Deep down in a dark forest there is a small dirty and runned down graveyard big enough to hold three ghosts. There is a garden that is alive and well with a water pot that always somehow has water in it. Agatha, a grumpy grandmother who died in 1843 was a baker. Agatha always rises first in the late night of 11:25 p.m and wakes all the other ghosts. She wakes them up by watering the flowers and clanging the water pot against a tree. CLANG, CLANG, CLANG. “Agatha stop! We are trying to sleep and you are not helping.” Loretta would yell. Loretta was the youngest of the few and died in 1852. She was a hard working cook for the Walters family. Will she ever stop? Thought Loretta until she would avert herself away from the clanging. CLANG, CLAND, CLA-

Delilah, the middle of the group, died in 1846. She was an assertive brave woman who made clothes. “If you don’t stop right now I might actually get lethal with you Agatha.”

“Misha, Misha!”
    That’s the only thing I hear, but I already know what happened. I open my eyes and see my sister in front of me, in her nightgown. She looked worried. I look around and see street lamps, houses and parked cars. 
    This time was really bad. I’d gone all the way outside into the street. “It’s fine,” I say. With a feeling of dread, I turn around and go back inside to my room. 
    It’s never easy to fall back asleep after I sleepwalk, but I take a deep breath and lay in bed, trying to remember anything. Like always, nothing comes to me. I only remember seeing the horrible expression my sister had on her face. I wish she hadn’t shaken me awake. The doctors say it’s better for me to be guided back to my bed. 

Complex plastic car pieces scatter the tabletop, some not even popping out of their flimsy plastic container. Only the wheels and axis hug onto each other as the rest of the disassembled car sits in a clutter of chaos waiting to be put together. But even as they beg to embrace each other, I continue to stare on, keeping them there away. One-half of an exhaust pipe stares first at its other half then toward me. I tell them they can't be together, he has to be here, he has to be here to help. I can't do this alone so they have to continue to be broken until he comes back. A pit in my stomach aches, but I persist. Although, tinges of piercing pain form in the corners of my eyes, leaving droplets to fall. Although swiftly swallowed up from the course material of my shirt.

Pale snow descends from grayscale skies, draping the floor below in a thick sheet of white. Outside lies bare and untouched by any marks or signs of tamper. Vibrant warm sunrise lines the horizon, contrasting the softness of the snow with a loose hold around each other. A weight upon myself seems to have dispersed by this pleasant distraction. It is beautiful.

Being a teenager is the beginning of a transition in life. It’s where I voice-crack way too much, get more socially awkward, and actually care if I make a fool of myself for laughs.

But it is so much more than that as well. There are some upsides, like once again, actually caring if I make a fool of myself. (It makes me really not want to remember what I was like in first grade.) But there are also some downsides, like getting insecure about myself in different things. But most of all, being a teenager is confusing. Why I think this is because, for example, some things you might think are downsides, can actually be upsides, like sometimes you have to be who you are by making a fool of yourself, instead of caring what everyone else thinks.

Hot or Cold

Honestly I like cold better,

It allows you to snuggle up in blankets, watching movies all day(on the weekends)

Cold means snow, snowmen, and snow forts.

Cold means winter wonderlands, trees covered in snow.

Heed the blizzards though, no need for frostbite.

Cold means Christmas, a time of merry revelry.

Cold means snow storms ,whether it be packy, powdery, or icy.

Cold means snowball fights, snowball hurtling past you as you dodge and weave to avoid being hit.

Hot is bad, hot means sweating, sitting in the chair, fanning yourself to keep cool.

Hot means heat warnings, so you can’t play outside.

Hot means sweating so much you get dehydrated.

You cannot do much about being hot, and even if you can it is not much.

Cold means sledding.

Going over jumps as you hurtle headlong down a hill.

Getting 2 feet of air.

     The village was quiet, any remaining voices reduced to a soft lull as the sun set over the vast multicolor hills on the horizon. The cobblestone streets were washed in orange-gold light, tall shacks casting shadows into the alleys between houses. It was a beautiful day, the closest to a clear sky in weeks. I couldn’t fault the weather, the wet season will happen whether anyone likes it or not. And the clouds were stark white—soft looking, like sugar—so I couldn’t complain about that either.
And what I really couldn’t complain about was being with Romeo. I was lucky to have him here for the day—the whole day—usually I’m lucky to see that man for a couple of hours, at best, with how busy he is. But I wouldn’t think about that, not when we’re sitting together under the warm sun on a soft blanket, watching it set.

Boogie Woogie Village is a small town on the coast of Dance Dance Island, the world's largest land mass dedicated to parties. But there are two bad things about Boogie Woogie Village, one, it is devoid of sleep. Two, there is a 9 month hurricane season. This year Hurricane Oggie (they get different names if they pass through Dance Dance Island) devastated the island, costing two million dollars in damage. Boats in houses, flood waters at one story high, one man survived the worst of it. His name is Jose Blanco. At the age of 27 he made it through Oggie by staying in his basement. For three days he ate only cold hot dogs and potato chips down there from last night's dance party. He was able to use his basement because it has 6 foot concrete walls to prevent flooding, otherwise it would have filled up with water and he would have drowned. A second survivor named Mary Johnson, was found floating on a palm tree 2 miles out to sea.

I LOVE Spider-man. Ever since I was maybe 5, I have loved him. He was the coolest character ever and he is still the coolest character in my opinion. I’m just telling you this so you know why I’m writing this completely random topic. (Let alone again)