"The Toothbrush" by Lola Lane

I awoke in a panic. My dreams were scarier every night. I stumbled out of my bed and gingerly maneuvered my way through piles of clothes, books, and various dishes that littered my bedroom floor like land mines. I reached the bathroom, and followed the familiar passage to the lights, fumbling with them until they let me see. I turned on the metal tap and splashed cool water on my face to calm me down. I glanced at myself in the mirror only to see that my hair was frazzled and eyes squinted as they adjusted to the light. I broke the stare and looked down at the two toothbrushes standing side-by-side like man and wife. They stood up straight within their own islands that wobbled and toppled, but were created so that the toothbrushes would never touch the germy counter. The only difference between the two was the plastic color. One gleamed blue, marking my ownership, and the other was green, my dad’s favorite color. The head of my brush was severely worn down. It had been through the ringer of my mouth and was tired from protecting me from cavities.  My toothbrush was perfectly juxtaposed to the clean, pristine brush of my father’s. I yawned and stumbled groggily back to the comfort of my bed.

"Perfection" by Robin Stinson

I’m an only child. I used to ask my parents why, and every time they would respond: “There was no need to try again, we got it right the first time. You’re perfect.” Then my mother would hug me and my father would give me a playful pat on the back. This should’ve put my mind at ease, but it would only make me think harder. Am I really perfect?

"Through the Woods" by The Weeks Review

I sprinted through the woods as fast as I could. Nearly out of breath I took a quick sharp turn to my right accidentally causing branches to scratch my arms leaving small, red, angry marks on them. I could feel the sweat slowly trickle down my neck as well as the sensation of heavy, overbearing eyes on my back. I complied with my urge of quickly looking back and taking a glance to see if I could spot my pursuer and saw nothing; the only sign that I was being followed was the loud sound of fallen leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet behind me. Should I take a left, which would lead me to the creek where I could hide under the old, creaky, wooden bridge? Or should I turn right which would lead me to a small meadow with tall grass and wild flowers that could offer me perfect coverage from my follower? Turning slightly to the left I followed the small dirt trail down to the creek running past bushes and trees.

"Growing Pains" by The Weeks Review

"Oh that’s your SAT score?

That’s pretty low…"

"You’re in a lot of clubs, that’s great!

But you don’t have a leadership role."

"You’re lazy, you’re spoiled

and you haven’t faced any struggles or strife."

I’m only seventeen!

What do you expect me to do with my life!

Les Chocolatemongers de 4th Period

Note: This exercise was inspired by this article in the New York Times' Dining and Wine Section.

York Peppermint Patties- Patrick Oh Brien

There’s a man with dark skin and a sharp jawline and he turns to you and asks in an accent as thick as his hair, “Would you like a kitten?” You’re sure that, had there been ‘r’s in the sentence, he would have rolled them right off a high cliff and into a ditch full of fresh, clean cotton and a crisp, sunshiney breeze. His voice washes over you in waves of ambience, filling up the hollow spaces of your soul with new snow and Beethoven.

"Where I'm From" by Bartholomew Stewart

I’m from aluminum, from acetone, and Go-Jo

I’m from a big school in a small town.

I’m from wood shavings, and steel filings,

Whose sharp edges bite into my skin.

"Where I'm From" by Calvin Wintertown

I am from Skip-It’s and track spikes

From pine needles and Glade Plug-ins

I am from the misty breeze of morning fog

Car exhaust and humid sweat

I am from the spans of wild blackberries we picked in Augusts passed

The overgrown mint hat breeches the windowsill box

"Choices" by July K. Sapphire

      Running. How long can I keep running? I still am young, only twenty-six. I could have had a great life, if our side had won. But we lost. The Dark side has won, and all hope is gone. They are coming after me; I have to make some decisions. But how much longer can I go on like this? Sliding down the stone gray wall, I sink to the floor. Cold, gray stone. Everywhere. So unforgiving. I close my eyes and rest my head on my knees.

"Warm Delights in the Fantasy Department (Awkward)" by Bruce Steppes

            A student named Willard gloriously walked out of the boy’s restroom after releasing tension that had lingered in his stomach the entire day. He passed a few pupils who suddenly became ill as he yanked the doors open to the librare. Willard bent down to quickly tie his shoes, and found himself standing between a couple who were passionately staring into each other’s eyes. Pretending to blend in with the bookcase, his whale like eyes surveyed the premises and stopped to find bare and frigid shelves of fiction-less books. The couple had not even noticed the sour smell that had lingered in the air surrounding them. 

"Green Places" by Tom Bombadil

Sandrine grew up green.  Now, this was not because she recycled or used solar panels, but because she was a plant.  A holly bush to be exact.  She had the most gorgeous, the plumpest, the reddest holly berries among all the other holly bushes.  “I am the best looking bush in my pot,” thought Sandrine.  The other holly bushes murmured enviously, “I wish I was that green” or “My holly berries can never compare to that sparkling.”  Sandrine made sure to groom and preen herself every night.  “After all,” she thought, “who knows who might buy me?” 

"The Psycho-Maniac and the Pizza Man" by Victoria Lemmings

Note: Victoria Lemmings and Nathan Herring wrote this story together from the perspectives of the two characters. This version should be read before Nathan Herring's version.

The scent of burnt goey cheese and cheap tomato sauce wafts through the still night air as I make my way up the cracked cement sidewalk. As I approach the gloomy house before me, I contemplate how much I hate my job. Delivering low quality pizza to hyperactive children was not how I thought I’d end up spending my life. But walking up the creaky steps towards the large house before me, I can’t help but noticing this is not the normal adolescent birthday party which I’m catering to. The windows are cracked in some places, revealing an inner space that’s black and desolate. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that nobody lived in this strange abode. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of a man standing ominously in the upstairs window, staring down. Feeling uneasy, I ring the dusty doorbell and wait anxiously.

"The Psycho-Maniac and the Pizza Man" by Nathan Herring

Note: Victoria Lemmings and Nathan Herring wrote this story together from the perspectives of the two characters. This version should be read after Victoria Lemmings' version.

I sit in silence as I watch David Stranford stumble down the dark street and up my cracked driveway in his red and white shirt, matching hat and khaki shorts.  His brown hair bobbing up and down as I watch his green eyes dart from side to side and his pizza teetering in his right hand. He shivers.  I grin at his pain and rock in my rocking chair a little faster. He’s scared. Good. He deserves it.  After all this time, my plan has finally come to pass.  He hesitantly inches up the black, beat-up driveway before finally reaching the front step. He knocks on the door, and I leave my perch.