Posts tagged young
Master

Some people call me master. Truth is, I’m still a student. I’m no guru, no leader, no expert. Except of course on the subject of I. Most of my life has been a journey filled with discoveries about I. And the only thing that truly makes me special is that I have payed attention to the lessons I have been taught about I.

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Pink Tutu

I’m at the park sitting on a bench next to the playground watching Kisa, my little sister, having fun with the other kids. After punching the daylights out of Patrick Steelston, our history teacher, Mr. Berk, dragged me to the principal’s office – where I was soundly reprimanded and suspended for a week.

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What a Jerk

I’ve been pacing in front of Lina’s locker since I arrived at school, waiting for her to finally get here. What’s taking her so long?! She didn’t text me all weekend and I’m worried about her. I lean against her locker and sigh as I start at the mingling crowd of high schoolers. A couple of girls walk by giggling and I roll my eyes. Girls.

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This is For Me (Not for You)

Yesterday, someone told me forgiveness is more for the forgiver than the forgiven. And that very evening I saw you again for the first time in six months. For a moment, when I first recognized you, I had the inexplicable urge to turn and run. My legs stumbled and my muscles tensed, ready to take off, with or without my full consent. And then my logic kicked in.

 

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Happiness is Whatever I Choose It to Be

As the fall semester of my sophomore year comes to a close, thoughts of my first year as a college student keep wandering into my mind. In high school, I wasn't really into creative writing. I was used to writing research papers. And I thought myself horrible at writing! Then, I entered college and my English professor, Mr. D., encouraged us to be creative... WHAT?! 

 

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Just the Beginning

Flipping the open sign to CLOSED, Soleil Blackbird locked Writer’s Block, the resident idea shop in Elkwood. Carrying a variety of ideas, from great too horrible, the little shop was always busy. The majority of clients were authors, but several game designers, playwrights, and film writers frequented the shop as well. 

 

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Pink Blanket

Smoke rises from the ground. Two piles of rubble still in flames smolder and shift. An ambulance and fire truck race, sirens blaring lights flashing violently. A long line of red trails behind the crash, as cars hit their brakes and try to get out of the way. Traffic slows to a crawl. Cop cars fly down the road from the opposite direction. The cars look like ants from the news helicopters, circling the site buzzards.

 

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In Love with Hot Cross Buns

You follow the sound of the piano down the hall to the sun room. It’s so beautiful, enormous and filling you to the brim with emotion that you can’t quite define. He sits there on the black bench, eyes closed, long delicate fingers dancing on the keys as if with a mind of their own. You’ve never seen something, heard something, felt something so beautiful. Sitting there in his t-shirt and jeans, playing the piano like an old friend. 

 

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Dear Spain

The guest speaker stands at the front of the room, words of encouragement spilling from her mouth. Boredom and excitement wash through the students. I’m in a chair, Raina is on the table in front of me. The speaker’s words bob and weave through quiet chatter. Study Abroad. Summer. Spain. Japan. Africa. 

 

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