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Most people think they

Aren't afraid of anything

That is so not true.

If they weren't afraid,

They would be lost already

Now that is the truth.

I think it's true that

Everyone is afraid of

Something in they're life.

They just won't admit.

If we share out our fears,

We will all be respected.

That Taunting Spider

by Emily Slate

Grade Nine

All the memories,
All the days gone by,
All the hours I spent with you,
Are gone.
Because everything that was right,
Was wrong. Read more »

I stood at the window, watching the red taillights disappear into the inky blackness of the night. I waited, hoping that suddenly I would see the bright whites of the car rushing back down the dead –end road, but as they turned the corner far, far away, I knew that would be the last time I ever saw her.

I slowly turned around, to face my almost empty house. Now that all the big boxes of clothing and furniture were gone, the house seemed too big, too lonely. I walked away from the front window, towards the dining room, where I expected the other occupant of the house to be.

As I shuffled my way down the long hall, my thoughts started to overwhelm me, and brought me to my knees.

You’re gone. You’ve actually left me, and I’ll never see you again. I can’t make amends for what happened, I can’t just say ‘I’m sorry,’ anymore. I wish I could. I truly loved you, you know. I messed up once, but I’m not going to be able to fix it. I’m sorry.

Darkness began to close around me, as my tears streamed down my face, and I slumped towards the ground even farther. I sobbed openly for the first time in what must have been 15 years. I couldn’t even see the wall in front of me I was crying so hard.

Dear, I only got drunk once, it was only once that I messed up. Why couldn’t you let me screw up, why did I have to be perfect? You do realize that perfection is impossible, and whoever you’re going out with now will not be perfect either. Right? Read more »

bouncingredball2.mp3

bouncingredball3.mp3

Sometimes

I sit and wonder

I sit in front of a blank page

I hold a pencil in my hand

And wonder.

What is it that makes us writers?

What is it that motivates us?

What is it that gives us ideas?

What is it that makes us constantly think?

Think of what we could use?

What we can gather from the world,

And put into words?

What is it that turns our minds,

From a red ball bouncing in a metal room,

Into a

Brilliant light,

A paradise of tales

A new world full of new people

A place that anyone can be anything?

What is it that makes us different?

What do others do?

Instead of searching the world

For a tale to be told?

What is it that makes them not see the characters

Pounding against the glass door of imagination

Telling you to come and play

To come and get lost in their world?

What happens in that metal room?

When we use the world to come up with new ideas?

I keep sitting here

And looking at the first hundred or so words of my story,

And completely re-writing it to be in a different voice

But I soon realize that there is nothing.

Nothing that may be as perfect as what I have already.

Life is like a story

Forever going

But having to end at some point

To have that last page

but with the story forever held within.

We all write Read more »