Melissa Werle

Prom Night

By Melissa Werle
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Jitters before
Who to ask?
Will they say yes?
Flip-flops in their tummies.
Dresses, dresses!
Pink, purple, blue, yellow.
Make sure everything’s perfect!
Shoes, flowers, jewels.
Where will we go before, after?
Bright lights everywhere
Waiting for darkness
Then they can dance.
Ready to go now!
Dark limos for glamour.
Feeling so special, so important
Ready for the night.

The Best Fishing Pond

By Melissa Werle
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Sun beating down on my back
Shimmering across the rippling water of the pond
Mud and rotting wood stinging nostrils
Miniscule pebbles
Pretending to be sand on a nonexistent beach
Walking from the muddy grass to the crippled dock
Water jumping up to lick feet
Splashes of color from the changing trees
Fuzzy reflections on the surface
Flung about by quick fish
Darting through rainbows and shadows

Green

By Melissa Werle
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Green looks like a slippery frog
Climbing through the muddy leaves
It feels like a prickly cactus
Or the hard, bumpy shell of a slow turtle
It tastes like a bitter, oily olive
Tangy and strong
Smell the sharp scent of pines
Or the citrus-y burst of a lime.
Green is the crawling ivy on old houses
And the sparkle of an emerald
It sounds like the hiss of a snake
The crunch of an apple being bitten

In all schools, there are very distinct social groups. They cannot be broken or mingle, and they very rarely change drastically. As a general rule, people from different social groups don’t mix. And if they try to, they should be prepared to face some very rough times. There was a girl at my old school who did not have a group. She drifted at random, but didn’t fit in anywhere.

The first time I went to Girl Scout camp, I swore it would be my last. My bunkmates were mean and smelly, and my camp councilor barely spoke English—but she cursed at us constantly in Japanese. The food was worse than the canned pizza from my school. The lake water gave my friend and me “swimmer’s itch,” itchy red bumps up and down our arms and legs.

CRASH!

Their lives invade our own. We know more about them than we do about ourselves. What they eat, how they dress, their insignificant problems mean more to us than many world events. Their lives are perfect, but terrible. On the outside we see people who have everything: all the riches and love and recognition one could ever want. They are the beautiful people in the world that we aspire to be.

Summer
Green grass, clear skies ahead
The best day to be in the backyard.
Frisbee, baseball, playing with the dog
So much fun so close to home

Fall
Leaves scattered on the ground, no longer on the swaying trees
The greatest day to be outside.
gardening, soccer, leaf piles!
So much can be done in my backyard

Winter
Ground covered with snow, trees bare, cold air tickling the nose

The door creaks open
Boxes, trunks, old clothes inside
Many memories

Thrill and Excitement
Worlds away yet so close to crowds
Power to intrigue

This letter was written to my parents back when we owned a quite large, black, miniature Vietnamese pot-bellied pig as a pet that lived in our house (my bathroom in particular). Recently, my family actually gave away our little pet... I like to think it was because of this letter.
Dear Mom and Dad,

It was the winter of 1873, and Vermont was having the biggest snowstorm of the year. It had already snowed 5 feet in the past three hours, and there was no sign of the snow stopping or slowing down. In the small town of Killington, an old woman was deathly ill. Her husband had gone off to work before the storm had started, and obviously wouldn’t be able to come back until the storm was over.

The Strength of Superpowers

By Melissa Werle
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

Would superpowers save the world?
The strength to rescue damsels in distress
The intelligence to cure all evil
The speed to avoid disaster.

Would these be enough to make everything right?
If we had superpowers, would ordinary problems be curable?
Could we solve a conflict with a friend,

Dear Teacher,

Expectations

By Melissa Werle
Woodstock Union High School, Grade 10

It was the same old, same old at the fair. Carnival rides that looked like they were about to break any second, trash already strewn over the ground though the fair had just barely come to town. Greasy, sweet- smelling fried dough stands at every corner, mixed in with countless other fast food stands piled on top of each other. Con artists promising goodies to the gullible people falling for their rip- off games, and flashing, multi- colored lights that would make a person dizzy in seconds. I sighed. Of course. Every year I imagined a great crowd, shining new and fun rides, and a great deal of entertainment, only to be met by this sorry sight. Now I remembered how it really was. Why could I never commit to memory that the fair was always a disappointment that never met my expectations? I was two steps and five minutes into the fair, and already I was ready to leave.