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Insert Poem or short piece

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Every time I see him my mind twists into anger. Never had this level of furry crept into my emotions until I met him.

“He” is my partner in chemistry class, and never seems to care about or even notice that I’m there. His long black hair reaches past his jaw line, and he has the ugliest black eyes that seem constantly squinted. Regardless of these two traits, he is the heart throb of the high school, and I hate him.

Journal Day one: He walked in with his stupid strut, his hair plastered to his forehead from sweat accumulated through running in football practice. He talks for 15 minutes and finally sits down 11 minutes after the bell rings. We, correction, I begin the assignment that was laid in front of us on our table.

5 minutes before class ends he begins to copy my work, but I hide it beneath my notebook. As we exit the classroom he elbows me in the face for not allowing him to copy my work. Now I have a black eye. I should have elbowed him back.

Journal Day two: He walked in 20 minutes late. The sub we had in class today was old, and very loose on the seating chart. As soon as possible, he gave me a look and  left me to sit with his girlfriend. As he sat over there he tipped his chair onto its back two legs. I wish his chair would fall.

Journal day three: We have a lab today. He didn’t wear his goggles even though we were working with acids. I wish I could splash them in his eyes.

Journal day four: I am pleased to say that he is failing the class. He asked me to tutor him considering we have a test in 3 days. I agreed. Keep your enemies close.

Journal day five: First day tutoring him. He is incompetent. It is getting hard to contain myself.

Journal day six: Second day of tutoring. He hit me again and now I have attained two black eyes.

Journal day seven: He didn’t show up to class today.

Journal day eight: we had an assembly for a student death during seminar

Journal day nine: the students funeral was today

Journal day ten: Police showed up at my house today. The look on my mothers face was horrifying when she found out. That look made it clear, I’ve become a monster.

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Should I care for everyone unconditionally?

Should I only care for myself?

What about those who have harmed others?

What about ones who have only helped themselves?

When we start out we are all the same.

New to a place where we’re gonna stay.

Others tell us when we’ve gone too far.

Others tell when we’ve done enough.

They guide us to an unknown place,

And if that unknown place is good or bad

Is up to us to learn by the way others talk.

We had no choice but to follow.

When are you conscious of your own decisions?

Is it when you notice how others talk?

When are you held responsible for where you are?

Is it the second when you are born?

When are you allowed to judge others?

Is it when they’ve harmed another?

When are you allowed to ignore another’s plea?

Is it when they have only thought selfishly?

When do you not give enough?

Can you give too much?

Do you need to help every person in need?

What about only the ones you can feed?

Am I cruel for worrying about who I should help?

Should I just help everyone without a second thought?

These questions are driving me crazy!

I think I’m turning into a monster.

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After I sit in my room, alone with the feeling of discomfort. I sit there with my hand running from my scalp to the ends of my hair and hearing the glass shatter below me. I, Emily Harington, live in a world with the constant feeling of questioning my life. I sit in my bed with my head spinning and my crusty white elephant from when I was four, lying in my bed by my side. Here is my home, every day is the same. I grew up in a wonderful household. I had a great family, two little siblings, and an adorable cat named steve. I don't know why I named him that. I was 4. I lived with a family who got together on weekends for family dinners and game nights. My life was great. Was. I now live in a monster house. Partys every night. Drunk adults surround me as I am alone to take care of Matt. He is one. He still needs care from mom, but that isn’t available right now.

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I hold her close, “Hey, hey you’re okay, everything is going to be okay”. I try to hold back the tears but they won’t stop. I can’t believe I let this happen, I’m supposed to be on the front lines, not her. I know why she is here, we are low on men. It’s all hands on deck, either until we win the war, or we all die fighting.

I look back towards the far forest and see them, The Witches. They’re pushing forward and we can’t keep up, if I wait much longer I won’t be able to help Emma. I try and pick her up but my knees give out snd I fall back to the ground. “Dammit!”. I start to get up again when Emma interrupts me, “ Hope you have to run, there’s no saving me.” Her skin is turning almost as white as a cloud and her eyes are losing all color.

“No, I won’t let- there has to be another way.” I collapse next to Emma holding her like this is the last time I will see her, and it might be. I sob remembering the memories we have, the good and the bad. Then I remember, Second year of training 3rd block we were learning about the most dangerous spells, the most being the spell of Desteria. A horrid witch truly, but besides the point, it basically sucks the life out of a person. But there’s a cure, well not quite a cure but if you say the spell in reverse you can transfer it to yourself, except it turns you into one of their slaves. Shriveled-up-looking people with no eyes.

I know what I have to do. I begin to say the words, Animam tuam puram scio esse veram, vitam in oculis tuis non pluere, ad me venire et iram meam sentire; aut mortem meam.

I feel the spell move through Emma and into me, I can’t help but scream in pain. Emma’s eyes are gaining color again and she stares at me in shock.

“NO! No, no, no, Hope stop. NO!” Now she’s the one holding me and crying. I reach a hand to hold her face and with all my might smile, just a little. I stare into her eyes, as my world goes black.

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I was always scared of monsters under the bed. My parents always told me the horror stories that happened to the kids next door. Them getting brutally murder, pitchforked, burned, and the light always making them blind. My mom sets these rules: one, never let them see you, two, don’t show fear, and three, never, ever leave the safe spot. I must stay hidden from the monsters and never show them who I really am. There is no way I will let myself get killed by whatever is under there. The worst day was yet to come and that was when I saw my first ever monster.

I walked into my room and it was pitch dark and chilly. As I saw the monster’s feet scurry across the ground, this coldhearted chill crawled up my spine. The monster let out a growl and called for its mother. When the mom returned, she bent down and made numbing eye contact with me. She screamed and ran for the light switch. I ducked back in, just in the nick of time. The monster grabbed her kid and ran out of the room.

Did they fear me? How come they were the ones running when I was the one scared? Did they have the wrong idea? I am the one that's supposed to be scared, running for dear life but it was the opposite. That’s when I found out. I was scared of monsters above the bed, not under.

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Sinking 9/29/21

I was walking along the winding roads,

And along the way, I found a little toad.

He was sitting proudly on a hollow log,

And I asked him; “Who are you, little Frog?”

He did not answer me, so I poked his head.

The very next thing I knew, I woke up in a bed.

I got up, looked around, and decided to leave.

What I saw next I just couldn’t believe.

I had looked into a mirror, my blonde hair had turned pink!

When I saw my own eyes, my heart started to sink.

They were a piercing gaze I, myself, did not recognize.

When I tried to run, a little voice croaked “That is not very wise.”

The Little toad sat before me, looking down from a tree.

“Please!” I cried, “What is wrong with me!”

The toad did not reply but stared at with sad eyes.

I thought I was going to meet my very own demise.

I turned to run again, but my legs gave out.

That’s when I turned to see that this mess was about.

What I saw was not legs, but instead scales!

I never fully understood I had a siren’s tail.

How could this be!?

What happened to me?!

I can’t breathe!

I never wanted to live in the sea…

This dark and stormy night…

It brings all the children fright…

I sit out on the vast deck,

Hoping this will calm their little heads.

As I was just about to hit the hay,

A beautiful song started to play.

I looked around to find the source of the sound,

Only to learn we were on the sirens hunting grounds.

(Authors Note: The last 2 paragraphs are spoken from the perspective of a sailor)

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My monster is a simple thing

They wake up and brush their teeth every morning in small circular movements just like you

They put on their shoes and tie each lace with a loop

They cross the street after looking both ways

My monster is simple

But they differ from monsters that gothic authors hold dear

The only thing my monster fears is the mirror

They brush their fur with their eyes towards the wall

Holding on to the feeling of feeling nothing at all

Some may say that my monster is not really a monster

But that is simple untrue

My monster does induce fear

But only to himself

He fears what he has created and what he avoids

It is so much easier for him to just block out all the noise

So my monster continues to be normal and go about each day

Hoping that the fear of itself will eventually go away

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The wind is howling

The town is burning

The people are screaming

And I’ll be leaving.

They see my long nails

not as accessories

But as sharp weapons

To hurt them and their family.

They think I am cruel

They think I lack empathy

But in reality

I just lack sympathy

For those

Who think that it’s okay

To turn a blind eye

To those in pain

To turn a cold shoulder

To those who need love

To pretend to not see

The ones struggling

To see themselves

And no one else

When they decided

To cause distress.

They don’t want me here

So I’ll leave before morning

They call me a “monster”

What a bunch of hypocrites.