TEEN AUTHORS ELECTRONIC JOURNAL ISSUE ONE: JULY 31, 1994 Welcome to the first issue of our electronic journal. We are a non- profit enterprise providing a publishing space for authors between the ages of 11 and 18. Our submission guidelines appear at the end of this issue. This issue contains work by writers of all ages. Future issues will contain either younger teen authors (ages 11-14), or older teen authors (ages 15-18), making a break between a Junior High/Middle School issue, and a Senior High School issue. The editors and reviewers felt this would give a greater opportunity for publication and cash awards to both age groups.Thanks for sharing the writing of teen authors!! Jamie Myers, Editor Nelson Rodriguez and William Lee, Assistant Editors TABLE OF CONTENTS Weave Me In, Arshiya Baig, Mt Prospect, IL December Column, Jennifer Stevens, Valparaiso, IN Too Late, Sarah Grant, Waterbury, VT A Utopia of Innocents, Justin Higgins, McLean, VA Dragon Fire, Caitrin McCullough, South Windsor, CT The True Story of Cinderella, Heidi Rickard, Altoona, PA April Hash, Heather Oakes, Mt. Prospect, IL Blocked, Brook Jacobsen, Cedar Falls, IA One Step Closer, Elizabeth Hahn, Crystal Lake, IL Life's Great Mystery, Chris McKillop, North Penobscot, ME Uncle, Todd Hamilton, Gastonia, NC All You Gotta Do Is, Chris Townsend, Crestview, FL Candle, Daniel Hannegan, Peace Dale, RI Victim, Dustin Rodriguez, Moundsville, WV Grandma, Nikki Keller, Altoona, PA Confused Minds, Rachelle King, Bellefonte, PA The Next Logical Step, Jill Colleen Peachell, Winnipeg, Manitoba Reviewers for this issue: Richard Barley Michele Bianco Brad Burg Steven Coburn Christina Kieffer Margaret Painter Ed Wevedau Dawn Ali Erica Martin Angela Hoyt Dan Albaugh Melissa Algayer Carrie Bentz Greg Dixon Mary Gedmark Mary Hohnka Wayne Holmes Matthew Landis Jennifer Lioy Peter McCallum Sam Nicola Lori Smith Drew Sterner Dawn Williams Jeannette Velez --------------------------------------------- FIRST PLACE SUBMISSION WEAVE ME IN by Arshiya Baig I loathe the lies of loyalty I pity the pretended pride of society The spider of society weaves the web of freedom into our naivete Yet we struggle our whole lives to pry ourselves from the web The freedom to suffer The inability for independence is what we have We gnash and claw Only to add to the spiders realms And tangle ourselves even more Oblivious victims of an infinite net Spoon-fed independence fill our stomach While the web entangles our souls Dazed by the poison, we capitulate Not able to make our own webs but add to the spiders Arshiya Baig 202 N. Kenilworth Mt. Prospect, IL 60056 Molly Warren, Librarian email: phs@class.org Prospect High School 801 W. Kensington Mt. Prospect, IL 60056 ----------------------------------------------- SECOND PLACE SUBMISSION DECEMBER COLUMN by Jennifer Stevens I am very proud to say that I have recently been initiated into the National Dump-ees Support Group of America. Yes, dont blush. I am sure the majority of readers out there know exactly what I am referring to. Its happened before and it will happen; just one more emotionally unstable teenager foolish enought to get involved in a much too serious relationship operating under the ridiculous illusion of love. Blah. Nevertheless, lets explore this painstaking process through a strictly HYPOTHETICAL situation, a frighteningly familiar allegory, if you will. Just for namesake, lets assign the dump-ee the name, oh, I dont know... how about Naive-Dopey Girl. And the dump-er... just pulling names out of a hat.. .Conniving-Liar Boy. One day, after going out for a very long space of time (1 year, 5 months, 15 days), in their pathetically content relationship, Conniving-Liar Boy pulls Naive-Dopey Girl aside to have a serious talk about us. OOOOOOOOKAY! bubbles Naive-Dopey Girl, looking, oh, whats the word... pitiful? And then Conniving-Liar boy starts with his annoying, breathy Iam- such-a-sensitive-guy whine: Naive-Dopey Girl, Iam just not happy anymore. I need my space. I dont want to do THIS anymore. This???!!! What is THIS???!!! Is THIS... basket weaving? Is THIS... sky-diving? He cant mean THIS is our relationship because just lask week he told me it would last forever. You didnt actually believe that, did you? smirks Conniving-Liar Boy. Of course not! Why would she trust you? Why doesnt he just take her in the backyard and shoot her in the face? Everything he told her was lies, lies, lies. Anyway, I dont want to go out with you, I dont want to care about you, I dont want to share my life with you.... anymore, Conniving-Liar Boy placidly explains. (Insert knife through Naive-Dopey Girls back.) Poor Navie-Dopey. She didnt even see it coming. And more importantly, at this point, she does not even realize that going out with Conniving-Liar boy is an honor which he did not deserve. However, unjustly, it is Naive-Dopey who will suffer. After all, it is she who just got the shaft in a major way. She is feeling an overwhelming sense of Rejection with a capital R. Coping with being dumped usually takes three long, painful stages. Stage 1: Immediately after the initial breakup, Naive-Dopey Girl does not want to eat, sleep, leave her bed, or even leave the house for anthing, even school. All she desires is sweet solitude and about three boxes of Kleenex, so she can wallow in her misty water- colored memories. Naive-Dopey Girl shuffles through her life those next few days in a lethargic daze, liable to break into tears at the drop of a hat. Every minute detail of her life reminds her of her lost love, the one that got away. Flipping through her math notebook, she discovers various combinations of her married name to him scribbled everywhere, sometimes with the hyphen, sometimes without. While renting a video to cheer herself up, every single movie in the whole Blockbuster Video Store was once seen with Conniving-Liar Boy, including all the really bad Stephen King movies he was always insistent on making her watch. She never thought that a copy of Sleepwalkers would cause her to break into a sobbing fit. Also, during this stage, Naive-Dopey Girl clings onto the last iota of hope that Conniving-Liar Boy will apologize and realize that she is the only one for him, and that they were made for each other, etc., etc. Every time the phone rings, her heart beats faster, her palms start to perspire. Anxious, desperate requests for phone messages become commonplace. She even starts to make excuses for Conniving-Liar Boy about why he hasnt made any attempt whatsoever to get in tough with her. For example, oh, he probably has to finish that really long term paper," or oh, he probably thinks Im not home are likely excuses. Her distress is spent in vain, though, he never calls. Stage 2: This is the most violent phase of recuperating after the initial breakup, for this is the inevitable phase when Naive-Dopey Girl develops a deep, wicked, nasty, vehement hatred for not only Conniving-Liar Boy, but unfortunately for all boys in general. Naive-Dopey Girl finds every picture of him, every letter he wrote to her, evey little present he ever gave her. Then she finds the lighter fluid. Out of this intense loathing stems a sick, twisted scenario. Amid the negative emotions of stage 2, one day Naive-Dopey Girl pulls on he camouflage, smears shoe polish over her face, and decides to take a little drive past Conniving-Liar Boys humble abode.... with a few semi-automatic weapons at hand, just in case she happens to run into him. (Okay, this is taking it to extremes, but you get the picture.) During stage 2, Naive-Dopey Girl also becomes very defensive, especially to all who feel compelled to express sympathy. All her innocent friends want to do is support her, but Naive-Dopey Girl thinks that nobody could even come close to understanding what shes feeling. None of this Natural Helper-esque I -want-to- help-help-help! nonsense is tolerated by Naive-Dopey Girl. No, no. In fact, she doubts that she will be able to trust anyone ever again. Stage 3: Finally, Naive-Dopey Girl realizes that she can go through a whole 24-hour period without breaking into tears or a fit of depression once. It is such an exhilarating achievement for her because it is only then when Naive-Dopey Girl can reflect on the whole relationship intelligently and objectively. She can finally comprehend that the relationship is really over, and that it is probably for the best. There is no reason to put herself through anymore pain or misery because it is not she who suffered the loss, it is Conniving- Liar Boy. He never even knew what he had, and he certainly does not deserve another chance to find out. All in all, they had some good memories, and thats about it. The one good thing that comes out of this whole mess is a new sense of self-confidence for Naive-Dopey Girl. Because she is mature enought to rise above all of Conniving-Liar Boys petty game sand lies and go on with her life, obviously she attained more inner- strength and self-respect than she could ever have had in an abusive relationship with Conniving-Liar Boy. Eventually, it is time to get out in the playing field again. It is time to set herself up for another heartbreak, for that is what teenagers do best. Naive-Dopey Girls friends even manage to get her out of the house long enough to take her to a party. They walk into this Mecca of jocular recreation only to find that the theme of this party is THIRTEEN COUPLES AND YOU. Okay, maybe being on her own isnt so bad after all. Maybe its time to explore that single thing for a while. Jennifer Stevens 1810 Peachtree Dr. Valparaiso, IN 46383 email: Valparaiso High School 2727 N. Campbell St Valparaiso, IN 46383 ----------------------------------------------- THIRD PLACE SUBMISSION TOO LATE by Sarah L. Grant Blood stains the pretty snow angels. Exploding, the shells tear fragile parchment babies alone in the snow, a shore remains a grim reminder in Sarajevo Wandering in weary silence Vacantly she stares searching for a child she prays for mercy and curses those who watched in silence a mother In Sarajevo A deathly grey pall hangs over the city where even the sky weeps, In Sarajevo Mingling rivulets sweep the streets swirling water dirty, red Cleansing stones of bits of flesh The rain beats down On Sarajevo Too late she cries with bitter eyes softly singing her baby to sleep on her knees in the rain In Sarajevo The sun has set. There will be no dawn for the children eternal Night In Sarajevo. Sarah L Grant RD1 Box 582 Waterbury, VT 05676 Mt Mansfield Union High School Brown Trace Rd Jericho, VT 05465 ---------------------------------------------------- A UTOPIA OF INNOCENTS by Justin Higgins Was it really possible? Could anyone ever turn a democratic country into a Utopia? Apparently, it was. America, the beautiful, what once was a nation that kept others from killing each other, had become an isolated affair. It's national agenda was peace, peace, and more peace. Peace on Earth? Nay, peace on America, the beautiful, for spacious skiesof... Somehow, the government managed to cut a deal with the United Nations. It was essentially, "You leave us alone, we leave ourselves alone. And so, a new brighter, happier America was born. A self-absorbed America, whose people thought that all that really mattered ended every which way of the border. What was this happier, more peaceful America like? No more contact with the outside world. The only news they got was from their next door neighbor, who got it from their next door neighbor ad infinitum. Until it came to the biggest next door neighbor of them all: The Government. And what did they say to their neighbor over a white picket fence and a cup of coffee? Only good, sweet, candy colored tidbits of news. We wouldn't want our Utopians to start worrying, would we? It went on like that in America for at least 20 years. And the world mourned the death of America and the lost recipe for good ol' America Pie deep in a dusty warehouse under a pile of cardboard boxes inHoboken. While America lived out it's Utopian fantasy, the walls came a tumblin' down. With no one to mediate those otherwise peaceful wars that we remember so well from way back when, countries finally started fighting.... Nuclear, nuclear, nuclear. America? The nuclear family. Middle East? Russia? Nuclear Family of Warheads. Big brother was a 20 megaton bomb that could snuff out an entire continent three times. And that's exactly what Big Brother did, while sis and the rest of the family followed after. What was being said over the picket fences the day after? "Looking for some warm weather and storm clouds comin' from the east." While Utopia mowed it's lawns and ate at fancy dinner parties, the world starved. While Utopia sat around the hearth watching TV, the world burned. While in the great Utopia State of American Peace, parents tucked in their young, the world wept. As the lights went off in the Government, the world stopped. God bless America... Justin Higgins. 6431 Linway Terrace McLean, VA 22101 (703)356-1733 email: jhiggins@cap.gwu.edu Georgetown Day School. 4530 MacArthur Blvd., N.W. Washington, D.C. 20007 (202)333-7727 ------------------------------------------ DRAGON FIRE by Caitrin McCullough The old man marvelled at the grace of the young girl with the flaming red hair. She was bent low over the stallion's neck, fingers entwined in his thick black mane as he galloped past the fence. Thoughshe was but ten winters old, she had tamed the young bay horse with her beauty and charm. He saw the giant horse buck without pausing in his extended strides, heard the child laugh as she steadied his head with soft hands. Why the townsfolk had ever thought the child was evil, the old man couldn't guess. Her hair color had always been the subject of much consternation. Her mother had blond tresses, her father black. There was no one else in her family with such fiery red hair. The color reminded people of red dragons, the fire-breathing monsters with hides that no sword could pierce, who descended on unsuspecting travelers and killed them for pleasure. Firesong was unlike any dragon the old man had ever seen, though he had never encountered the noble dragons of light, who were servants of the gods of law and goodness. Firesong was all innocence and light, so trusting of everyone she met. The old man, who had observed her ever since it became apparent that she was unlike the other children her age, couldn't help feeling that she was destined to be let down by the world. He spared another glance at the pair as they entered the forest, disappearing from sight. The pair flowed together magnificently. Firesong had been working with him since he was a yearling and soon the two would be ready for the long journey south to the big competition. As the old man turned to walk back to the village square, he thought he saw a large shadow pass on the ground in front of him, but when he looked up there was nothing. *** Firesong glimpsed the shadow too; but before she could find the source, they had entered the forest, its canopy of leaves above blocking out any view of the sky. The stallion's hooves pounded noiselessly on the mossy turf, glossy against the muted greens and browns. The smell of pine lay heavy in the still air, which was stirred by their passing. She pulled lightly on the simple reins, whispered a single word into its backswept ear. He slowed to a walk as she sat back, letting the leather slide through her fingers as he stretched his neck. He sniffed the ground casually for an instant, searching for something palatable. A moment later his head was up, neck arched as he tested the wind. For a second he appeared agitated, and Firesong gathered the reins so she would be able to stop him if he bolted. He relaxed slightly at her touch, breathing quickly. The early morning sunlight shone on the greens of spring, catching Firesong's breath with its beauty. It refracted through the mirrored surface of dewdrops, shining tiny rainbows by the hundreds. She lived for these moments, though at ten winters she had not realized it yet. She reveled in the scents and sounds of the forest, delighting in the abundance of nature. Firesong smiled as a little bird, resplendent in his reds and blues, landed on the black tip of Ravian's ear. Astonishingly, the great horse permitted the bird his perch for a few moments before gently shaking his head. She caught a hint of something evil on the wind at the same moment that Ravian threw his head high, his eyes wide with fear. She managed to calm him somewhat as she analyzed the strange, but familiar scent. That it was smoke there was no doubt, but it carried a foulness upon its black wings that told of death and destruction. Firesong guided the stallion's head back around to the way they had come so they could both look upon the village. There was smoke rising high into the air above her homestead in a widening cylindrical fashion from a fire that was clearly raging out of control. Firesong tried vainly to urge Ravian toward the destruction, determined to help her people. Unfortunately, as the black smoke slammed into his senses the bond she had lovingly forged with him shattered. He reared, and Firesong, in her distraught state, could not keep her seat. She struggled against gravity for a seeming eternity before tumbling off the stallion's back. She hit the ground hard, as he had been rearing to his fullest height. She dimly felt the ground tremor as he fled madly into the distance, and though she strove to stay conscious her mind slowly spiraled into darkness. *** She awoke with a headache, the late afternoon sun shining in her eyes and a residue of smoke still clouding her senses. It took her a moment to recollect what had happened, but when she did she gasped with horror. She sat up, instantly regretting it as the pounding in her head doubled in its intensity. "It must have been dragons, " she reasoned aloud to herself. She had never seen one before, as they were thankfully very scarce. Still, it would have to have been a group of those vicious reptiles who caused the destruction she had witnessed from a distance. From the tales she had heard of the evil beasts, they always left soon after an attack, pausing only to gather up the dead to devour later at a safer location. She looked around for Ravian, but there was no sign of the stallion. In fact, everything she looked at was blurry and out of focus, as if she were underwater. She raised herself to her knees, paused for a moment, then got up slowly and started stumbling toward her village. She reached the outskirts where the unmarried women and men lived. To her horror each small house she came to was burned or in some other way demolished, its inhabitants no where to be seen. The closer she got to the town square, the heavier the stench of death became and the more her headache grew. She walked in a daze, fighting to remain alert as with each step the darkness threatened to overwhelm her again. She had still not encountered a single person, though now she was more concerned about ghosts. The ground was strewn with entrails and debris. The water of the well was filmed over with blood. It still had not fully registered in her mind, because of the concussion, what had transpired. It hit her with full force when she saw a tattered piece of material clinging to a nail in the wood supporting the well. It was a soft piece of wool the color of the sky on a clear spring day, and it was just the same as Firesong remembered it except that one edge was torn and saturated with blood. It was her mother's scarf, the one Firesong had rested her cheek upon on those cold nights that seemed years past. She stared at the material, the sight slowly penetrating the haze obscuring her mind. The realization hit her harder than the fall she had taken from the horse, and she swayed on her feet before collapsing on the hard ground, unconscious. Firesong lay there in the ruins until the sun climbed above the mountains, illuminating the destruction in a clear, cold light. It was then that a band of clerics, attracted by the smoke, found her. They healed her wounds and took her in, and she lived with them in the temple. It took her many years to get over the horror of that day, and even when she was grown she was never the carefree child that had ridden the great stallion with such love. She will never forget the cruelness of the dragons of darkness. Caitrin McCullough 100 Arnold Way South Windsor, CT 06074 (203) 648-5030 Teacher: Cynthia Field Timothy Edwards Middle School South Windsor, CT 06074 (203) 648-5028 Computer Teacher: Nina Hansen (e-mail addressee) email: ahansen%uhavax.dnet@ipgate.hartford.edu ---------------------------------------------- THE TRUE STORY OF CINDERELLA by Heidi Rickard Hi! Im Mrs. Laughinstock. Commonly known as the wicked stepmother. I had to move to a different country and change my name. You see, this is why Im writing this all down and telling you this. I just want to set the record straight. Everybody knows the story, Cinderella, or at least they think they do. Sure it was great for Cinderella. She got the publicity and all. She had her own movie, and book, and is famous, especially in Disney World. She made herself the good person, and I was the wicked stepmother. I never did anything at all that awful little beast. Its all a big mistake about a ball at the Kings palace and a cake. So heres the TRUE story of Cinderella. It all starts on the cheap line: Once upon a time. I had married Cinderellas father. He was a great man and I didnt know when I married him he had such an awful daughter. He suddenly died. I took Cinderella as my responsibility. She was a peculiar girl, always talking to animals like mice. Cinderella! I would yell. Get your head out of the clouds. All ya do is talk to your mut and that old horse. The worthless thing! I should get rid of it once and for all. It costs too much to buy all the oat and hay. Now, mind your manners and go do the chores. Yes stepmother. In a minute. She was so lazy, the brat. Her father had spoiled her all her life, so I felt it was my duty to make her realize that life wasnt that simple. I made her do chores and help out my two precious angels. She was very rude to them and made it clear that she wasnt fond of my PERFECT daughthers. One afternoon, for example: Doe, Ra ME, So,... sang Anastatia as Drasela accompanied her on the flute. BANG! BANG! There was Cinderella pestering us again. She mumbled something about how ugly Drasela and Anastatia sounded and then gave me a note from the King, himself. Boy was I mad! She should have known that would excite the girls so they wouldnt calm down enough to finish practicing. Anyway, it was a message that the King was to hold a ball for his son, the Prince. It said that all maidens must attended. Oh, stepmother! Cinderella asked. May I please go to the ball? Me, being only the best mother I could to that worthless piece of trash said, Only if you have all your chores done. And thats a BIG IF. I didnt want Cinderella to go to the ball. She would embarrass me and my daughters in front of the Prince. Then it might blow our chance of marrying him. I have to admit my two daughters are beautiful right down to their chubby, fat toes. They take right after me. But I could tell what my horrid litte stepdaughter thought of them. She thought they had long pointy chins, and big, fat, cow eyes, fat necks and ugly stubby legs. Yes, I saw her staring at their butts like they were ones of a horse. I think some meat on your bones is good. Oh, and would you believe the nerve of her. My precious cat was enjoying herself with this mouse. In comes Cinderella yelling at MY cat. She took the mouse away and was talking to it like it was a human. Thank God I have a key to her room so I can lock her in there if I would need to. Its the night of the ball. Cinderella doesnt even bother to properly clean the kitchen. Its fairly old and is in the basement. A small black coal burner is right in the middle of the room to keep her warm. What more did she need? I thought I was being generous to let her go AFTER she helped her two stepsisters. But no, she rushd with them so they got all flustered and went to her room. Lord only knows what happened in her room but she walked downstairs in this dress. Cinderella! Theyre my pearls! Getem off! Now or..or... screamed Drasela and she tore them off her neck. And those are my old shoes. And my silk sash!!! You HORRID girl! cried he other sister. By the time they were through, Cinderella was a piece of rags. She deserved it, and now she couldnt come. Good for her. Its your own fault, Cinderella. I told her. Now go scrub the carpets upstairs. She was bawling by the time we slammed the door in her face. The ball was magnificent! Everyone and everything was so bright and vivid. Everything was going smoothly. I almost caught the Prince when this beautiful girl walked in. She was all dressed in white and she swept the Prince off his feet. I almost puked at the sight. Then I heard them talking. Oh, youre so very beautiful! Whats your name, dear lady? the Prince questioned and complimented her. Thank you. Um- I cant tell you my last name because... DONG! DONG! Heaven my! I thought to myself. It was the bells striking midnight. She mumbled something and ran out. He followed after her. I went to see what he would do when my dress got caught in the door. It puzzled me at first. Maybe it was just somebody that looked like her. How did she ever get that dress? I made sure to throw out all her old clothes after her father died and surely it wasnt one of ours in the house. Who would have given it to her? A fairy godmother? HA! HA! HA! My daughters and I left in a huff. All that stepdaughter was good for was to create problems. When we got home, the good-for-nothing girl was humming away waltz music. I was sure it was her at the ball then. The next day when the Great Grand Duke came for the slipper trying (Im assuming you know that part of the story) I locked Cinderella in her room by accident. I was checking the linen closet to see if she had done the laundry. Somehow, by mistake of course, I ended up walkng up to the attic and locked her door. My, oh, my! I dont know how I did that for the life of me. Well, somehow (I think it was with the help of her mousy friends) she came dowstairs before the Great Grand Duke left. May I try on the slipper please? asked Cinderella. I know its mine. Of, course. Ah, hem- Every maiden in the land must try on the glass slipper. And you, mam, I would like to know why you didnt tell me about this servant girl replied the Duke. As he bent down to get the slipper off the pillow, I remembered the cake I had told Cinderella to bake. I jumped up in such a hurry that I tripped him. The glass slipper fell and broke into a zillion splinters of glass. Dont worry! she said sucking up to the Great Grand Duke. I have the other one right in my pocket. And she presented it to the Duke. Cinderella went off with the Great Grand Ducke to the castle and I was stuck with a burnt devils food cake. Thats the TRUE story. I got framed as the bad guy when Im really just a bad cook. Heidi Rickard email: Steven Oswalt Keith Junior High School Altoona, PA ---------------------------------------- APRIL HASH by Heather Oakes April Hash was the name given to her. Her mouth waters When she thinks Of delightfully eating Mangos and cucumbers. She plans to save the animals. Once someone gave her Leopard skin pattern underwear As a Christmas present. She was outraged. She has a Holly Hobby Flowered dress, And forest green Worn combat boots That she bought from General Bob's Army Surplus Store. They are the only Shoes she owns. She never wears them anyway. She parts her hair uneven Down the back of her head In two braids. If she doesn't wash it She dons a faded, Navy blue bandana, Aunt Jemima style. Whenever she is bored She pierces a new Part of her body. Only silver jewelry please. Someday she'll paint a portrait Of her boyfriends feet. She loves the curve of his arches And the shape of his toes. Heather Oakes 500 S. Louis Mt. Prospect, IL 60056 (708)670-7908 Molly Warren, Librarian email: phs@class.org Prospect High School 801 W. Kensington Mt. Prospect, IL 60056 (708)818-7858 ---------------------------------------------- BLOCKED by Brook Jacobsen I am silent Staring absent-mindedly around The room. The spark is gone Extinguished By constant bitching Teachers Parents. Destroyed By unavoidable Pressures of life. Creativity Once rich with wondering Lies dormant Useless Barren remains of A once fertile plain. I no longer Need to create. Physically unable. Hands, arms hang Cold Numb Paralyzed. My spirit Trapped Crippled within my soul Sings in a monotone choir Mundane Predictable. My mind sleeps in an uneventful Maze of dreams Wandering Endlessly through Gray hallways Never-ending cycle Nothingness. The nightmare of Writer's block begins... Brook Jacobsen 1915 Madison St Cedar Falls, IA 50613 email: DAVISZ6471@cobra.uni.edu Cedar Falls High School 10th & Division St. Cedar Falls, IA 50613 --------------------------------------------- ONE STEP CLOSER by Elizabeth Hahn One Step Closer Over the battle field I eye my enemy man, Not ten feet apart, proud and tall we stand. One step closer and I watch his musket gleam, Mine at my side gives me comfort yes it seems. Two steps closer and I observe his gray attire, Mine, ragged and torn from war and crossfire. Three steps closer and our beliefs take a twist, Now they seem to vanish in the morning mist. Four steps closer, and I behold his worn face Lined with worry, and his eyes hold distaste. Five steps closer and I empathize his pain, Mine deep in my heart, My life never to be the same. Six steps clo ser and I catch his eye, He wants to stop fighting and doesn't want to die. A couple steps closer and I hope it's not too late For his heart may alrea dy be filled with wrath and hate. One step apart, that's w here we stand, One step closer... he and I shake hands. Elizabeth Hahn Prairie Grove School 3223 Route 176 Crystal Lake, Illinois, 60014 email: prairieg@aol.com ------------------------------------------- LIFE'S GREAT MYSTERY by Chris McKillop Life's Great Mystery I have been a writer, - And words poured forth from my pen, - But they were hollow, empty things. I have been a scholar, - With discoveries to shake the world, - But they meant nothing to me. I have been a lover, - And my love outshone the suns, - But did not stir my heart. I have been a Christian, - With faith enough to move mountains, - But God never touched me. All that I have been is etched, In my face, Yet what I am to be is ever hidden. Chris McKillop Rte 199, North Penobscot, ME. 04476 email: prophet@celestat.com George Stevens Academy Union Street Blue Hill, ME 04614 --------------------------------------------------- UNCLE by Todd Hamilton I knew of him But did not know him I signed his birthday cards Whenever mom bought them I played with his children Whenever mom visited I hugged him goodbye But with no true meaning I was related to him But we had no relationship I cried when mom cried But didn't understand why I pondered why he did it And his reason why I can picture the bullet And I sweat with anger I wanted to know him And not of him But I cannot Todd Hamilton 1649 Stallion Way Gastonia, NC 28056 email: ashbrook@micronet.wcu.edu Mary Layton, teacher Grade 12 Ashbrook High School 2222 S. New Hope Road Gastonia, NC 28054 --------------------------------------------------- ALL YOU GOTTA DO IS by Chris Townsend (start italics) Lightning flashed ominously across the barren sky sending an eerie chill up Michael's spine. Since dawn, he had been pursuing the dreaded tiger. He had tracked it to a small cave just on the outskirts of the village. Now, he was perched high in a nearby tree, waiting for his quarry to wander out of its lair. Michael took a deep breath as the magnificent beast emerged gracefully from the cave. He brought his weapon level with the creature's beautifully streamlined head and let the automatic scope on the rifle do its job. When the ready light flashed, he wrapped his finger around the trigger and carefully began to apply the necessary pressure to fire the weapon. Suddenly, his mother stood in front of him. He jerked back in surprise. His shot veered way off course, tearing through the silence of the surrounding jungle. The enraged tiger roared defiantly and recoiled into its cave. (stop italics) "What is it," he demanded, annoyed at his mother's intrusion into his Virtual Safari Simulator. "Michael," she told him. "You have a phone call." "All right," he responded grudgingly. "Who is it?" "Hold on," she said. "Let me ask." After a short pause, she turned back to him. "It's Jimmy Banks." "Okay, I'll get it," he answered turning off the simulator and switching the machine into the telecommunications mode. Jimmy's smiling, freckled face appeared on the screen. "The Dragons and I were about to leave for the zoo," he told Michael. "We thought you might like to join us." "S-sure Jimmy," Michael stuttered. "I'll meet you guys there." The Dragons were the coolest guys in school. It was really something to be invited to go hang out with them. "We'll be looking for you," Jimmy promised. "Meet us by the lions." As the screen went dark, Michael nearly flew from his virtual reality chamber. He began frantically searching for something "cool" to wear. Finally, he settled on a pair of faded jeans and his brand-new hologram T-shirt. He rushed downstairs and grabbed a hamburger. Each burger came in its own disposable microwave unit. They really made eating on the run convenient. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" his mother asked, her curiosity aroused by his frantic flight. "I'm just going down to the zoo with some of the guys," he assured her. "Make sure you're back before dinner and be careful," she called as he ran out the door. He mumbled something unintelligible and stepped through the air lock into the Trans pod. As soon as he typed the coordinates for the zoo into the pod's computer, the door closed and sealed itself protecting its occupant from the toxic air outside. Slowly, the pod pulled away from the house and began gaining speed. Soon, the passing landscape melted into a brown blur. Not that there was much to see anyway. Ever since the atomic war in the late twentieth century, the country had become a barren wasteland. All living things had to be enclosed in giant domes to protect them from the harsh environment. The pod began to slow down as it approached the massive dome that covered the research center and wildlife preserve. Scientists had tried to salvage as many animals as possible when the catastrophe struck. In an attempt to better study and understand the animals, they had been brought here where scientists could examine them in a controlled environment. The pod docked with a bump inside the dome. The mechanized door slid back releasing Michael into the wonderful myriad of sensations that awaited. His eyes darted from one brightly colored exhibit to the next. Michael took a deep breath, inhaling all the fantastic smells in the air. Angrily, a large bird chattered, voicing his displeasure at the bars of his prison. A smiling attendant offered him a map but he politely refused it. He had been coming to the zoo since he could walk. He quickly made his way over to the lion's cages and found Jimmy and the other boys. After a few introductions, the boys began inspecting the different exhibits. The dogs were Michael's personal favorites. They were small and intelligent creatures. Rumors claimed that people had once kept these dogs as pets before the war. Now, since only a few were left they had been brought here with the hope that new ones could be cloned. Jimmy stuck his arm through the bars and let the two-headed dog lick his hand. The dog's tails thumped wildly against the concrete floor, expressing a joy they could not otherwise show. Jealous of the attention the first was receiving, the dog's second head forced his way over to lick Michael's proffered hand. This cycle continued back and forth until one of the scientists, the zoo keeper as all the kids called him, shooed them away from the cage. "You'll lose an arm like that," he threatened. Michael and the others laughed and ran off towards the tiger complex. Once inside the building, the boys stopped to catch their breath. A row of high fences stretched the length of the hall. Ferocious roars came from all sides creating an ominous atmosphere within the building. "Me and the boys have a proposition for you," Jimmy said turning to Michael. Michael swallowed nervously, wondering what that proposition could be. "You see," Jimmy continued, "the Dragons think that you would be a valuable addition to our little circle. Are you interested?" "Y-you bet I am," Michael stammered in reply. "Great then you're in," Jimmy said smiling. "There's just one thing left." "What's that?" Michael asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. "You have to prove yourself worthy to be a member," Jimmy answered smilingas usual. Michael sensed a sinister undercurrent hiding in the depths of that smile. Jack and the other Dragons went into a huddle and began discussing Michael's test. Michael overheard a few of the suggestions and his heart sank. His dreams of becoming a Dragon began to dim. He had almost lost hope when Jimmy turned to him. "Okay Mikey," he said with his eyes glittering. "All you gotta do is walk the fence." Michael turned and looked at the thin iron fence lining the tiger cages. The animals began pacing restlessly as if they sensed the outcome of the dangerous proposition. Michael turned to Jimmy and shook his head. "Aw come on," Jimmy pleaded. "Just walk one cage and you'll be a member for life." The other boys joined in with Jimmy and soon wore away Michael's resolve. Finally, he agreed and climbed to the top of the fence. The tiger below him roared ferociously, nearly toppling Michael before he even began his grueling ordeal. Several cheers rang out from below as Michael took his first tentative steps. He gazed down the seemingly endless span of fence left, and closed his eyes for a moment. With a roar, the tiger brought Michael back to his senses, again threatening to topple him into the perilous pit with the deadly animal. He swung his arms briefly trying to find his balance. He began to move more quickly trying to complete his task before any harm could be done. With only a few feet to go, Michael heard a shout from behind him. "Are you crazy!" the zoo keeper screamed. "Get down from there!" Michael was only a few steps short of completing his trial and began taking larger strides. He smiled triumphantly as he took the final step. Soon, his shout of joy became a scream of terror as his foot slipped from its delicate hold on the fence. Time ceased to exist as Michael swung his arms wildly, searching for redemption. With a final squeal he fell, cartwheeling, into the open air. The lights seemed to swirl madly as Michael tumbled from his perch into the arms of the waiting tiger. A flash of pain tore through his leg, hurtling him into a sea of blackness. A while later, Michael regained consciousness in a small, white room. His mother, seeing him open his eyes, rushed to his side and called for the doctor. She hugged him wildly and then her face turned stern. "What were you thinking?" she demanded. "What would possess you to climb that fence?" The doctor came into the room, cutting off Michael's reply. "You are a very lucky young man," he said to Michael. "That tiger could,just as easily, have killed you." "How bad is it?" his mother asked. "Your son is going to be just fine," the doctor assured her. "We had to remove what was left of his leg, but after a few sessions with our therapists he should be up and around again in no time." The doctor asked to speak with Michael's mother outside and they walked into the hallway leaving Michael alone with his thoughts. He lifted the blanket and stared down at the lower half of his body. Only two of his legs were left. He had heard stories about people only having two legs but, that was before the war. How would he survive with only two legs? Chris Townsend 4191 Poverty Creek Road Crestview, Florida 32536 email: GOOLSBL@mail.firn.edu Leah P. Goolsby Crestview High School 1304 N Ferdon Blvd. Crestview, FL 32536, ------------------------------------------------- CANDLE by Daniel Hannegan T he f lame f licker s in th e darkne ss, illu minating all in i ts feebl e light untill i t slowly consumes itself. Daniel Hannegan P.O. Box 3726 Peace Dale, RI 02883 email: skjht001@llwsbe.linknet.com Carol Anderheggen South Kingstown Junior High Peace Dale, RI 02879 -------------------------------------------- VICTIM by Dustin Rodriguez The curtains skirted over my body like ghosts. I recognized her picturesque figure immediately, though it was obscured with a gentle silk covering which she had used to protect herself from the brisk fall breezes. Soft winds flowed through the bedroom and ruffled the lace dangling from the bottom of the bed. Several whisps of cold air escaped the grasp of the flow and snuck under the bed where they mingled with poems of the past, written to her by her old boyfriend whom she now hated. The lid to the shoe box in which they were located had slipped off of its NICHE after her last fit of rage as she angrily cast them under the bed. I climbed in and took a seat on her dresser, reminiscing with the memories. As I sat, dead still, the air around me ceased to move as the thoughts took motion. Memories of the past three years surfaced, some good, some not. I recalled the countless nights that I had sat in this very spot, the tension building and the adrenaline pumping, my blood boiling, yet I could not move for fear of waking her. Mentally cataloging each event of her life, I would return home each day and compile a small document, stored deep within my computer. To retain the details my memory had to be sharp, and it was. My hand slowly moved for the sheath, securely fastened to my ankle, as I brought my knee towards my chin. A chill caught me when I came into contact with the hilt. The dagger slipped free of the leather with fluid ease. The blade, honed to a near-perfect edge, reflected the full moon and pierced the darkness of the room. As a final reconsideration, I rested my chin upon my knee and closed my eyes, the events running through my head as they had eternally before. Bracing myself, I lifted my body to my feet and strode to the bedside. She lie undisturbed, unknowing. Unknowing of her being watched. Unknowing of her being under constant study. Her death would be quick and painless, but most of all, unexpected. I now stand here, poised with blade, ready to do the deed. I raise my leg, bent at the knee and lie it upon the bed. I grimace with caution as I shift my weight to the leg, wishing not to disturb her. Every muscle in my body tenses as I lean forward to kiss the victim. Her perfume wafts up and fills my nostrils. I am now close enough that I can feel the warmth of her body washing off of her face, the still cast of her heat being thrown upon my cheek. She blinks, turns, screams. Panic. I raise the steel high in the air and slash it across her throat. Her arteries open up and spill forth their bounty, soaking the silk and changing its intended color. She falls lifeless at my hands and I gape. What have I done? I did not come here with the intention of killing her, did I? She scared me, its her fault. I wouldn't have done it if she hadn't screamed. How could she? Her beauty now blind to me, rage filled my soul. I slashed repeatedly at her body, her wrists, face, ribs, any flesh available to be cut. How could she? I had loved her from a distance. She knew not of her surveillance, why did she scream? How could she? The lace stained in crimson veins as the blood trickled over it. My stomach turned as I knelt at the mutilation. I bent over the side of the bed and expelled my supper. I then left, got into my car and drove to the police station, where I turned myself in. How could she? Dustin Rodriguez RD #4 Box 314 Moundsville, WV 26041 email: MJHSBB@wvnvaxa.wvnet.edu Bill Burrall Moundsville Junior High 401 Tomlinson Ave. Moundsville, WV 26041 ----------------------------------------- GRANDMA by Nikki Keller I get upset very easy but it never affectd my school work or my life. One thing that did affect my school work and mostly my life was the death of my Grandma. My grandma was always a happy lady. She was always smiling. When she wasnt smiling it was because she might have just watched a sad movie or maybe just got a shot. My Grandma was very important to me. Whenever I needed help she always knew what to do. I always used to visit my Grandma, but before she died I hadnt visited as often. I tried to visit her as much as I could and I think she knew that. My Grandma went to Mercy Hospital. She liked that hospital very much. She worked there as an admissions supervisor for 22 years. She had to retire early because of her disabilities, but she still continued to work as a volunteer at the hospital. My Grandma was very proud of how much time she put in at Mercy Hospital. Grandma Kane said she was going to hit 65 years old soon, but she died when she was 64. Just one month before her 65th birthday. My Grandma died on October 11, 1993 at 10:27 a.m.. I remember that day perfectly. My Gandma was admitted to Mercy Hospital on September 23, 1993, for congestive heart failure. My Grandma was comfortable at Mercy Hospital because she knew so many of the peoole who worked there. Another reason she was comfortable at Mercy was because my mother and her sister work there also. When my Grandma was feeling better the doctor sent her home. I think she came home a little too early. When she first came home she had an oxygen tank by her side all the time. When she got up, she had to leave it behind. Whenever she moved about, she would breath very deeply and was having trouble catching her breath. This scared me very much. That night my Grandma ran out of oxygen so my mom called her friends in the emergency room and they said they would give her a tank of oxygen. I went out to the hospital with my mother and we picked up the oxygen tank. We took the oxygen back to my Grandmas and stayed with her for a while until my aunt and uncle got there. The next afternoon, I learned from my mother that an ambulance had to take my Grandma back to the hospital. I was happy that my Grandma made it to the hospital safe, but I was sad because she was sick again. While she was in the hospital I visited he almost every day. She was on the intensive care floor in room 624 by the nurses station. The room was fairly big. Against the right wall was her hospital bed which she couldnt lay in because of her back problem. She needed a recliner chair to sleep in and it was about five feet away from the bed. The bathroom was right beside her chair. Whenever I would go to visit, she told me about how nice the nurses were. I think she wanted me to become a nurse because she was always saying things to me about the nursing profession. My Grandmas doctors told her that her kidneys were failing and that she was going to have to go on kidney dialysis. This worried my mother and our family because her heart would have to work harder to handle all the fluid in her body while they were doing the kidney dialysis. Grandmas condition started to get a little better over the next couple of days. They were preparing her for kidney dialysis. Then the condition took a turn for the worse and they said they were going to try emergency kidney dialysis. She needed to be transferred to Altoona Hospital because they have a dialysis unit there. I wasnt very happy about my Grandma having to move to Altoona Hospital because I dont know as much about the place. The people there didnt seem to be friendly. They told my mother, my aunt and uncle that they would not be able to stay with my Grandma in her room because their policy doesnt allow it. This upset them because Grandma was very sick now. My mother told them that their policy has no human element and that they could not take away our right to comfort Grandma or Grandmas right to have us there to comfort her. My uncle, a very big man, told them that they intended to stay, one at a time, with Grandma, and that they better have some large security officers. After all this happened, my dad and I went out and got supper for everyone who was staying at the hospital. When I got to the hospital, I wanted to see my Grandma. My Aunt Terri took me back to see her. When I first saw Grandmas room, I got worried because her room was so small and she has a fear of small closed in spaces. The room number was 825. When I saw Grandma she was sitting in a chair with a little hospital gown on and she didnt have her wig on. She didnt like it when she looked this way, but I thought she looked cute. She was sleeping at first. When she heard me whisper she awakened. She looked very sick and unlike herself. I guess I just didnt realize how sick she was until I walked into her room that night. She asked my Aunt Terri for some ice chips. Then she said to me Come give Grandma a hug. I love you Nikki. I said I love you too Grandma. Then I left her room quickly because I didnt want her to see me cry. Those were the last words I said to my Grandma. My aunt Terri took me home. My mother was taking a shower and getting ready to go back out to the hospital to stay the night with Grandma. I was so worried about Grandma, I couldnt think of anything but going with my mother to be with her. At first, my mother said that I shouldnt go because it was too frightening. But I said I wanted Grandma to know I was there. I was too worrried to go to school, and my mother didnt make me go. I remember sleeping in the waiting room and waking up around 7:00 a.m. My mother took me down to the hospital cafeteria for some breakfast. We had just returned to the waiting room and my aunt Terri came and told my mother to come quick. I was so nervous. I became sick to my stomach because I didnt know what was going on. I ran to the couch in the waiting room and laid down because I think I finally realized that Grandma might die. My mother came back a few times and told me that Grandma was not doing very well. I remember thinking it is not fair for her to have to suffer like this. My mother called my uncle and my other aunt to come back to the hospital right away. Finally, after about two hours, my mother came into the waiting room. She asked me to come with her and took me into the bathroom. I remember her saying, Its over, about three times. At first, I didnt understand what she meant. I asked her What do you mean. Then she said, Grandmas dead. NO I screamed, I didnt get to say good bye. I asked if Grandma knew I was here. My mother said Grandma knew but she didnt want me to see her the way she was. My mother told me that Grandma told her to tell me she loved me. A few minutes later, I went back into the bathroom by myself and cried some more. I said WHY? Why her? When I said this I looked toward the ceiling as if I was asking God. I wish he would of answered me with a good explanation. THE FUNERAL When I first walked into where my Grandmas casket was , I didnt want to look at her. I couldnt imagine seeing her laying there in a casket. When I finally did look at her, I remember thinking, Thats not my Grandma, because she didnt look like herself. She wasnt happy looking. It was the first time I saw her laying down. When I walked over and touced her hand it was very cold. A lot of people came to the funeral home to see Grandma. I didnt know most of the people that walked in, but I had heard my Grandma talk of them when she was living. I remember one man who came into the room. He looked like a tall Phil Donahue. He was my Grandmas first cousin. He told me how my Grandma used to tell him how pround she was of me. When he told me this it made me cry because it made me miss her even more. My Grandmas funeral seemed to last forever. I can hardly remember what the priest was saying. I got so sick during the funeral. After he was done talking I hurried to the bathroom while everyone was paying their last respects. I felt terrible for not paying my last respects, but I apologized while I was praying that night. After the funeral, we went straight to the graveyard. My Grandma was being buried beside my Pappa and her parents. The priest spoke a few moments and then read a poem my Grandma wrote. All I remember of the poem is the first sentence which said Dont stand at my graveside and weep, for I am not there. Only my body is gone, my soul is still among you. These were not the exact words and there was much which I dont remember. After the poem, I cried even though she said not to stand there and weep. Then we went to our church. They were nice enough to prepare a lunch for our family. When we got there the ladies sat us down and we said a prayer. After lunch we went home and cried some and talked to my great aunts about Grandma and when they were young. That night, I told my brother that I didnt want him to go back to college and that I wanted him to stay. He said he had to go back to college on Monday. I went upstairs to change my clothes. While I was changing, it felt to me like my Grandma was still alive. I told my mom this and she agreed with me. She said Grandma will always be with you - in your memories and in your heart. I wrote this in rememberance of my Grandma Kane. Nikki Keller ------------------------------------------- CONFUSED MINDS by Rachelle King i am so alone that no one understands me. i am so alone that i dont care no more. mama tries, i know she does, but there comes a time that you need to venture on your own, or take the responsibilities for others, so that you grow up too fast, much too fast, and advance to the next level, adulthood. friends say that i need to be more loose, instead of a mother-like person and be a teenager. is that what i am? is this what a teenager should be? a miniature mother hen that watches over younger siblings and takes charge until mama and papa come home? too much responsibilities, that they are on endless lists that keep falling, falling, falling, until no man or creature can see them? if not, then i am not a teenager, but at the line of adulthood, or so it seems. she cant understand me, no one can. i keep my emotions, of the good and the bad, inside so far in that only i can see them. no one can understand how i feel, not even me. is this reality or a fantasy? which is it? if a fantasy, why cant i get out just to take a breather, or lift the weight of stress and, oh, so many responsibilities that i cant breathe, drowning in the sea of distant childhoods, with what i wanted to be. endless fights or encounters with her always seem disastrous, whatever the cause, whatever the reason in which i feel. utterly alone, with only my emotions or kind help or advice from a good friend. she understands how i feel. she practically went through it herself, but she came out perfect. what about me? am i so messed up that i can not come out that way? with perfect relationships that cross her path, and yet that will never happen to me. i will always be alone. Rachelle King 171 North Main Street Pleasant Gap, PA 16823 Bellefonte High School 830 East Bishop Street Bellefonte, PA 16823-2395 ----------------------------------------------- THE NEXT LOGICAL STEP by Jill Colleen Peachell Cecily wanted a home pregnancy test. She told me this matter-of-factly as she stood behind me in my kitchen, watching me make a sandwich. I almost dropped the knife I was spreading mustard with. Whirling around, I stared at her flawless, expressionless face, trying to judge whether she was joking or not. But Cecily doesnt joke. And the more blank her face, the more serious the problem. Cecily has this incredible (and annoying) way of remaining calm and reserved at all times. Shes almost like a mannequin, except they have perpetual smiles on their beautiful faces, not eternal peace. Ive never seen Cecily lose her cool, not even when she caught Matt with that girl. She simply, without blinking, turned around and walked right out of the party. Of course, Matt fell all over himself, as all guys do around Cecily, trying to explain and beg her forgiveness. It took him a whole week of begging and bombarding her with presents until one day she just said, All right. That was it - just All right all of a sudden. And theyve been back together since then. A lot of girls call Cecily the Ice Princess because they think shes so cold and unfeeling. But theyre wrong, because Cecily is really a terrific, kind, generous person whod do anything for someone she considers her friend. Its just that not many people are allowed to see that side of her. Cecily, what do you mean? I sputtered, my mind racing with a zillion different thoughts at once, as I gazed in complete shock at her. She reached over, took a pickle and bit into it. Which part didnt you understand? she said through the pickle in her mouth. I shifted my weight impatiently. Thats not funny. She looked at me calmly with her huge doe eyes. It wasnt meant to be. A lot of girls are beautiful. Cecily is not. She is, as one of our friends once said, too perfect to be beautiful. She has these fantastic dark green eyes, this luminous olive skin. Her beauty is almost haunting. I sighed. Cecily, just cut that out... Are you pregnant? She smiled. Thats what I need the test for. Werent you listening? I decided I needed to sit down. Sit, I ordered her. She sat. How could you be pregnant? I demanded, when she remained silent. She twisted a strand of her hair thoughtfully. I guess I forgot to take one pill... One pill, she echoed in amazement. Can you imagine? Isnt that crazy? She was actually amused by this! I was at a loss for words. Finally, I managed to say, Cecily, you never told me you and Matt...are having... I paused awkwardly. Sex? Cecily supplied quietly. Yes, we are. Well, thats obvious now! I snapped. She looked hurt. Dont be mad, Kate. Please. I - we - we have been friends for a long time. She turned her head away, a lock of hair slipping off her shoulder and hiding her face, but not before I saw the tears glistening in her eyes. Ive never seen Cecily cry - ever. I immediately went to put my hand on her arm, but she sprang up and began to finish making my sandwich, doing everything in slow motion. I let her do this, her back to me, her voice low as she said, We decided a while ago that this was...the next logical step. The next logical step! I exclaimed in anger. Cecily, having sex is not like solving a math problem! How can you talk ?! The next logical step, she repeated, as if I hadnt spoken, a strange note of defeat in her voice. And so we did it. And were still doing it, because where do you go from there? And its really not that great - I always thought it would be so magical... But its not. And...and... Her voice caught and she gave this little whimper, bowing her head, her elbows on the counter. I held back my own tears, uncertain what to do. Here was Cecily, breaking down in my very own kitchen, and I had no idea what to say or do. What do you do when the strongest person you know suddenly acts human? But then she was up again, frantically finishing off the sandwich, cutting it, putting it on a plate, all the while chattering about what kind of test would be the best and where to get it. Does Matt know? This had suddenly occurred to me. No. I cant load this on him. I cant tell him that. Her words were quick and emphatic. I felt funny talking to her back. Cecily, I began hesitantly, You have to tell him some time... She ignored this, and I fell silent, knowing it wouldnt help to give her advice. She would only pull away more. By the time she presented the sandwich to me, she had a smile on her face which didnt quite make it to those eyes. Ta da, she said unsteadily, tears in her voice. She cleared her throat. Well, I guess... Cecily, I cut in softly, when I couldnt stand it any longer. Cecily, are you okay? She seemed to be looking at my forehead as she said briskly, Of course I am. Then she picked up her purse off the table. Listen, Kate, Ive got to run. Got a millions things to do, she said lamely. Right, but the only one that mattered was watching the contents of a plastic cup turn different colors, colors that could decide her life. You might not be, I offered in the brightest tone I could manage. She headed for the door. Yeah. Like she was politely agreeing with an adoring relative who thought she might become a rocket scientist someday. I hurried to join her at the door. Cecily... I hated the way my voice gave out then. Tears filled my eyes and I looked pleadingly at my friend. She looked away with tortured eyes, opening the door. Ill be seeing you Kate, she whispered, bravely standing up straighter as she said this. Do you want me to come? I will. Really, I will. She shook her head. No. No, Ill...Ill let you know. I said, Fine. She looked at me like she was about to say something, then changed her mind. Goodbye, she said instead. I watched her gently close the door, and then I stood, rooted to the spot, listening as her car door slammed shut and the car started up and then gently faded away. Then, I went back to the kitchen and ate my sandwich, my eyes on the phone across the room. Jill Colleen Peachell 26 Principal Bay Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada R2G 3L2 Miles MacDonell Collegiate 757 Roch Street Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada R2K 2R1 ------------------------------------------ Please Distribute this notice to all who might be interested... TEEN AUTHORS ELECTRONIC JOURNAL TEEN AUTHORS is the name of a new electronic journal which hopes to publish works by world-wide authors in middle, junior high, and high school (generally ages 11-18). (The first notice indicated the title would be Young Authors Electronic Journal; however, we inadvertently came too close to a periodical already in existence called Young Authors Magazine.) The editors of TEEN AUTHORS are seeking original works in any genre or form; there are no limitations. The editors will work with authors whose work receives a favorable review but may need some revision before publication. CASH PRIZES ($25, $15, & $10) will be awarded to the top three works published in each journal issue in categories divided across TWO age groups: early-teen (11-14) and late teen (15-18). Again these works might be of any type or length. Published authors, and their school library, can receive a hard copy of the journal issue at duplication cost, unless we can secure additional funding for the journal. The electronic journal is currently available on the Internet by anonymous FTP; we are working on a World Wide Web version as well and it will be availabe at some future time in the same host/ subdirectory. FTP Address: WWW Address: http:// The editors plan to publish 3 times per year; however, final decisions will be determined by the response to each call for manuscripts. SUBMISSION DEADLINE: Authors' works are accepted at any time. Each issue has a deadline at which time the review for that issue begins: Fall review begins September 15; Spring review begins January 30; and Summer review begins June 30. All submitted manuscripts receive comments from the reviewers, and some are reviewed for future issues if they do not make the final review. We welcome resubmission after authors receive reviewers' comments. Issue dates are July 31, November 30, and April 30. We will increase the number of issues if submissions warrant. SUBMIT TO: (Electronic submission highly preferred) E-Mail: JMM12@psuvm.psu.edu Fax: Jamie Myers at (USA) 814-863-7602 Mail: Jamie Myers, 260 Chambers, Penn State University, University Park, PA, 16802, USA. Submissions assume the author's permission to publish; the journal itself will not be copyrighted. All submissions must be accompanied with the following information: Author's name, age, address, and phone number; Author's school name, address, and phone number. Please distribute this call to all Teen authors you know!! Questions welcome.