s table and started to make trouble. They knocked Tom’s food all over him and started flirting with Sally. Sally, looking awkwardly at Tom sat silently. George and I saw all of this across the schoolyard and exchanged worried looks. We both knew that Tommy had had previous trouble with these jocks. Being short and timid, Tommy shrank under Sally’s pained gaze. He didn’t have the courage to stand up to these bullies anymore. Their names, Shot Blim and Hose Lasher, were Tom’s neighbors. George and I both lived across the street from Tommy yet we never got to know him that well. Tom’s dad, being in the army was never around and his mom had died four years ago. His sitter, Daphnia frankly didn’t care about Tom and actually had a crush on Shot. We frequently saw Tom being punched, pushed around, and made fun of by the Blim and Lasher boys. George and I have told our parents and Shot and Hose have often gotten into trouble, yet not seriously enough for them to be put away for good.
Anyways, now Tom, in his green baseball hat and worn out moccasins was defenseless and covered in his spilled orange juice. Sally, red-faced sat between these two goons looking across at Tommy through teary eyes. After five minutes of being taunted and flirted upon, Sally got up and stormed away. Shot and Hose grunted, looked at Tom, laughed, and went away to torment someone else. Tom was left alone, bent over, his head on the table, covered by his green ball hat.
I now sat next to this poor, abused boy, during the most uncomfortable day out of all three hundred and sixty five of them. I reached into my brand new yellow backpack. I brought my hand back out and produced a Hersey’s chocolate bar. I nudged Tom with my elbow and waited a couple of seconds. He turned, red-eyed and looked at me with the faintest of smiles. I beckoned to the candy and he took it responding, “thanks man”.
Des, your journal is extremely emotional and well written. I really thinks this writing reflects you well. Your ending was very good and the quote ties it up nicely.
I remember the cold. I remember the move to Vermont, playing a vigorous game of footsie in the backseat with my sister, while giggling and shrieking over my parents’ repeated requests for quiet. I remember being mezmorized by a world cloaked in white while large, wet snowflakes stuck to my eyelashes and melted on my tongue. I remember the crunch of the wet snow under my rubber snow boots and the nip of the winter wind on my reddening nose. I remember the rumbling motor of the rickety metal chair lift, and looking down beyond the tips of my orange skis to the near-vertical slopes and dangerous rocky ravines. I remember thawing my chilled hands around a huge scalding cup of creamy hot chocolate, topped with a dreamy mountain of whipped cream.
I remember the heat. I remember the shocking cold of the ocean, the bitter taste of a mouthful of seawater, and sticky salt in my hair. I remember the fine sand burning the tender bottoms of my feet, while my skin was cooked by the radiant sun from above. I remember the shuddering crash of the bow against the massive ocean rollers of the Vineyard Sound, and the bells of the channel marks cutting through the serene silence of the ocean. I remember standing at the top of pristine East Chop Lighthouse on sunday nights, the top of my world, and looking out at the peaceful sailboats in the distance. I remember returning there years later, only to discover that something had changed.
Des-
I really liked how instead of just listing off memories you had in the past, you made me stop and think when I was reading. The way you compared and contrasted opposite memories was a good way to organize it, and I thought that you made all of the memories flow together well.
I remember the feeling of surprise. I remember spinning around in the dry leaves to face the gruff voice singing from behind the tree. I remember stammering that I was looking for my lost dog and silently wishing for the hundredth time that I had brought my phone with me. I remember trying to figure out how fast I could run away and then remembering I had no idea how to get out of the huge forest I was lost in. I remember the slow realization sinking in that I was stuck in the middle of the woods talking to a man who said he was an “ex- drug counselor”. I remember staring at the old man wearing an old tie dye shirt and faded pink overalls and thinking that situations like this only happen on TV, not to real people. I remember trying to decide whether the man was dangerous or just a little crazy. I remember my confusion when he knew my name, and I remember smiling and nodding as he explained the existence of spirits and demonstrated how by drumming the air one could summon these spirits. I remember backing away slowly and telling the aging hippie that I really had to find my puppy and I remember his parting cry of “Don’t do drugs, stay in school, and don’t worry if you hear strange sounds in this part of the woods- my partner and I like to speak to the spirits at dusk!”
Claire- I liked the way that you linked two different memories by starting both by talking about temperature and continued to link them by talking about locations. I think that by relating the two contrasting memories you made them more vivid for the reader. Nice job!
I remember the ice, forming on my bots and gloves. I remember not feeling the cold anymore, just forcing myself to go on. I remember my hands getting stuck to the metal on the back of the tractor and wishing I was inside, by the heater. I remember I was in the middle of a field, witnessing the full power of a New England blizzard. I remember squinting through the sheets of snow, desperately searching for a small, brown spot. I remember my father’s hoarse cry of excitement when, at last, he saw the cow, shivering amongst the knee-high mounds of snow. I remember the surprise of seeing a second animal beside her. I remember the poor calf, legs stiffly spread out on the ground, face covered by a layer of snow. I remember my father risk his own safety by removing his coat and covering the baby. I remember my brave father, vigorously rubbing the calf’s legs, to get the blood flowing once more. But it was to late because she had frozen to death.
I remember suddenly feeling the cold wind as is crept up my heavy jacket. I remember feeling the sting of the ice, as it pelted my exposed cheeks and nose. I remember pulling the cow, pleading with her to leave the baby behind. I remember her heartbreaking cries as she beckoned her calf to follow. I remember the relief of the barn too much for my seven-year-old self. I remember slumping by the doorway and bursting into tears. I remember how my tears froze to my face, but I could not find the strength to crawl inside the barn. When tears come from both relief and misery, they never seem to stop.
Claire- I was impressed at how you were able to take two memories and blend them so flawlessly, you also added humor which was nice to read.
Once again, it's time for exams. I can hardly wait - this is always my favorite time of the year. Everything that I learn, throughout the semester, is distilled into one sum of knowledge. Unlike the unfocussed days of regular classes, each topic can be given full attention in its own time. It is a very entertaining way to learn, by treating each topic - science, math or language - with the dignity it deserves.
Once again, it's time for our midterms, and I'm already feeling the pressure. Tests that can determine up to a full fifth of our grades are preceded by exactly two days of class review for some subjects. The pressure mounts, as five, six or seven completely disparate topics suddenly demand full attention. These exams are a crucible, attempting to distill four months' worth of knowledge into two hours, a travesty of the learning process that the teachers have so carefully cultivated. Inconvenient and overrated, exams are to be endured, not enjoyed.
Once again, it's the beginning of January. The weather is the same as last week, nothing earth-shattering has happened, but everybody seems to be making a big deal about this exams thing. I can't see that these are a big deal - it's just a test like any other, albeit a larger one. You just study, and take the test, and do it live, and then it's back to classes every day. I have only one thing to say to people who get stressed out over this - it may be 2012, but no matter what you score, it won't be the end of the world.
Lindsey-
Your story was amazing. I liked how you kept repeating 'I remember' before every sentence; when the conclusion came without one, it seemed like the memory was over and you were telling the reader how you felt.
I remember looking at all the people standing on the bridge. The ancient metal and wood would certainly not be sturdy to hold all that weight for long. I did not want to walk onto the bridge to join the rest of my family if falling into the gorge hundreds of feet below was a risk. My mom kept encouraging me, telling me how beautiful the view was and that nothing was going to happen. I remember imagining what it would be like to fall. I prefered to stay on the safer side of things where I knew that wouldn't happen but, then again, I didn't want to miss out on anything. No 10 year old wants to be left out. I clutched my camera in one hand and tightly gripped onto the railing with the other. Slowly putting one foot infront of the other, I remember hearing the boards creek beneath me as I walked. I began to regret my decision to join my family. About halfway across, I finally reached them. I looked out at the view. To one side was a beautiful castle, to the other were the Alps and straigt ahead I could see ethe sun reflecting off of the lake. I knew my mom was right about the view and I was as proud as ever. I remember making the mistake of looking down and all the scary images of falling popped right back into my head. My courage left me as quickly as it had come. After that, I was ready to get off the bridge as quickly as possible. Once I was safely back on the other side, I remember feeling extremely relieved and ready to countinue our trip.
Lindsey, you did a nice job of describing the event in your story. It wasn't a huge amount of detail but I could picture it well. I especially liked how you describe the tears.
I remember waking up christmas morning. It was early, the sun had barely come up. The frozen ground covered in snow from the past few days' snowfall. Excitement was everywhere in my house, weaving in and out hallways reaching out to wake everybody up. But excitement hadn't visited me first. It woke my sister up who then hurriedly woke up my cousins in the next room. Shortly after, her and my cousins came barging in loudly in an attempt to stir me. It worked. I remember their happy eager faces with big bright eyes huge with anticipation to run downstairs with me to see what Santa brought. I remember walking downstairs slowly, rubbing my weary eyes until finally glancing up and seeing all the new gifts placed under the tree overnight. I remember how excited i was to began giving and receiving gifts, wondering what was hidden under all the wrapping paper of each one. Despite our eagerness, my mom tried to slow down the unwrapping as much as possible. Each family member watched each other open each gift. I remember the laughter and joy that was shared that morning. Christmas is my favorite holiday. It gives us a chance to get together and spend time with the family. For my family it means having my cousins, aunts, and uncles come up to spend the Christmas break with us. I remember how great my Christmas was this year and I cannot wait until next year's.
James,
I really liked how you chose a topic that everyone can relate to. It was fun to read how you could talk positively about something you didnt like nice job.
The Harry Potter series allows children to use their imagination and enter a magical world of witchcraft through reading. On top of the greatness of this book, it has educational value. The creative plot line has lead to many finishing the whole series and then moving on to other books. It has sparked interest in reading for lots of children. Rowling uses complex vocabulary that helps children with school and comprehension. The characters are well thought out and exhibit good qualities. For example, in the sixth and seventh books Voldemort treats muggles in a similar way Hitler treated the Jews, Harry Potter is inspirational in the way he stands up for the underdog. Overall, the Harry Potter series has a very positive influence on children.
The Harry Potter series is long and in the end not worth it. Children as young as eight years old are being scared by ideas like death eaters, wizards, and dark magic. As well as scaring children, made up words such as “Occlumency” and “Veritaserum” leave kids confused. As the series progresses, there are many themes that aren’t appropriate for younger children. The Harry Potter world has turn into so much more than just a book about magic and potions, a Harry Potter theme park has opened to make even more money for the billionaire author. Harry Potter has turn into its own industry with things like action figures, candy, and multimillion dollar movies. It is silly to think this industry is based off of an 11 year old kid that runs around with a wand doing magic.
It doesn’t matter whether or not people choose to read Harry Potter. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. People are different and it would be a miracle if everyone liked Harry Potter. There are plenty of books in the world that are as equally good or bad than Harry Potter.
Ben,
I like the descriptions in your post, it helped give a visual of your christmas
In the winter, people look out their windows to find the pure, white snow spinning down form the sky. It covers the ground perfectly, and forms a smooth, shiny blanket over the earth. Winter is the time for holidays, when everyone is happy and grateful to have each other. People look forward to long breaks from school and work, time to just be lazy and sit around with nothing on their minds. They sit in front of the warm fire on a cold day and sip hot chocolate. Winter is a time to put on warm jackets and mittens before going outside and catching snowflakes on your tongue. It is a time for snowball fights, snow sculptures, and skiing. It is a relaxed and calm time of the year.
Winter is extremely cold, the wind blowing the dirty snow off the ground and into your face. Your hands are always dry, and people are always catching colds. The roads are icy, slippery, and dangerous to drive on. People have to be careful where they step, or they might slip on the ice and fall onto their back. Everything around you is dead; the shriveled grass sometimes pokes through the snow. The trees have all lost their leaves and are nothing but plain, brown branches. No flowers are still growing, and the world is just multiple shades of white, gray, and brown.
Winter is the coldest month of the year with mostly snow instead of rain. The snow can be clean and white, or covered in dirt. Most of the leaves on the trees are gone, although the evergreen trees add color to the endless rows of lifeless brown trees. People take breaks to enjoy the holidays, although will return to their busy, stressful lives eventually. Those who enjoy the snow will go outside to have fun in the cold weather, although those who dislike the cold are forced to sit inside with nothing much to do. Winter is just one of the four seasons that makes up the year.
Kendra,
I really enjoyed reading your story and thought it was very entertaining. It seemed like a very memorable experience.
I remember my stomach filled to the brim with an amazing dinner of ravioli and my father suggesting we go to Bova’s, my family’s favorite bakery in Boston. Though we all knew we were too full to eat any more the offer was too good to say no. We don’t go to Boston often and every chance we have to go to Bova’s we take. I remember the frigid walk, our hands freezing and our cheeks turning red. I remember when we first saw the sign "Bova's Bakery Open 24 hours" and the pace quickened. Soon enough we were inside, letting the warmth and the amazing smells of desserts fill us up. The harsh florescent lights on our eyes and the overwhelming glass cases stuffed with treats. Our faces filled with excitement as we studied the black and white cookies the size of our faces, the crispy lobster tails and the pre-stuffed cannoli. I remember spending five minutes carefully plotting what to get and finally ordering. I remember my whole family quickly digging through the bag trying to find their treat. I remember when I finally grabbed hold of a mini red velvet whoopie pie. Contemplating whether or not my stomach could handle any more food I decided just to take a small bite. The mixture of the creamy filling and perfect red velvet cake was so heavenly and the next minute my whoopie pie was gone. A little angry that I didn’t savor it and my stomach ache growing with pain I was surprisingly satisfied.
I remember the smell of the ocean and the warm summer breeze. I remember my sister’s hair whipping my face as she turned the Jet Ski to head deeper into the Intracoastal Waterway. I remember the feeling of the lifejacket, slick from the water as I tried to hold on. I remember the sound of the water lapping against the boats docked behind houses. I remember screaming as we jerked forward and then back, as my sister was still getting the hang of driving. I remember the way my knees began to ache and then go numb from squeezing them so hard against the seat, and the pressure on my back from my friend holding on just as hard as I was. I remember the sun, blinding us when we turned a corner, then the feeling of it on our shoulders as we turned again. I remember the squeals coming from my parents and siblings ahead of us, so excited to be in the water. I remember the sounds of the waves and the cries of the dolphins we discovered. I remember how they played and soared through the air, the disappeared. I remember the turtle, floating in the water, carefree. I remember the way it, too, disappeared. I remember the sun on our backs as we made our way back to the dock. I remember the excitement when the dolphins reappeared and the way they danced around the bouy. I remember the surge forward that almost dismounted us and the seawater that sprayed our faces. I remember the feeling of the cool water on my feet as we slowed down to approach the dock and the soreness taking over my entire body. I remember realizing how tense I had been, so scared to fall off. I remember seeing the smiles on all of our faces as we climbed back into the car. I remember that vacation and won’t soon forget it.
Emily, I thought you conveyed your ideas about Harry Potter very clearly.
Eileen- I really liked the detail you put in about how you felt about crossing the bridge and the way you felt when you looked down. I was really able to visualize the view you described. Good job!
"I will never forgive you as long as I live!" yells the man occupying the seat next to me, "What do I have to live for anymore?!" The wreck of a man jumps out of his seat and runs up to the bus driver. In a blur, the man strikes the driver square on the jaw and takes control of the bus. All my instincts beg me to get up and stop the man from highjacking the bus, but my muscles refuse to obey them, and i am glued to my seat. The man jerks the steering wheel to the right, causing the bus to careen off the road and down the side of a cliff.
Everything is in slow motion. They say in the last moments of your life, your life flashes before your eyes. All I remember flashing before my eyes, was how stupid I had been, and how easily this all could have been avoided if I just paid attention to my surroundings.
I remember 2 men sitting next to each other. One of them was the man who highjacked the bus. He was yelling at the man sitting next to him. I remember him screaming about his wife. I rack my mind, and I realize that the man sitting next to him tells him that because he failed to deliver the money in time, he was going to kill his wife. He asked the heartbroken and pleading man if he had any last words to her. At that point, he came up to me and asked me if he could borrow my cellphone. Completely engrossed in my reading and music, I didn't respond. Infuriated, the man shouted "I will never forgive you as long as I live!" and the rest is history.
I remember when it was bright. The sun came through the window, and as it shined in my eyes, I could only feel the warmth of it on my arm. I remember the birds chirping away when I woke up in the morning as if they were singing a merry song. I remember the smell of mud and new grass growing. The damp ground squishing around my mud boots with every step I took. I remember the sad snowman melting away, and the puddle it left behind; and every puddle I saw, I would jump in it and the water would splash. I remember everything coming back to life. The birds, bugs, flowers, trees, and critters. I remember looking out the window and seeing green for the first time in months. I remember the 60 degree weather. The time to start wearing shorts, t-shirts, and sandals again. I remember walking outside and not having to worry about being cold. I remember taking my first step out on my porch that day and the breath of fresh air I took in. The smell of cherry blossoms aroused near my house. A happy and almost magical sensation filled me as I smiled with joy. I remember the first day of Spring.
Claire- I loved how you connected to totally different memories together. It worked out really nicely, and you described things very, very well.
Lindsey,
I loved your essay. I really liked how you started each sentence with "I remember" and how descriptive each sentence was. I had a great mental picture in my head.
Aditya
I remember Pam. I remember her as someone who was always happy to see me. I remember her with a big smile and huge brown eyes. She greeted me with a hug and kissed me when it came time to say goodbye. I remember the scarfs she wore on her head when it came time for another round of chemotherapy. She looked pretty even with no hair. I see the same beauty in her daughter, Sarah, who has been my best friend for over 10 years. Pam was always drinking coke zero or iced coffee in reusable cup. I remember her silver jeep and her Golden Retriever, Lucy. She lived in several different houses for the time I knew her, but they were always the same, calm, clean and happy. She was petite, with olive skin and dark brown hair. I remember her picking Sarah and I up every day after school in seventh grade, waiting ten minutes so we could talk to our friends. I remember Pam brushing my hair and telling me how much she loved my curls. She always had a camera and Burt's Bees lip balm. I remember when she bought Shape-Ups and Sarah and I hid them from her because we were embarrassed when she wore them. From when I met her in 2001 until I moved from Nantucket in 2009, Pam was my second mother. I remember the card she wrote me when I left, with her cell number, telling me to call whenever i wanted to chat. And the ring Sarah gave me that same day that says "Sisters Forever". Now I think of what I would give to hear Pam's voice again. I remember waiting in line with Pam and Sarah to get on the ferry to leave for Vermont. We all cried because I hadn't left Pam and Sarah for more than a couple weeks in those 8 years since meeting them. For my first year in Vermont, I visited Pam and Sarah almost every month, counting the days in between each visit. When the summer after 8th grade arrived, I went back to Nantucket from June-August. Freshmen year was easier, Vermont was home now and I didn't return to Nantucket as much. I remember Pam calling me at least once a week to ask how school was going. Then, on January 5th of 2011, Sarah told me the worst news I can ever remember hearing, Pam was dying. I remember when Pam was diagnosed. I was five, and Sarah had just turned six. Now, ten years later, cancer had taken over. I remember walking into Pam's house on the first day of our February vacation. Her sisters were in the living room and Sarah greeted me at the door. The tears were immediate, and no one said much. Then, Sam, Sarah's aunt, took me up to Pam's room. She lay there, watching tv in silence. As she turned her head to see me, a smile so familiar came about her face. I gave her a gentle hug and held the tears back so she wouldn't see them. Never had I seen Pam so sick. Several days went by, all of them I spent with Pam and Sarah. I remember sitting at home with my dad when Sarah called me and asked me to come asap. Only a mile away from her house, I ran there because I had never heard Sarah so worried. I remember walking into her room and she was sitting on the floor. I remember the dozens of pictures around her on the floor, all of Pam or her and Pam. I remember Sarah's red and puffy eyes and the hug I gave her that lasted five minutes. Sarah is one of the strongest people I know, and that was one of the only times I saw her really cry. I remember Pam's last day. I remember trips back and forth from the hospital to home. I remember the hours spent in the hospital chair and pacing up and down the hallway. On February 27, 2011, I remember Sarah's father saying "She's gone". I remember the bravest woman I have ever known, Pamela Elizabeth Sylvia.
Ben- I loved your "I remember" paragraph about Christmas. It was very easy to relate to. Nice job!
It was a brisk autumn morning in New York City , and the fog had just begun to settle atop the deserted park benches and quiet apartment stairs of every street. Simon dug around in his pocket for some sort of bus fare as he hobbled down 22nd Avenue, wooden cane in hand. Pulling out fifty cents from his back pocket he crossed the street to the bus stop ahead. As he sat to catch his breath at the bus bench, he had an uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Simon looked up to see a woman his age, eighty or so, watching him from feet away. As he watched in fear, the woman slowly walked toward him and patted his arm gently.
"What are you doing, crazy woman?" Simon shrieked, twisting away from her knotted hands, "I have no money to give you; I am just an old man waiting for the bus. Please let me be."
The woman's eyes began to fill with shining tears, and she looked down at the asphalt before whispering to herself, "He's lapsed again. I knew it would happen soon."
"Pardon me?" replied Simon, scratching his balding head. He did not like talking to crazy people in the least, it made him so hopeless and unhappy.
"Simon please, let's just get on the bus and enjoy our day together."
"Wait a moment, how do you know my name?" cried Simon, frantically standing up from the bench and limping toward the approaching bus.
The doors whooshed open, and Simon slowly pulled himself up the tiny stairs, handing the driver his change.
"Simon, it's me Margeret. Your wife," the woman whispered, sitting gently next to him on another plastic seat.
And suddenly, the world was turned upside down. Flashing images of his life, his wife Margret, his two children and four grandchildren washed over him.
"M-Margret?" Simon stuttered, staring at the woman before him with recognition.
"Yes, it's me!" she chocked, holding his shaking hand and grinning widely through streaming tears, "I knew you'd remember soon."
"Margret, how could I ever forget you, my dear wife?" Simon said, his lips quivering in frustration and anguish.
"Listen to me Simon, I don't know how long we have before you relapse. But I want you to know that I will take care of you through anything," she spoke clearly, her hand tightening around his.
"But Margret, I'll never forget you as long as I live," assured Simon.
Suddenly, Simon looked up to see an old woman was sitting next to him.
"I'm sorry, I'm not sure we've met," he blubbered anxiously, turning toward the window to watch the world race by.
Aditya, I liked your twist on the writing prompt. more sensory details would make the story more exciting to go along with the exciting plot!
“I’ll never forgive you as long as I live.” “as long as I live.” I heard her say it twice with a slight lapse between the real time speech and her voice coming from the ear piece in my ear. Then I heard a man’s voice on the other end of her phone “Get off the bus at the next stop.” She sniffled and nodded, then remembering she was on the phone said “Ok. But if you’ve hurt either of them-” there was a click as the phone was disconnected. I turned around in my seat and mouthed to her “You’re doing great.”
Two weeks earlier Julie had come into the police precinct to report her missing husband and son. It had taken days of combing through her life to figure out even who had taken them. It turns out it was a slighted boyfriend from her college days who had become obsessed after their breakup. After graduation he’d followed her from UCLA, to Montana, to New York City. She had been taking pictures in Central Park and noticed a man in one of them when she uploaded them to her computer. He was much thinner and raggedy looking then he was in college and now had a beard but she was positive it was him. Mark Tyler; age 28, college dropout with no steady job. Besides knowing who the guy was we had no idea where he was. No credit card transactions, no reports of Julie’s son or husband, nothing. Then one night out of the blue her phone had rang and it was Mark demanding that Julie meet him. She had come to the station right after to tell me about the call and in the middle of the retelling her cellphone rang. It was Mark again, he said “No cops” and the line went dead.
That’s how I ended up on this bus in civilian clothing, wearing an ear piece listening to whatever Julie’s wire could pick up. The bus rolled to a stop and the doors opened with a hiss. Julie rose from her seat and exited and I followed a few seconds later. I stepped out onto a cracked sidewalk and looked around at the dilapidated buildings. My earpiece crackled as I heard Julie’s phone ring again and then Mark giving her directions. She turned a corner down an ally that came out in an abandoned storage yard. I saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, heard the pop of a gun and felt a sharp pain in my back. The world tilted and my legs felt thick as I stumbled towards Julia, trying to warn her. Another shot and I keeled over. Through the haze of red I saw Mark approach Julia with a gun trained on her. He was shaking with rage as advanced. “How could you?” he hissed, “I loved you and then you ran off with that filth and had that bastard’s child! How could you?” Julie’s mouth opened and shut, searching for words in vain. “You know what you said on the bus,” Mark spat, “you said I’ll never forgive you as long as I live” Mark inhaled sharply and steadied his gun hand with the other. “Well that won’t be very long.” he said in a voice of steel.
Rainie- i love the detail. your memory is so vivid that it's possible to see exactly the scene you are talking about. It's great that you even remember what the weather was like that day. great job
I remember that tingle that shot down my back as fans and teammates erupted after the ball hit the back of the net on Halloween night. It was the second game of the playoffs, the last game of the year at home, and we had been battling the Goffstown Grizzles all night. We had given up a goal early on in the game and had been trailing for only 3 third time all season. The energy at our field was building and the pressure of being eliminated was starting to set in on all of the players. If we lost, our season would be over. Minutes seemed to be slipping away from us and we needed an equalizer to keep our hopes alive. With 7 minutes left in the game, we were awarded a free kick at midfield. Charlie Umland crossed the ball to me across the field at around the 35 yard line and that’s where instinct took over. To tell the truth I don’t remember how I did it but I just saw the ball dive into the back corner of net and the entire crowd went nuts. I felt as if I could fly. I was instantly mobbed by my teammates and at that moment I felt invincible. I had just saved our team from potential elimination for the time being and I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect moment.
Aditya - I really liked your story. It was funny and interesting to read. Good Job
Lady Gaga is a fabulous and extremely talented musician. She inspires so many people to be true to who they are and pushes the envelope to a place where no ones gone before. Through her music she creates a completely new artistic world that is a refreshing change from the same old, dead-brained pop tunes we hear from artists like Britney and Jennifer. She is definitely on the path to being the next icon.
Lady Gaga disgusts me. First of all, she’s basically a photocopy of Madonna and has pretty much plagiarized all of her work. She’s unoriginal, obscene and offensive. Her videos are sacreligious and overtly sexual. She is overexposed and her image his everywhere. She is rude and constantly dissing icons like Madonna for no apparent reason. She needs to retire, ASAP.
I really have no opinion about Lady Gaga. Everyone’s allowed to have their own opinion. If you like her then good for you and if you don’t then whatever. She may not be everyones cup of tea but for some people she is their god.
Emily- I really liked your work. I could clearly your different sides come out in each paragraph! Nice work!
Silence is a beautifully peaceful and tranquil state of being; when the ears are filled with a thick alabastrine cloud of placidness and serenity. It is the escape from the boisterous honking of gas guzzling vehicles in the stop-and-go traffic of our lives. It is the moment when we embrace the soothing lull that hangs above us like the balmy air of a seaside paradise. Silence is our chance to sink a little deeper into the meaning of life, and explore our thoughtful yet hushed pensiveness without interruption.
Silence tries to call itself calm, still, quiet; the absence of sound. Yet, there is still noise in silence. No matter how hard you try to obstruct your eardrums from it, there will still be an inescapable resonance that chokes the mind and soul. A high pitched, barely audible, foul ring that screams into the throat. It tortures you ruthlessly until fall into its tenebrous void, dragging your soul into the depths of it's monotony. There, you turn to anxiety, restlessness, and impatience, until you have to exert some sort of guttural cry for help to escape the ominous empty cavern of silence.
Silence means a lack of audible sound. Some find it irritating, while others find it calming. It is nothing more than a state of being.
I remember walking down to the high school every afternoon when I got home from school. I was only 5 years old and lived only a half mile away from Lebanon high school. I was a scrawny kid who looked like he just woke up almost all the time, my hair was long and all over the place. I used to go down there to try to get into some pick up games on the outdoor basketball courts to the side of the school. My mom always used to make me eat before I left but I was in such a hurry to play every time that I usually just ended up shoving cheerios into a plastic bag. I was usually the youngest kid who showed up to these, I trudged down the cracked sidewalk to the school in my corduroys and torn apart slip on shoes, either wearing my Paul Pierce celtics jersey or my favorite white Tee shirt that I must have worn over 100 times. It had lost its bright whiteness and was dirt stained with holes almost everywhere but for some reason I thought it made me play better. I walked down with the first ball I ever got from my dad for christmas. It was a full sized ball and was double the size of my head, It had been used to much that it was forming welts on the surface so sometimes it bounced off to the side if it hit in the right spot. The kids that I played with were either in middle school or high school and were much bigger, stronger and more skilled than me. I stood off to the side watching as the older kids played waiting to get into any of the games going on. I usually had to wait about 30 minutes before I got a chance to play, but when I did I took advantage of it. I was pushed around, sometimes even to the ground. I remember coming home with cuts and pavement burns up and down my entire body. Yet, this abuse on the court didn't stop me from coming back almost every day I could, only to the exception when my mom forced me to stay home if I came back the previous day stained with blood. The games were intense, fast paced and no fouls were called unless someone started bleeding. Thats when I first learned the phrase "no blood, no foul", very to the point. If you didn't bleed the game was not going to stop, it was that simple. I quickly became liked between the kids that normally played after school because I just kept coming back and not caring if I wasn't as good as them. I got the nickname "hops" because I could jump really high by the older guys and it was the best feeling that they respected me. I might have been the lightest and shortest kid that showed up but I was also the kid that when nobody was there was shooting and dribbling until I couldn't see the hoop anymore. I was the neighborhood kid who always had a basketball in his hand.
Evan,
I liked how you described how you felt after you scored the goal. It obviously was important to you and you told the story well. good job.
Henry-
I really liked your different views of lady gaga, and I also liked how you picked a celebrity to write about. ;)
I remember when the Denver Broncos beat the Pittsburgh Steelers to get the wildcard in the 2012 Super bowl. Although the game was on the whole time, I was watching How I Met Your Mother on my computer. I looked up as Tim Tebow threw the winning touchdown pass in the first play of overtime. I was playing Cult Logic Forever, I song in my iTunes library by The Hood Internet. I was laying sides ways on my couch at the time, my head resting on the couch’s cushion and my feet resting on the wood coffee table in my living room. My legs sprawled across the gap in between the couch and the table. There was a fire in the fireplace, keeping my body at a pleasant temperature. My cat, who is normally by my side whenever I’m on the couch was nowhere to be seen, my best guess would be outside. I was wearing black socks, blue jeans, and a Portugal Soccer jersey.
I remember my first day of school, my first skinned knee and my first goodbye. I remember when cooties were a health risk and PG movies were a big deal.I remember my first ice cream in a cone, and soon there after my first ice cream on my shirt. I remember my first roller coaster ride at a kiddy park and how much fun I thought it was. I remember my first best friend, the times we had together and the sorrow we shared when I moved away. I remember hiking one of the tallest mountains in the aderondaks, I remember the rain and the mud we hiked through for hours to reach the top, and the great sense of accomplashment we felt when we had made it. I remember my first time marching in uniform. And my first time flying a plane and the great amount of joy I felt as it roared threw the air under under my control. I remember starting this assignment, and wondering how I was going to end it.
Last week of summer. No more hanging out, going swimming, rope swings. What i'm going to miss the most though is being able to sleep in. I'm going to be o stressed out all of the time. All of the homework, quizzes, and test. I'm not going to have time to do anything.
Last week of summer. It'll be good to se everyone again. THis year, I'm going to do great in school.Getting up in the morning instead of sleeping in will be good for me. It'll get me out of my lazy groove.
Summer vacation is coming to an end. The weather isn't changing, no one's personalities are changing. What's the big fuss about? It's not like were not going to be able to do anything ever. We always have after school.
Ben- your detail you put into the part of you walking downstairs was really good
I remember today vividly. I woke up 10 minutes before church. I threw on some clothes and jumped in our truck. My shoes were falling off because they were only part way on. We arrived to the parking lot and I hopped out of the truck. I quickly scurried across the street in front of an oncoming car. I wasn't hit but it was a close call. My dad and I strided up the stone steps to the church. He held the bulky wooden door open for me. I dipped my hand in the holy water and did the Sign of The Cross. As we found our seats in the back, the rest of the church began to sing a beautiful hymn. Five minutes into mass my mother, my sister, and her friend arrived, and sat with us. I slided down the pew to make space, but I ended up being squished at the end. Many families with young children were in attendance at this mass. I enjoyed watching the cute babies looking back at people and trying to grab at them. With five minutes remaining, our priest made announcements. At this moment the population of babies began crying simultaneously. I wasn't the only one who noticed this as people began looking around at the youngsters. After mass, I hopped in the truck. This time my mom joined us as my sister and her friend went shopping for muffin mix. We drove through the winding roads of Etna and stopped at the small Etna General Store. I waited in the truck and my parents went inside. A father and his young daughter and son just walked out of the store and started walking home. The children seemed to thrilled with whatever they were eating because they were jumping with joy. Within five minutes my parents came out of the store carrying a newspaper, a chocolate milk, a diet coke, and a coffee. I received the milk and finished it in our short trip home. I stepped out of the truck, walked briskly to the door, and unlocked it. My energy was at a low and I ran inside, took off my shoes, and jumped in bed for a nap that lasted seven hours. I didn't wake up until it was time for dinner. I dined on chicken that fell off the bone, creamy mashed potatoes, and delicious green beans. I scarfed down the meal and took a seat at the computer to start my homework.
Chris-
I really liked what you said about the last day of summer. I feel the same way.
I remember the trampoline with no net to protect people from falling off. A game where the goal was to try to bounce one person who was curled up in a ball until they could no longer maintain the position. My relative Duncan was too good due to the hours he had amassed playing the game before; it was his trampoline after all. I wasn't particularly skilled at staying curled up, but I was better than Andrew, and most certainly better than Peter. Andrew simply released his hands from his legs the moment we started to bounce him, and Peter was so light that he could easily reach heights where the impact from the landing would cause him to unravel. After little success bouncing Duncan, and some quicker times bouncing Andrew, we turned our attention to Peter. He was hesitant to go because he knew how high we could bounce him, but he soon decided to give the game another go. He curled up in the middle of the trampoline, and Andrew, Duncan, and I spaced ourselves evenly around him. To bounce him well, we would need to land at the same time. After a few tries, we got into a good rhythm and sent Peter flying. He uncurled and flipped off the trampoline. He flopped around in the air like a crash test dummy, and landed with a thud on the wet grass. Needless to say, we no longer played that game.
Aditya - I really enjoyed reading your piece. You took a prompt that had the potential to be very boring and made it great.
Aditya –
Your “I will never forgive you for as long as I live!” paragraphs were very interesting. The careening down the side of the cliff scene was suspenseful and made me sit at the edge of my chair while reading it. The story would be more interesting if there was a little bit more plot to the story. Expand on how the man became angry.
I remember sitting on the bus. I remember seeing the rage on the Jon's face as he bombarded Jim with curses I can not bear to repeat, but the words that really stuck in my head was, “I’ll never forgive you as long as I live". It was Friday rush hour. I overheard them on the bus ride home from school. Jon was Jim's boss at an engineering company, Jim and Jon had also been best friends since they were kids. I overheard them talking about work on the ride home. I heard Jon ask why he had a meeting with corporate earlier that day. Jim made up some excuse, something about asking for a pay raise. It was obvious that Jon did not buy it. He laughed and said "no seriously, what were you doing?". Jim caved and told him that he was actually looking for a promotion. Right as Jim finished, Jon got a call on his cellphone. It was the CEO of the company. I obviously could not hear what the CEO said but i slowly saw Jon's expression go from Joyful to surprised to furious. He asked Jim if he had asked for Jon's job. Jim said yes. Jon said that he just got a call from Corporate saying he was fired and Jim would be taking over Jon's position. There was an awkward pause, and then Jon yelled so loudly that I jumped an inch out of my seat. Jon raged at Jim for ten whole minutes until the bus arrived at his stop. Jon got up, stared murder at Jim and said “I’ll never forgive you as long as I live".
Evan- Nice description about how time seemed to slip away.
I remember the time when my younger brother was jumping on the bed and accidentally fell off. He hit his head on the sharp corner of a dresser. There was blood gushing out from the large gash on his forehead, and the room was filled with his screams and wails. Worry crept over my body as I thought about whether or not my brother received permanent damage from his fall. He was only seven years old so the sight of a poor, little child crying in pain was gave me great discomfort, emotionally and physically. I felt my legs weaken and nausea take over as I glanced at the dripping blood on the corner of the dresser. The rush of cold air swept by when my parents dashed into the room to help my brother. Relief settled down in the room as the constant screaming and crying halted to once-in-a-while sobs. My parents bandaged my brother’s head and placed him on the bed so he could sleep. I was so stressed and worried that my nose started bleeding. The sight of blood twice in one day was just too much for my brain to handle, so I decided to go to sleep. I slept right beside my younger brother to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid when he woke up.
I remember when I had the idea set up a plastic skateboard jump at the end of my long, dirt driveway. I knew in the back of my mind that it would be a bad idea from the beginning, but my impulsive 12-year-old brain convinced me to go through with it.
The bicycle I used was a black, 15-inch, Specialized Rockhopper that had survived many a crash. I was hitting the jump all day, and it felt great. I started small, with maybe 6 inches of air, but by the end of the day, I was easily getting two feet of air every time. I had never felt more in touch with my bike. All of a sudden, my dad told me that it was time to come in for dinner, and that I had to put the jump away for the day. I tried to convince him to let me keep it out for some time, with no avail. I was furious. I'm not sure why I couldn't just put it away and take it out the next day, like my dad wanted me to do. I asked him for just two more jumps, and he agreed to the compromise.
The first jump went great. It was the most air I had gotten all day. I was excited to set a new record with the second. I took about a 100-foot head start, and went as fast as I could, racing through the gears. When I reached the jump, I was confident. When I started turning and reached the ground, I was not. The next thing I knew I was tangled up in my Rockhopper. I felt okay, and I looked down and saw an impossible dent in my shin. I couldn't put weight on it. I thought I was through.
My not-broken leg and I hobbled into the house and apologized to my father for being so stubborn. The dent in my shin and the immense bruise I had remind me to listen to my parents.
Max, I like how you wrote a story that didn't actually happen. The vocabulary in it was very descriptive. Good job!
I remember the look on her face. I remember the shock and pure surprise that overwhelmed me to the point of denial. I remembering how awful life would be without her. I remember those three words. "I have cancer." Like running into a brick wall, I remember not knowing what to say. She told me what was going to happen, I remember the fear i felt. I remember my mom being tough, and fighting without giving up. I remember the chemotherapy. TOXIC, written in bold red. I remember missing school so i could be there with her, and held her hand as the toxins were dripping into her body. I remember that for those six months, she lay at home, extremely sick. I remember that she couldn't eat a lot of foods, and that walking was painful. I remember the day when her hair started to fall out. You could pull it out by the handful, and it wasn't painful for my mom. I remember going shopping with her to find the coolest hats to wear in the winter. I remember that last treatment, it was the strongest. She was almost back to herself 4 months after the treatment was over.
I remember the passion she had and has for living, the sure will that she would survive. My mom did not let cancer stop her from living and being herself. I remember her courage.
Noah -
I liked your story because it didn't get boring, it was fluid and many people can relate to having fun with your family.
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