"Days of the Week (Hags, Inventors, and Rock Stars)" by Victoria Lemmings

Monday is an old hag. She lives alone, having been widowed many, many years before. She lives a life of sadness and uncertainty. Living doesn’t seem so much as a choice as it does a chore. She’s forgotten how to smile, the years of frowning showing permanence on her wrinkly, leathery face. And even if she did smile, it would just reveal her baby-pink colored gums, raw and toothless. Monday never leaves her home, and she has nothing to dream for, nothing she wants to accomplish. She’s just exists. 

            Tuesday is a high school slacker. He’s at a point in his life where he’s just begun the process of growing up, but he just doesn’t want to put in the effort. He sees no point in doing his homework because nothing in school matters to him anyways. He’s almost done with high school, but the thought of college frightens him. Tuesday has made it past the beginning stages of his life, but he doesn’t want to make it until the end. At this point, he’s keen on just giving up.

            Wednesday is a middle-aged businessman. He’s constantly working and sleeping, working and sleeping. He’s too caught up in the whirlwind of his to take note in the small joys- family, art, beauty. He always has conferences at the office and deadlines to meet. Wednesday never slows down. He’s in the middle of his life, and he shows no signs of easing up.

            Thursday is a frantic inventor. He stays up late at night, creative juices flowing. His kid-like nature cannot be contained as he strives to discover something wondrous and new. It’s not unlikely for him throughout all the night hours, almost like a little kid before Christmas. He has hope for the future and does what he can to make tomorrow a better place. Thursday is full of crazy ideas and confidence for what is yet to come.

            Friday is a free spirit. She could be labeled as a hippie, living a carefree life near the beaches in California. She enjoys loud music and a good party. Friday is irrevocably happy. She doesn’t even always have a reason for her happiness. Smiling is just a part of her life; and worries are nonexistent. Friday loves life and isn’t afraid to share it with the world.

            Saturday is a rock star. He lives the cool life, with little to no stress. He does pretty much whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Saturday doesn’t care about anything; he is just trying to enjoy life. He eats whatever food he pleases, he gets lots of pretty girls, and he doesn’t really think about anybody else around him. He’s too absorbed in himself to take notice of the outside world.

            Sunday is a mother. She is nurturing and careful. Sunday always wants what’s best for her kids, and will lead them on their path to success. She always makes sure the children have done their homework and that they’re in bed at a decent hour. She wants to prepare her children for the big world that lays in store for them. Sunday believes that good preparation pays off in the long run, so she lets her children know of what’s to come in the future.

"As Beautiful as the Sun" by Bliss

Be precise. A lack of precision is dangerous when the margin of error is small.

            Concentration was coming to her about as easily as the sun might find its way through the middle of an ongoing storm. When she released the string, the arrow soared by, causing an enormous wave of energy to pass through her arm. Letting go generated a huge sense of relief, leaving a sort of contentment in the wake of the arrow. She exhaled, the great weight of the bow string finally set free.

            Breathe.

            THUNK.        

            Elle opened her eyes to her arrow resting on the edge of the bulls-eye. Barely inside.

            A slight draft of wind passed by, causing a few strands of her escaped hair to stir. The wind wasn't chilly, it was the kind of breeze that would meander through one of those perfect family picnics. Light, but strong enough to bring forth the smell of fresh air. The sun accepted the weather with a nice touch of warmth, the sky a flawless blue to complete the picture.

            The island beneath Elle cut into the sky-scape, free of any visible land that should have grounded it. An island in the truest sense; totally divorced from any other earth or sea. It drifted among clouds, greeting them as companions – but not equals. It was a solid mass, not to be confused with them and their promises of solidity.

            “Not bad,” a voice startled her from behind. “Could have done better, of course.”

            Elle turned cautiously around to face a young man with golden curls, his hair being the first feature she set eyes on. He was tall, well-built, and wrapped in a white shawl representative of the Greeks. His strong jawline and chiseled features reflected the ideals of the ancients: strong and dramatic. But there was a certain femininity there, too, lending his features a sense of tranquility and gentleness. He was beautiful.

            He eyed her curiously, his line of sight darting between her body and the target. The realization of who he was struck Elle, leaving her unable to speak; too many thoughts darting through her mind. It couldn't be... Apollo.

            “Elena, why do you call yourself Elle? Elena sounds so much authoritative. And beautiful,” he said, their eyes meeting.

            All she could do was shake her head and part her lips in an attempt to speak. No words came through.

            “Ah, well,” he looked around, “This is a floating island, like Delos. Do you know who I am now? I would be offended if you did not.”

            This time, a single word crept though. “Apollo.” She breathed a sigh of relief for being able to break away from her trance. Her eyes never left the god.

            “I have to tell you, Elena, your...” Apollo's words began to fade and the sound of his voice was gradually replaced by a ringing noise, until...

            Elle opened her eyes.

            Darkness. Apartment. Bedroom. Cell phone. Dream...

"My Right Way to Write" by July K. Sapphire

“Writers are not just people who sit down and write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your composition of yourself is at stake.” – E.L. Doctorow. 

Everybody has a different writing process. My writing process is hazarding myself. To me, writing is amazingly beautiful, enchanting, expressive, and absolutely terrifying. It is the beginning of the writing process that scares me. It is starting, and knowing how to start. It would be unacceptable for me to just sit down and write, with no regards to the consequences. I also begin to fear the end. I am utterly terrified that what I write will not satisfy me, that it will not be good enough. Every piece of my writing is a reflection of myself, and so I must work to make it as perfect as I can. I must make it something that I can be satisfied with, something that I can think about its existence in the world without cringing.

Finally, after trying to calm down and probably procrastinating a bit more that I should, I put my illogical fears aside, and begin. I look over the assignment, and I make a mental map of what I want it to look like. Depending on the type of writing, I may jot down a few lines or phrases that I think I might want to include later. Then, I sit in silence alone and think. I like silence. I like being alone. I like to think. I usually sit in my favorite comfortable purple chair, my black desk, or just on a couch, depending on what kind of writing I am doing. I prefer this stage to be done in one sitting, if possible. I let the words come together to me as constellations appear in the night sky. And all of a sudden, in a rush of passion, I write. I write, before I can change my mind, as much as I can about what I have planned. I then throw caution to the wind, and start to write things before I can think about them. I am not afraid anymore, because now I am in control. Writing now feels wonderful, like driving a car really, really fast. Even though my entire composition of myself is at stake, I do not want to ever stop. But as I must, I do.

Then I look at the Thing that I have created. It is staring me right back in the face, and daring me to make it better. By this time I am too far gone. There is no return. So I do it. I make it better. Now, I consciously think about what I am doing. I do not make any major changes to the paper; however, as I revise, I pay more attention to things like structure, word choice, and clarifying. Without any fear, I take those words and I shove them around and I hack them apart and I glue things onto the end. And then I smooth it all out and somehow seamlessly sew it all together.

In the end, when it is all there, I start to like it. At this point, however, it is still too personal to let anybody else see it. After all, I do share a secret with it. I smile to see that it is just sitting there, looking harmless, as if it had always been there. As if it is only itself. But it is not just itself. In a way, it is just my own thoughts in a physical form. It is me. Only I know the truth. I am the only one who knows how I created it. No one else can come in between that. And with that in mind, I somehow prepare myself for the inevitable: that I actually have to turn in the writing assignment. I actually care about what I have written, and I don’t want it to get hurt. What if someone says it is not good enough? What if someone tries to kill it? And mostly, what if my baby bird does not fly at all? But I know, deep down, that no one else can harm it. I created it, and only I have the power to bring it down. By letting it be seen by someone else, I am not risking its death, but I am giving it a chance at life.  I love it, and so I set it free. At the end, after it has been sanded down and polished, it is something I am proud of. I have actually created this, out of words. Out of the same words available to everybody, I have created something that is uniquely me. When I complete something, it is the most amazing feeling. All those hours of terror, and then of inspiration, passion, and work were all worth it. I took a chance and I wrote, and I loved it.

"BEEP" by Gatsby

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

I unwillingly roll over and shut off the alarm, and sit on the edge of my bed. The last thing I want to do in the whole world is get up and get ready for school. I force my stiff body to get up and walk downstairs and turn on the shower.  I sit down on the toilet as I wait for the water to heat up and feel myself almost nodding off to sleep. I realize it’s probably been long enough, stand up, slide the glass door to the side and start to get in. AHH! It’s still freezing cold! Now I’m sort of awake.. And grumpy.

*growl..* I’m already hungry too.

After another minute I test the waters again and it’s comfortable and I get into the shower. In what feels like a daze I wash my hair and body, and then let the hot water soothe my muscles as I fall asleep for 5 or so minutes leaning against the wall. BEEP BEEP. I almost fall over as I’m startled by the mini timer I set to 10 minutes and I force myself to turn off the comforting water and grab a towel.

After drying off, using cue tips in my ears, and brushing my teeth, I drag myself back upstairs. I sit down on my bed for a couple of minutes and muster up the strength to pick out my clothes and put my backpack back together as all of my schoolwork from the night before is strewn about the floor. I get up, throw on a random outfit, pick up my belongings, and grab my keys and my phone and head back downstairs and out the door. I hear the cowbell attached to my front door ring as I close it, and I grimace as I know my family won’t be happy with me for waking them up during my careless fog.

Jingle. Jingle.

I take longer than I should as I fumble to find the key to lock the door to my house, and also the key to open my car door. I finally sit down and throw my backpack in the backseat and start the car. If drowsy driving is truly equivalent to drunk driving, then I’m in trouble. At the first stop light I plug in my phone to my speakers and choose a Pandora station to listen to. At the second stop light I turn on the heat, as the engine is finally warm enough for the heater to do more good than harm.

Beep Boop Beep.

Once I arrive at my girlfriend’s house I get out and call her as I walk to her door. I see her beautiful face through the window next to the door and give her a good morning kiss as she lets me in. One of us makes breakfast, one of us makes lunch. Whether it’s a bacon egg and cheese bagel or eggo waffles, we always have a delicious breakfast. Oh crap! It’s 7. We grab our lunches and head back out to my car and drive to school.

BEEEEEEEEEEP.

Our school days begin.

"Fading into Blankets" by Ember Verity

Lying in the whiteness,

You seem so small,

So without hope.

Did you do this to yourself on purpose?

You have such a good heart,

But why does your skin wither like paper?

You are dissolving before us.

All you feel around you is the cold,

But you say that our warmth gives you hope.

Hope in a new day.

So much conviction,

You’re withering.

Why do you have to go?

Why do you fade into your blankets?

You grow paler,

You grow weaker,

Why?

Why do you fail us now?

Such strength of will,

Fortitude,

Why learn to fly now?

Live forever.

For me?

Won’t you please live forever?

Don’t you dare fade now.

How dare you allow yourself to wither,

Like the pages of one of your beloved books.

You are not a story.

Why can’t you Live Forever?

"Gold" by Marshall Blue

I slide the door open and step onto the worn wooden deck.  As the sun strikes my eyes I take my sunglasses from my pocket and place them over my eyes.  I decide to walk over to the railing and take a long look at the cloudless sky that meets the calm ocean.  In the distance I can see boats sail across the ocean surface.  After several moments, I decide to walk down the deck steps towards the golden sand.  On my way, I grab a chair with my left hand and continue towards the shore.  As soon as my feet strikes the warm sand my eyes close in relaxation.  When I reach a pleasant spot on the beach I place the chair down and sit down.  I can feel the cool breeze on my hair and the warm sun on my body.  As a wave crashes, an ocean mist sprays me and gives me a brief cool down.  Seashells litter the edge of the shore and several people reach down to pick out appealing ones.  The waves wash upon the shore, causing the sand to become moist.  The moist sand engulfs my feet like wet cement.  I look around me, looking for other fellow vacationers, but few are around.  They must have retired for an early dinner.  The sounds of the beach lead me into a deep sleep.

I wake up, unaware of where I am, but after a few seconds I remember.  My body is overcome with comfort.  I remove my sunglasses and look up to see the pink sky.  It is the work of an enchanting sunset.  Hypnotized by it, I get the sudden urge to go for a walk.  I get up and make my way along the beach while the shore is quiet, but not deserted.  As I walk I pass many people and they greet me with welcoming smiles.  I walk until the sunset completes its descent.  When the darkness arrives I turn around and begin to make my way back the house.  The stars look down at me, smiling through bright teeth.  I want to reach them and join them, but my restraints hold me back.  When I reach the house, I do not go inside.  I remain on a lawn chair, glancing at the stars, reflecting on my peaceful day.  My eyes begin to fail me and I decide to step into the house.  I walk to my bedroom and my body falls onto it with tiredness.  I fall asleep within seconds.  Dreams flow through my head.  The sun, the ocean, the waves, the breeze, and the warmth are mixed together in a sea of serenity.  Unexpectedly, the dream receives a flash of gold, a held-back smile, and shy eyes.  Suddenly, I awaken.  I roll over to see light peering through the curtains.

It’s time for a new day.  

"Swimmer of the Week" by October Sky

All eyes were on me and my heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. The race was announced and my competitors and I listened as we were told to take our marks. Time slowed to a creeping halt until the low pitched beep sounded, signifying the start. Time sped up and I had no choice but to dive into the pool and start swimming.

The memory of my first swim meet is one that I will never forget. I had only been swimming competitively for a couple weeks but my coach insisted on having me swim butterfly in an "A" meet against swimmers one age group above my own. Now let's get one thing straight, I am not a fast swimmer, so my coach's reasoning was beyond me.

What was great about my coach was that he was not one of those coaches who cared solely about winning. He would take the time to teach me the right way to swim no matter how long it took. He always made sure I understood the correct technique before adding speed. Based on his coaching style, I would like to believe that one of the reasons he wanted me to swim this race was that he knew I had the skill to complete it without disqualifying.

The day before the meet was Friday and at practice my coach had introduced an incentive for our team to swim the best we could. The incentive was a t-shirt which was perfect because let's face it; what kid doesn't like getting a free t-shirt?

Another thing I should mention is that for the past few months before the meet, one of my best friends was living with my family because her family had moved and she wanted to finish out the school year. This wouldn't be relevant except that the extremely early morning of her flight back to her family happened to be the same as my first swim meet. Because she had such an early flight, we all had to get up before the crack of dawn. These circumstances made me even more stressed because in addition to having to wake up extraordinarily early and being pretty exhausted before the meet even began, I didn't know if I would ever see her again. It was really hard to say goodbye with so much on my mind. But after taking her to the airport and leaving her with her aunt, my family and I began our journey to my swim meet where we arrived right on time.

I was becoming more and more nervous as time went on. The last thing I wanted to do was let my team down. Luckily, my coach could tell I was nervous and informed me of some relieving news. He told me that there were only going to be three people swimming in my race including me, which meant as long as I didn't get disqualified, I would come in third place and score a point for my team! With that in my head, I was able to calm down a bit.

The meet went by slowly as each race seemed to take forever. Finally when all the breaststroke races ended and butterfly began, I made my way to the clerk of the course. As I sat down I noticed that two of my teammates were sitting with me and I remembered that there were only three people in my race. Knowing that my only competitors were my teammates also helped calm my recurring nerves.

When it was finally our turn to swim, the clerk of course lead me and my two teammates to the edge of the pool. At this point, the somewhat calm person who I was before quickly became frantic as the race was announced. The few seconds in between the announcement and the starting signal felt as if they were years apart. My heart was beating as if I had just finished a marathon before swimming this race. But then the signal sounded with the real possibility of disqualifying in my head I dove into the water.

It was hard to believe that just a couple of weeks earlier I only swam for fun. But here I was swimming, what some would say is the hardest stroke in front of what felt like thousands of people. As my head broke the surface in between each of my strokes all I could hear was the cheering and shouting of the crown, then the silence of being underwater, then cheering again. I turned at the opposite end and continued swimming. I could feel that my heart was now pounding even more violently than before.

I felt my arms drop down into the water following my last stroke. As my arms straightened underneath the cool water, the quick up and down rhythm of my butterfly transformed into a momentary streamline until, at last, I felt my hands hit the wall back where I started. When I lifted my head, gasping for air, my ears immediately filled with overwhelmingly loud cheers. I looked around and noticed that my two teammates finished before me. This did not bother me because when I saw my coach, his reaction indicated that I did not disqualify and that I came in third place! The first and most challenging race of my competitive swimming career was extremely successful and I accomplished everything I came to accomplish. I came in third place and scored a point for my team!

The day was not over yet. My coach still had to hand out a t-shirt to one boy and one girl who he felt swam exceptional races. Everyone was listening to him with anticipation as he began to describe the first race. As he was describing it, I felt everyone's eyes on me. All of a sudden, my name was called an again the crowd went wild! When I examined the shirt I noticed some words that were written on the back. These words described a title given to the kids who received these shirts and because this was the first meet of the season and the first year my coach gave out these shirts, I was the first one to receive this title. I was the first "Swimmer of the Week"!