|
November/December 2006 Special Issue: Teen Writing Contest Winners
1st Place Poetry Winner—Krystina
Mason
...May Contain Krystina Mason, age 15 My eyes may contain, His Final Goodbye Erika Suda
Untitled Tonya Troxell, age 16 Drowning in a world full of anger.
Lacy Dohner, age 14 Early morning: bright sun in my eyes, covers on the floor, the smell of toasting bagels wafting from downstairs (Yes, we toast our bagels, not microwave them. Mom is on a campaign against microwaves). Good morning, Lacy. I stumble groggily down the stairs. I am recently recovered from the flu, so I’m not feeling too strong. As I make my way downstairs, this scene is taking place in the kitchen: (Bark, bark, bark!) The dog, on his run outside, is barking. No surprise. This happens frequently, especially at about 10:30 P.M., just when everyone has finally fallen asleep (Bark, bark, bark!). We’ve checked into the barking before. It’s always something small: a mouse in the weeds, an acorn bouncing off the roof, deer in the fields (Bark, bark, bark!). Now, the barking is getting insistent. Mom, hands full of well-done bagels, rolls her eyes at Erin, age 11, seated at the kitchen table awaiting breakfast. “Would you go see what his problem is?” This is where I walk in. No, actually, I walk in a few seconds later, about the time that Erin comes flying back in the door screaming, “There’s something out there!” Mind you, I’m not groggy anymore. I jump up. “What?” (Not that I have any idea what’s going on). “In the pond!” she screams, near hysterics. “I saw an enormous head—it must have been this big!” She makes a circle with her hands that is about six inches from top to bottom, and the same across. “I think it’s either a giant snapping turtle or a monster bullfrog! Mom, it’s really something this time! There’s something huge and scary in our pond!” Mom, who has heard her share of whoppers while raising four kids (two of them boys), sighs. “Lacy, will you be brave and go see what it is? Who knows, something might be drowning.” No problemo. I’m brave, right? Besides, if this mysterious monster was planning to attack, it probably already would have attacked that obnoxious dog—who is still barking. I put my boots on. Thump, thump, thump. I methodically plod along behind my frantically jabbering sister as she hurries out to the backyard pond. It’s hardly a pond, really. It’s hand-dug. My parents made it last summer to keep fish in, and it probably doesn’t come above my waist at its deepest point—and my waist isn’t too high. Our backyard pond was dubbed “The Puddle” by Poppy (a.k.a. my dad). I can’t imagine anything enormous wading up from the depths of The Puddle. But, sure enough, when we get out
there, Sully, a big black galoot of a dog (part Lab, part Setter, and
full blockhead), is barking his head off (not that he doesn’t do
that anyway) and chasing his tail, the tip of which is wet. He is hooked
to a run. If he weren’t, you can be sure he’d be in that pond
in an instant. And then I do see it. Not Loch Ness. The head: it’s sleek, brown, and wet, with an almost dog-like face. Wet whickers dribble pond water off his chin, and he regards us curiously for a minute. Then, opening his mouth, he makes a noise between a hiss and a purr, and dives back under. If you’re a fan of the Redwall books like I am, then you’ll know immediately what it was. If you’re not a fan of the Redwall books, well then, you should be. And if you’ve never heard of the Redwall books, then I’ll tell you this much: They’re about a land of talking animals, including squirrel knights, badger lords, mouse abbots, etc. The rest you’ll have to find out for yourself (hint: go to your public library and look up Lord Brocktree by Brian Jacques). But that’s besides the point. I am a fan of the Redwall books (as I stated before—don’t you remember?!), so I, with my superior knowledge, know exactly what it is. And what do I do with this superior knowledge? Thump thump thump thump! “Mom!” I scream, running back to the house, Erin hot on my heels. “There’s an otter in the pond!” “Are you sure?” (skeptical voice). “Yes, I’m sure, Mom! You think I don’t know an otter when I see one?” Mom goes out the door. A moment later she’s back. “Ohmigosh, it is an otter!” (Told you). “Go wake Poppy up! Tell him to get the video camera!” Wake Poppy up? How wise was that? But after all, he only worked until 2:30 a.m. Sometimes it’s later. “Poppy?” I crack the bedroom door. It takes intense strategy to successfully revive a guy who’s gotten barely five hours of sleep and keep him from getting extremely grumpy as well. Since I have absolutely no strategy, I might be better off relying on my also non-existent charm. “Whuh?” Well, at least he’s partly conscious. “Uh, Poppy? Mom says come downstairs.” He comes, half asleep, in his bathrobe and slippers, hair all mussed, but he comes. He brings the video camera, too. And that, my friend, is how my family met Skipper the otter. He stayed in the puddle all day (well, where was he going to go with the dog bark-bark-barking at him every time he made a move—and when he wasn’t moving, too!). That night, after he’d eaten all the goldfish, he left. We haven’t seen him since (maybe that’s because we never got any more fish for the pond). He was there, though. And that’s a story I’m gonna be telling my grandkids, you can bet on that. After all, how many people have an otter come spend the day in your backyard puddle? Ever wonder why the tip of the dog’s tail was wet? We’re guessing Skip took a bite out of it . The Call Carlos Rosado, age 17 The phone rang at 6:14 a.m. waking
Peter roughly forty minutes before he had to drag himself from under his
warm covers and into an uncomfortable cold shower because he forgot to
pay the gas bill again. He looked over his shoulder at his clock and once
his vision lost its blurriness he realized how much time he had left and
dozed off again. The phone stopped for a few minutes then began to ring
again; it rang six times before Peter finally climbed out from his shelter
which warded the aching cold of his house from killing him in his sleep
and to the phone where he stretched his non muscular bones before answering. “Pete,” said a man on the other side. Peter knew right away it was his old buddy Isaac. “What’s up Izzy,” Peter said in a more energized tone. He and Izzy have been close friends since the seventh grade. Over the years once high school finished he lost touch with most of his friends, but not Izzy, so he always was happy to talk to him. “I don’t know how to just let this out,” Isaac said in a troubled voice. “Mickey’s gone, man.” “What do you mean gone,” said Peter quickly. “He died last night,” replied Isaac. Isaac couldn’t finish before Peter started shooting questions like he had a gun being pointed at his head. “Last night?” said Peter. “But I just saw him yesterday. Are you sure it was Mickey? Where'd you hear this from?” Peter couldn’t control himself. “It was suicide Pete. The police found him last night. He was layin’ in his bathtub with one of his wrists sliced open. I meant to call you last night. I was gonna, but I couldn’t take it myself. I went out and just drank and drank.” Isaac sounded confused and was slurring his words. Usually he was the one who always kept it cool, always calm, when the boys had to handle a little garbage. He was always the one who did the trash talkin’, it always seemed like he was untouchable. But he didn’t care for his image now, he just lost a brother, who cares about your image then. “Okay, okay Izzy calm down. I… I’m gonna call my boss and ask for a sick day.” Peter was now looking around the room frantically as if someone were listening to the conversation and he was in some thick crap now. Then he looks at his bed. His girlfriend is still passed out from the half a bottle of Tequila she had last night, he feels the left side of his face, the scratch marks burn from the salt on his fingers. He has slight memories of an argument leading to his girlfriend trying to pry his eyeballs out flash through his head. He smirks at the fact that she didn’t leave after all. “Pete?” Izzy is frantic on the phone, he desperately needs someone to talk to. “Yeah,” says Peter. “Let me just call the job and get my clothes on. I’ll be over as soon as I can.” Peter hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. He walks to his closet and grabs a faded navy blue t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He runs his hand through his jet black hair and as he’s putting his shoes on he looks over to the bed and sees his girlfriend. He’s now scared she could die at any moment too and he realizes how beautiful she really is. He walks over to her and kisses her on her forehead; she wakes up startled. “Hey babe. Look, I’m so sorry about last night. I love you but right now I gotta go to Izzy’s. Somthin’ bad has happened.” She opens her mouth but he cuts her off. “Mickey’s dead,” he says “I gotta talk to Izzy. He’s in bad shape. I’ll try to come home as soon as possible.” He pauses just to look at her face. “I love you and I really am sorry about what happened.” “It’s okay honey. I shouldn’t have drank so much. I didn’t mean what I said. I love you too.” Peter kisses her quickly, grabs a jacket and walks out the door while saying “I’ll be back soon. I’ll try to bring back some KFC.” Peter feels pretty good that things
are alright between Michelle and him but because of his sudden change
in attitude he completely forgets to call his job and ask for a sick day.
Once on the road the situation at hand hits him like a sack of cold, hard
potatoes. One of his best friends has just died. He looks in his passenger
seat and sees the movie Michael (Mickey) let him borrow, Carlito’s
Way. It was one of their favorites, but Peter hadn’t seen it for
a while so Michael let him borrow it for the week. Peter starts to think
back on yesterday. He and Michelle had argued over where she put his high
school Varsity jacket. The truth was Peter had accidentally put it in
a storage box with mementos and such. He didn’t want things to escalate
because they had been in several fights lately and he knew another would
be unhealthy. So, he went over Michael’s house. He was probably
gonna sit down and play Tekken or shoot paintballs with him. When he arrived
at the house, Michael opened the door with that look in his eye that he
was gonna beat you just for being there. Peter did the same because that’s
how they played around. Then came those big cheesy smiles and the overly
large clap of a hand shake. Peter begins to swerve on the road. He begins
to feel a large headache coming on and a sharp pain in his stomach. He
knows he shouldn’t be driving like this but he doesn’t stop. “Dude, don’t worry ‘bout it,” said Michael. “You and Michelle were made for each other. That’s why you guys piss each other off so much cuz you’re so freakin’ in love. Just give her a little time and make sure she doesn’t get to any liquor or you guys are gonna be at each others’ throats.” Sometimes Peter would think Michael was a psychic because his advice was top notch. It was like any other time Peter and Michael had hung out. They ordered some Chinese food and then before five Peter said he had to go to make sure Michelle was okay. They exchange handshakes and he asks Michael to borrow the movie. He says “I’ll try to stop by tomorrow and drop it off.” “Alright bro! I’ll see you then,” Michael says in return and Peter leaves. Peter pulls up into Isaac’s driveway. He takes a good look at his front porch and visualizes sitting there with Mickey, Izzy, Will and Chad just laughin’ and making jokes. He visualizes talking’ about starting a video game company and all the goofy stuff they’d buy with the money. He visualizes him and Izzy tap boxing and Mickey jumping in out of nowhere. They all end up hurt but who cares? Then he stops and looks at his steering wheel and slams his head against it. Tears begin to stream down his face. Now he knows what he lost. He doesn’t have the opportunity to play Tekken with his friend again. There’s gonna be an empty seat on that porch from now on. No more crazy stare downs. He was gonna miss the little things that kept him happy and the advice that kept him hoping. Peter didn’t leave the car right away. He just stayed parked in the driveway and cried. Two Days Later Peter looks at all the suits and dresses that surround him. He sees the wrinkled faces of the women in the front clutching hold of the casket and the men holding them close while the tears stain their clothing. He feels empty now and almost emotionless. He looks over his shoulder and sees Will with his slick dark brown hair and his black expensive sunglasses. Will turns and sees him too and they begin to walk over to each other. They meet next to a table and grasp each others’ hands and pull in for a hug. “You look good Pete,” says Will in his strong voice. “How ya making out?” “I’m alright Will. I didn’t see this comin’ man. We were chillin’ just a few day’s ago. He seemed like nothing could’ve caused this. I… I don’t really know how things are gonna be now.” “No one expected it Pete,” says Will. He can’t take his glasses off and wipes one of his eyes before a tear comes out. “It… It really hit me hard man. But we’ll be alright. Just gotta remember him for all that great stuff he did. He did a lot of great things.” Peter begins to look at the casket. He can’t take his eyes off of it. “Chad couldn’t make it,” Will says, breaking Peter’s awkward spell. “He’s in Jamaica on business and he couldn’t get a flight due to that tropical storm out there.” People begin to walk back to their seats and Peter sees this as a perfect opportunity to pay his respects. He walks over to the casket and slowly peeks over. He sees Michael. To Peter, it seems like he’s just sleeping. He looks so healthy. But in the back of his head he knows it’s just the make-up they put on him. He puts his hand on Michael’s stomach and another on his shoulder and whispers in his ear. “I don’t know why you did this but thank you. You were a great friend. Thank you for the advice, I’ll always remember man.” He puts his forehead close to Michael’s and then parts. Will passes by him ready to pay his respects and he can see Isaac pulling onto the grass. Peter doesn’t want to stay to see them put Michael in the ground. He wants to feel like Michael never really died, like maybe he’s just sleeping there for a long time. He looks back at the casket again and feels pain. If there is one thing Peter learned from this it’s that you never know when it’ll be the last time you see someone. You never know when it can just end. From now on, Peter will cherish every moment like it’s the last. He’ll always show his love and care for people even if he has to force himself. Peter then salutes Will and Isaac and gets into his car to go home. He’s gonna make sure his girlfriend’s okay and tell her he loves her and make sure that he doesn’t get another one of those calls.
Kailey’s Story Marina Ernst, age 13 Kailey Goldwell sat upon the highest ridge of Farview Canyon. Her orange notepad fluttered in the warm May wind and her auburn hair whirled about her face. Her blue eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of life, but no creature would dare come out into the hot Texas sun, for fear of baking on the spot. Only Kailey was daft enough to climb to the canyon in the rising heat. Kailey’s mind, however, was not focused on the weather, but more so on the almost impossible task of finishing her writing project tomorrow. She had long thumbed through countless books trying to pull a good story from their pages, but had been unsuccessful. Her often endless imagination seemed to shrink whenever she was under pressure, though it was often present during the times when it was unwanted. “Kaily Goldwell, you are the most inattentive person that I have ever met!” Daddy had often complained when she had become so wrapped in a daydream that she spilled a weeks worth of horse feed across the stable floor. But even up in the canyon, where her imagination spread like wildfire, Kailey could not think up a story that would please Mrs. Caldwell, her writing teacher. She just could not expand her imagination any farther than her horses, and the mess of chores that awaited her that night. Finally, she decided that she would finish her story after supper, and as she descended the canyon she hoped Daddy would not mind the mess in the stable until she had a moment to spare, once her story was complete. “Kailey, the stable is a mess,” Daddy complained at supper,“I thought I told you to fix it up!” “I got distracted,” Kailey explained, swirling her mashed potatoes around her plate, “I’ll finish it soon.” “You better,” Daddy warned, and that was all he said. After Kailey had cleared the table, she lifted her notebook out of her bag and pressed her pencil to the page. No words formed on the paper, and Kailey soon discovered herself stenciling a horse in the left margin. Quickly, she erased it from the page and tried to focus on her work. I’ll think better in the stable, Kailey thought. Quietly, she packed her things and snuck through the back door and into the stable without Daddy noticing. She shut the stable door behind her and sat upright on the wooden plank Daddy used to feed the mustangs he had not yet broken. Her thoughts were no better here, though, for she would constantly glance toward Granite, the mustang that she prided herself on breaking without Daddy’s help. “Oh, Granite,” Kailey groaned, placing her chin in her hands, “If you could talk I know you’d help me.” Granite whinnied and nodded his head playfully. Kailey smiled and approached the mustang with ease. Gently, she patted his head, and then scooped up a handful of oats into her palm and allowed Granite to suck her hand clean. When the oats were gone, Kailey giggled and pressed her nose against Granite’s. With all the softness of a puppy, Granite licked the top of Kailey’s nose and whinnied again. Kailey smiled but knew that Granite was reminding Kailey of the scar that led from one side of her nose to the other. Kailey had gotten the scar while she was breaking Granite. The mustang had been at the ranch for only three days, but Kailey had insisted she trained him. When she had entered his pen, however, Granite had bucked her hard in the stomach with his back legs and had sent her sailing through the air and into the barbed fence. Luckily she landed just before the fence and had slid into it on her back, otherwise Daddy said she would of probably cut her neck or stomach and died. Kailey escaped with only a few scars, but Daddy had threatened to kill Granite for bucking her. Luckily, she had talked him out of it and had returned to try once more. This time, however, she stayed away from his back and had been able to accomplish her goal without anymore injuries. Kailey now laughed at the once terrifying situation, although she still had scars to prove her story. Granite licked her nose once again, and suddenly she realized what the horse was doing. “Oh Granite!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Thank you!” Excitedly, she seized her books and retreated to her room to write her story. In class the next day, Kailey entered with a brimming smile and sat down next to Scarlet, her best friend. Scarlet made a face at her friend’s expression but had no time to question her, for Mrs. Caldwell came strutting in with a pleased expression on her face. “Good morning, students!” she exclaimed happily, “Are you all ready to read your short stories?” The entire class groaned, except for Kailey who answered, “Yes, ma’am!” “Well, Mrs. Caldwell announced excitedly, “Since you are Miss Sunshine today, you get to read first!” The class applauded respectively as Kailey stood. "Thank you,” she said, speaking clearly and confidently, “Today, my story is about a little girl trying to break the toughest mustang on her ranch…” Kailey told her story slowly, captivating her audience, and her teacher. She told about a girl named Taylor, who captured a mustang and broke him herself, suffering major injuries along the way. She held her classmates at the climax, where the mustang nearly killed Taylor and how the young girl, who was pure at heart, saved a horse from a terrible fate. In the end, the mustang and the girl lived happily ever after. As Kailey finished her story and bowed, the class erupted with applause and even her teacher stood to pay her repects. When Kailey returned home, she found her father waiting patiently for her in the kitchen. “Your teacher called,” he said, placing his beer bottle down on the table. He stood and walked carefully over to Kailey, who dropped her bag at the door. Gently, he hugged her and explained the conversation with her teacher with extreme detail. Finally, he leaned in close to her, held her by the shoulders, and said, “I’m proud of you, Kailey.” Then he rose to his feet and muttered, with a laugh, “Now, about that mess in the stable…”
|