Troubles of Having Glasses

This meme I made perfectly describes everyone's life with glasses. Anyone growing up with glasses can identity, I'm sure. It's the most annoying thing in the world when someone asks to try on your glasses. Like, excuse you, I need them to see, mind you!

Letter From Jamestown

So I had this project in history class where I had to write from the perspective of someone in the original settlement of Jamestown. We are studying American History so almost all of these events are historically accurate. Of course, I made up some parts. Here it is:

March 30, 1610

Dear Mother,

I’m ever so sorry I ran from home. I had it in my mind that the

New World would be better. How wrong I was. Mother, it has been dreadful!

Where was my head when I thought this would benefit me, Mother? I was only fourteen! A terribly foolish boy with no sense of right and wrong. We were all hopeful, yet had no right to be if we knew what fate would be thrust upon us.

Oh, Mother! We took to the first river we saw for we were so desperate to land. And there we settled. We built our little town (which was to be named Jamestown for our king) and tried to establish a life. But oh how different surviving is from living! And in a few months, Mother, we were already grasping life by only our fingertips.

People would fall suddenly ill and no one knew why. I had quite a fever myself. Most that fell sick would die. But not us younger ones. And oh how quickly our food ran out! And none of the men are willing to farm more to sustain us. We tried to trade with the Indians, but those savages wouldn’t aid us!

But then, Mother, appeared John Smith - a god, a savior. The silver lining. He created a friendly relationship with the savages and everything seemed alright for a while. But soon our hero was sent back to England for he suffered an injury. And as if he were the only strand keeping us together, everything fell apart again.

Winter was approaching and we didn’t have sufficient food to last us through it. We sent thirty-six men with Francis West to barter with the Indians. They never returned, Mother. We fear the savages killed them.

The winter was absolutely horrendous. We ate roots, weeds, rats, leather - whatever we could find. And soon even those things weren’t options. Oh Mother, I never knew human flesh tasted so good. We would bury the dead, but soon enough the bodies would be dug up again and eaten. Mother, I cringe at our miscreance, our desperate intentions. And not only that, but the savages would attack us at random and without warning. The other three boys here, my three friends, died in just this way. I never got to tell them how much they meant to me. I cried for days, Mother. The last words I said to them were “You’re all idiots -  the three of you.” For they had asked me if I wanted to get out of the town into the forest. The Indians were just outside the gates. And I saw them go, Mother. James, Richard, and Nathaniel - gone. The arrows through their bodies… I can’t think of it.

But recently, Mother, ships have arrived and saved us. I have made new friends, though they will never be like James, Nathaniel, and Richard. And a man, John Rolfe, married the Indian princess Pocahontas. We are all well now. There is peace.

I miss you terribly and I always will, Mother. Perhaps I will come back to England one day. Or you can visit here. I promise there is no more danger. Until next time, Mother. I love you.

Your son,

Samuell Collier

Good Mixed in with the Bad

Good Mixed in with the Bad

“I hate you! Go away! You don’t understand!” Chase shouted and slammed the door in his parents’ face. He pushed in the lock.

“Chase you open this door right now!” he heard his father demand. The doorknob shook violently.

“No! I won’t!”

Chase flopped onto his bed and slammed his fist on the wall in frustration. He hated his life.

It all started this morning when he woke up and found he had nothing to wear for picture day. He had had to borrow his father’s old-schooled flannel and khakis. When he entered the bathroom, he saw the horrible red bumps on his face in the mirror. The worst case of acne he had ever had. After frantically washing his face with water multiple times, hoping that the zits would magically go away, he trudged down stairs and begun making his usual scrambled eggs.

There, Chase poured a little bit of cooking oil in the frying pan and waited for the oil to heat up. He opened his fridge and took out two raw eggs. He cracked one egg on the counter and emptied it into the pan. The gooey yolk bobbed around in the white of the egg, but only for a second, because as soon as the egg touched the hot oil, the egg white became somewhat solid and sizzled.

He hit the other egg on the counter gently, and it did not crack. He hit it again, harder, and its shell exploded.

Little egg shell fragments and goo ran down his father’s pant and shoes. It was disgusting.

Chase ran to the sink and frantically began to scrub off the raw egg with water. As he was so carelessly doing so, a bit of water splashed back to the stove. As the water and oil met, the oil crackled and an overwhelming smell of burning filled the air.

An aggravating and earsplitting BEEP, BEEP, BEEP followed. The fire alarm had gone off.

Chase jumped back to the stove and turned it off. He moved the pan from the stove into the sink, and the still fizzing oil lept from the pan and mildly burned his upper arm.

He quickly ran cold water over his burn and dabbed on a little baking soda, as his mother had always told him to do in the case of a burn.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!!!

Chase took a chair from the table and positioned it under the fire alarm. He pushed the button to mute it. He stepped down from the chair and put it back. How quiet the room now seemed. How tranquil.

He padded back upstairs to change his clothes. Then he collapsed onto his bed and covered his eyes with his forearm. The warm sheets engulfed him like a mother’s hug.

He could tell that this was going to be a bad day.

“Chase!” his mother called after a few minutes. “Let’s go. I’ve got to be at work by eight thirty today so hurry up!”

Chase lazily slipped off his bed and walked downstairs. His mom was already at the door, putting on her coat that was as black as oblivion.

He laced up his Nikes and threw on a jacket.

“Chase, it’s picture day.” His mom fixed him with a serious glare.

He stared right back into her eyes. “I don’t care anymore.”

“But what about Katy? What will she think?”

“Mom, Katy and I have been together since sophomore year. I doubt my girlfriend as of two going on three years will care how I dress.”

“Fine…” She finally gave in but still gave him that look that read, my son looks like a hobo going to a debutante ball.

Not that Chase cared.

School was actually fine for him until PE class, which was when the pictures would be taken.

As the line got significantly shorter, like a snake entering a deep dark hole under the earth, Chase got more and more anxious about his attire. Maybe he sould have worn something nicer. And when his turn finally came up, he stood on the red X nervously.

“Stand facing the corner,” the photographer instructed. “That’s it, a little more to the left. Now turn your head towards me. Just a little more, and another inch more towards me. That’s it. Now stay still.”

Just as the camera man poised his fingertip over the professional camera, Chase felt a sudden itch on his nose. He quickly reached up to relieve the irritation, and a blinding white flash of lightning emerged from the camera.

A few minutes later Chase retrieved his student ID card and stared at his photo. A strand from his caramel colored hair was sticking straight up. Why hadn’t he worn gel? And one of his startling green eyes was more closed than the other. And worst of all, his finger was scratching the itch he had felt and it looked like he was picking his nose.

Great, just great. His photo in the yearbook would be the worst yet. And in senior year too! Gosh his life was messed up. What had he done to deserve this punishment or a day?

After school, Chase met up with Katy at the front of the school.

“Can I see your photo?” She said.

“No. Can I see yours?”

“Only if I can see yours.”

“Then no,” Chase insisted.

Then Katy looked him straight in the eye, “Chase…”

An uncomfortable feeling rose up in his gut, a vacuum sucking up his insides. This was not good news, he could tell.

“Chase, this isn't going to work out anymore.”

“W-what?”

“I sort of like this other guy…”

“Oh, oh yeah, whatever, no problem. Um… Okay.”

A punch in the heart. A scrape to the head. A fracture to his foot. Anything would’ve been less painful.

“W-who?” Chase stuttered. Then cleared his throat. “Who is it I mean.”

She averted her gaze, “Anthony Harwell…”

Ouch. Chase’s archenemy from second grade. He’d always hated him. Why did she have to go and like him? Out of all the guys she could’ve chosen, Anthony Harwell. Just perfect.

And it hurt. Hurting someone could be just as simple as throwing a stone into the ocean, but you have no idea how deep that stone can sink. And this stone sunk into the Mariana Trench of Chase’s soul.

“Oh,” he replied. “Cool. Well I hope he treats you alright…?”

“Thanks,” Katy replied awkwardly, turned around, and left.

And he couldn’t help but feel like those were the last words she’s ever say to him and vise versa.

Katy was supposed to drive him to his drivers test, since she had gotten hers a few weeks before, but now Chase had to call his mom.

“She won’t be happy,” Chase thought to himself.

But he dialed her number anyway and waited.

Brrrring, brrrring, brrrring. It took a total of five rings before she answered. And she was not pleased to do so.

“Chase Warden! I was in the middle of a business meeting! How dare you call me now of all times?!”

“Mom,” he replied meekly, “Katy broke up with me and I don’t have someone to drive me there or to borrow their car.”

She hesitated. “I’m sorry about Katy, but can you wait another hour until my meeting is finished?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She hung up and Chase could picture her going back into the meeting room trying to be discreet and apologizing to whoever was presenting.

He kept waiting at the front of the school with the weight of Katy’s betrayal holding him down. He would never be the same again, would he? He had been sure that Katy was the one. The One. The Special One. But I guess not. And if it really was meant to be, fate would find a way in the end. If not, then there had to be someone else out there.

A little over an hour later, Chase was in his mom’s car and ready to take his driving test. The driving overseer was sitting shotgun.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come along, Honey?”

“Ugh, Mom. I can do this alone you know. Please don’t come. I’ll be back soon.”

She stepped away from the door, hurt. Chase felt a little sorry, but he was in a bit of a cranky mood considering how bad his day had been going so far, so he looked ahead and waited for the instructor’s approval to start.

“Okay, Mr. Warden, please begin.”

Chase turned the ignition key. He felt like he was unlocking a door into his future. After this single day, nothing would be the same. Funny how much can happen in one life, one year, one month, one day, one second, just a single moment.

He took a step through that door as he pushed on the gas pedal and was off. Through the door. Into his future.

“Turn left here,” the instructor said after a few moments.

Chase switched lanes and turned on the flashing left tail light. Then he waited for the light to turn green.

What had Katy seen in Anthony? He wasn’t anything special! Then again, Chase himself wasn’t either. But why Anthony? Chase had despised Anthony since the second grade and Katy knew that. How dare she like him?

“Mr. Warden! The light is green!”

Chase smiled sheepishly and turned left.

A screech of tires, shouts, headlights exploding, the airbags ejecting, thrown forward against his seat belt, hitting his chest on the wheel. More shouts.

He had almost hit some stupid pedestrian that had been crossing the street while the crosswalk light was red. Chase had swerved and hit a telephone pole.

The drive inspector was swearing at him and so were the bystanders. He turned red as a ripe apple and shouted. “WELL FOR GOD’S SAKE AT LEAST NO ONE DIED!”

The seat belt had given him a bruise where it had restrained him and he would surely have a bump on his head from the steering wheel, but other than that, everything was okay. But what would his mom say…? He had wrecked her car and failed his test miserably.

Chase had never believed in luck, but given the last few occurrences of today, bad luck did seem to take an extreme liking to him.

After the police had come and driven them back to the car agency, Chase felt the most reluctant that he ever had in his life to face his mother.

“Chase Warden what did you think you were doing? That was not a cheap car at all! And a fairly new one too! You are grounded for six months, young man. Just wait until your father hears about this!” She exploded as soon as the police explained.

And the shouting went on and on and on, endlessly.

“Mom, at least I didn’t kill anyone, okay?! I could’ve died, or the darned pedestrian could’ve died! But hey, guess what?! NO ONE DIED! It’s okay! Stop yelling no one cares!”

And that was the wrong thing to say.

“No one cares? NO ONE CARES? ARE YOU INSANE? My eighteen year old son took his driving test and almost killed someone!”

“But I didn't!”

More yelling and telling off from his mother. Then she called his dad to come and pick the two of them up with his car.

Chase got into his dad’s car a few minutes later and refused to speak to anyone.

“Chase…” his dad began

“No. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t particularly care either,” Chase shot back, ignoring the possible consequences.

Silence followed and lasted for the remaining time of the trip back to their house from the car agency.

Chase stormed up to his room as soon as they entered the house. His parents tried to follow.

“I hate you!” He shouted as they again tried to talk to him. He slammed the door and flung himself onto his bed. A numbing pain filled his hand after he slammed it on the wall out of frustration.

They just didn’t get it! Any of it! How many times had they been dumped by the person they thought would be their significant other? How many times had they almost killed someone taking their very first driving test? God, help him. His life sucked.

Hours passed, and Chase didn’t move. Then, in the dark of night, with his parents in bed, he sat abruptly up in bed.

He would run. Away. Far away. And since he had no car, he would take his skateboard. He would be a runaway.

Chase didn’t bother to leave a note or to pack any belongings. He simply left and neglected to put on his helmet.

He was surprised to see how many cars there actually were driving around at 1:00 in the morning.

He kept pushing the skateboard on and on with his right foot. He didn’t want to feel anything right now. No thoughts, no emotions, no pain. But they came to him anyway.

Katy. A person who valued him would never have put themselves in a position to lose him. Yet… He had thought Katy valued him. She couldn’t have been pretending right? Two full years together. If Chase took out his phone - right now - and texted Katy that he missed her, would it mean anything to her? Anything at all?

He drowned in sorrow and regret and misery. Looking straight ahead, a stoic expression on his stone hard face.

A red light. Turning the corner. Driving drunk. Swerving out of control. Flying, weightless. No helmet. Pain. Darkness…

***

“Chase. Chase please, Honey. Wake up. Please.”

Crying. Fuzzy faces. People in white. Plastic tubes. Scary metal tools. “Chase” over and over again. More sobbing.

The images cleared and he was lying in a hospital bed. Plain perfect white sheets. His parent standing above him. The multiple doctors monitoring his heart rate and whatnot.

He sat up and pain shot through to his head. He lay down again.

“W-wha.”

“Shh… Sweetie, it’s alright,” his mother whispered consolingly.

“What happened, Mom? Dad?”

“You got hit by a drunk driver, Son,” his father informed him softly. “You have a few skull fractures and more minor fractures in your arms and legs.”

“But I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s good. Because if you did, you’d probably pass out unconscious again,” one of the nurses informed him.

He stared at the ceiling and let the chaos around him rage on. He didn’t want to think right now.

He wanted to be thankful, and he was. No matter how bad today had been, his life was the life someone less fortunate was praying for. And besides, it was a bad day. A single bad day, not a bad life. Life would continue on, but if there is no bad mixed in with the good, how would anyone know what good was?

Sorry it seems a little rushed. I wrote this for English class and it already exceeded the page limit so I sort of had to rush it.  Hope you enjoy though!

Terrorist Attacks of 9/11/01

I actually wrote all this. And ouch. Everyone, please stop thinking that you have a horrible life. Do you see how FORTUNATE you are? JUST to be ALIVE today? So stop thinking your life sucks, because compared to other lives, you're living the ideal life.

#GrowingUpWithGlasses

CAN ANYONE ELSE RELATE TO THIS OR IS IT JUST ME?!

Strength - Very Short Story

Strength

I jumped. Then I changed my mind.

Until a few moments ago, I was sure there was nothing to live for anymore. But now… Maybe things would have gotten better, but I hadn’t considered that a moment ago. It’s too late now.

The wind is rushing up around me. It seemed to be screaming, “Fool! What have you done?!” I closed my eyes. Tears are moving up my face with the wind. My hair whipped out of my braid. My throat was tight with regret.

I tried not to think about the jagged rocks in the water below me. It’s too late now.

My heart beat one last time and stopped forever.

><><><

Darkness.

Suddenly, a projection popped up. “Game Over” it read. Below it were two options, “End Game” and “Try Again”.

Everyone should have a second chance, right? Not that I knew what this meant, but trying again sounded good. I hit the button that read “Try Again”, not sure what I was getting into.

><><><

I am Victoria Young. Fourteen years old. Living with a single mother in a house. She is at work often, and I am left home alone.  

As I am now. Reading.

The rain pounds on the window. Lightning cracks the sky open. The thunder sounds as if it’s here to take over the world. The sky is gray and gloomy. The outside air isn’t fresh, like it usually is when it rains, instead it feels suffocating, thick.

Reading. The house is gray and dark. I’m reading with a small lamp that projects minimal, dim light. I’m still reading, and it’s still raining, when the long, twisted, bony fingers appeared. With their unbelievably long nails, they scrape along the glass, creating a horrible screech.

Horror like I’ve never felt it before hits me.

Five scratches are left on the window. And I am inside, with nothing but a book to protect me.

I am frozen. I tell my legs to move, to run, but they don’t respond.

At the window, a face appears. It is abnormally pale with brown blemishes. He’s old and looks to be made out of nothing but bone and skin. A scar runs from his brow to his jaw. One eye is white and useless where the scar runs through it. He looks and seems human, but I know that he isn't. I can feel it. A feeling of panic fill me and further alerts me of his presence.

The man stares at me, and I am too terrified to break it. His other eye is a faded blue color, his white hair blazing against the grayness.

He turns his head to the front door slowly. Then looks back at me. He turns his whole body in the direction of the door and walks to it with his gangly legs.

There is a knock on the door, and as if I was under hypnosis, unable to resist, I walked to it, and opened it.

Then I came to my senses and screamed. It was a gruesome sound. The windows around the house rattled. Plates broke in the kitchen. But the man, that dreadful ghostly man, just stood there, staring at me, waiting for me to finish screeching.

I would have continued for hours, but my voice broke and I stopped. He smiled darkly, a snake’s smile. One that petrified its victims and makes terror run up and down its veins.

His arms reached out to me slowly, and in that second, my legs decided to run for it.

Up the stairs, down the hall, and to my room. I whacked the door shut, locked it, and calmed myself. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. I repeated the method five times.

Abruptly, the sun came out, the sky was blue and the house seemed to became colorful again. My heart slowed down, as if it could sense he was gone. I somehow knew he was. That feeling of panic had vanished.

“Victoria!” Mom called, “I’m home!”

I cautiously opened the door to my room and walked down the stairs. Mom really was home, and the nightmarish man had gone. But where? How had he managed to disappear so suddenly? Was he scared of my mother? If so, I would keep my mother by my side forever more. It had been a nightmare made real.

><><><

The silence woke me.

I don’t know what was so different about it. It didn’t just seem like a lack of noise in the house. It seemed like everyone’s soul had frozen. Everyone in the world.

I sat up, and there, by the foot of my bed was the black silhouette of a tall, thin person.

My heart jumped into my throat and choked my scream.

I was falling.

><><><

I jumped in bed. My heart was thumping hard. It had just been a dream.

It was early morning and it was raining again. Outside was muggy, and the house looked like it was only black and white coloring. The clock read 8:07, which meant that Mom had already gone to work. I was left at the mercy of the inhuman man, again, if he decided to return to haunt me.

I walked down to the kitchen and pulled out two slices of bread to toast from the refrigerator. I slipped them in the toaster and claimed my book. I went to read, again, by that dim light.

Ding! I jumped. It had just been the toaster, even though my heart leapt like it was overcoming an obstacle.

That feeling of horror again.

I walked to the kitchen and gave a small, brief scream.

The man. He was back.

He calmly looked at me, then back at the toaster. He took a non-broken plate from our cupboards and took out my toast. He handed me the plate, but I backed away.

From what I gathered, this man could only move slowly, so speed was essential.

I turned to run again. My feet sprinted. Only-

It was slow.

I felt like I was running though maple syrup. Why couldn’t I sprint?! It was like in a dream, a nightmare.

He came up from behind me. I knew I had to get away.

I suffered the slowness all the way up to my room. As soon as I got to my room, the maple syrup around me vanished.

He was only a few feet from my door, so I slammed it as fast as I could and locked it. Only-

It didn’t fit. There were two inches between the door and the door frame. How could a door shrink?! He could easily reach in. I was sure I was going to die.

He was within a few inches. I would not accept this fate. I would not die in this way. Instead, I ran to my window. It was about a fifteen foot drop. Not enough to kill myself. I would get off with just a few broken bones.

I faced the door again. His wimpy arm reached through the space, slowly. Those long nails were yellow and rough and uncared for. The lock did nothing to stop the door from opening, I guess without being attached to the door frame, a door with a lock was useless. The door swung open. This was it.

In half a second, an idea dinged in my head. In the other half second, I lunged for the book on my bed. It was The Odyssey. A thick, heavy chronicle. Thank God.

I hurled it at the man.

He looked like the book would break his bones, but he caught it in his right hand without taking his lifeless eyes off me.

The window suddenly seemed like a great idea. I stepped up to it and looked down.

“Coward.” He whispered. It was the first word I heard him say. His voice was frail, quiet, and fragile, but in no way gentle. It sounded like a mix of glass breaking, and nails running along a chalk board.

I turned to face him.

“Coward. All you ever do is run from your problems. You are doing it again, now. Fight. Your name means victory. Your personality says something else. Coward.”

No. He was right. I would not run. This time, I would die bravely.

A sword appeared in his hand, “Any last words?”

“Yes, I just want to say that this is stupid.”

I closed my eyes. I did not want to know how my end would come. Yet, I peeked through one eye. He swung hard at my head and it was quick.

><><><

“Game Over”. This time, I hit “End Game”. One life had been enough. I should have made better choices during my first life. Kept my head up and smiled like nothing was bothering me. That was strength, that was valor. The bedroom decapitation was stupid. I had always wanted my last words to be, “I made it.”, but I clearly hadn’t made it.

Strength is smiling the next day like you weren’t crying last night. I had made mistakes in my first life, I cannot deny. But failing is another word for growing. I would have made it. I did not come that far to only come that far in life. I had been fourteen! At least another seventy years was expected. I hadn’t thought of my friends, my family when I had jumped. Only of myself. And what had it brought me? Nothing. Nothing but an even worse second life. I’d learned my lesson. I just wish I could go back to my first life. My school. My family. My friends. God, my friends. I hadn’t had a lot, but the few ones that I did, I had trusted with my life. They had my backs. I had theirs. “To whatever end.” We would always say. None of us thought that the end would be a cliff. I would give anything to talk to them again, to laugh, to smile with them. To share the inside jokes we had harbored. Just one last time.

Here is a very short story that I wrote for my English class narrative in seventh grade last year. It's not my best work but that's okay.