Grade 12 Creative Writing Portfolio
Writer's Notebook
OCTOBER 10, 2014
If there's one thing I've learned in this lifetime, it is to love the life that you live. In this day and age, so many people live their lives to please seemingly everyone but themselves, never once thinking about what they want. I believe it is extremely important to do what you want and be satisfied in doing so. When others' opinions and ideas relay how you act, how you dress, what you believe in, who you love, what you do with your life, etc, then, are you really living at all? Each and every one of us is different- not even identical twins are truly identical; therefore, we should express our individuality, without any constraints. And, most importantly, you should love yourself while you do it- because when you're out there, being a weirdo, or acting strange, or just doing what it is that you love, most people are surprisingly not thinking that you're crazy, (as nearly all of us assume out of insecurity), but rather admirable for exhibiting your true self. Of course there are "haters," but you should never allow their weak minds to control your destiny.
DECEMBER 19, 2014
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tick, tick...
Damnit. The damn holiday clock is broken again. I hate that thing enough already, always ticking and tocking in my eardrum. Damn jolly old Santa in there should stop eating so many damn cookies and maybe his stomach would fit in there and... oh, I'm sorry Santa. I didn;t mean it. I'm just a little cranky tonight. It's just... I'm the elf on the shelf for crying out loud! And I must sit here and smile for all to see no matter what but everyone I see comes in here and laughs at me!
"Oh, look at that little toy on the fireplace! It's so creepy!" they say, as if I can't hear their hurtful words. I'm a good person, okay! I do nothing but try to please them and what do I get in return? Some snickers (and not the chocolate, either) and a poor attitude! Why am I not allowed to meet the real Santa and work in the Pole and make people smile for once!? Oh, but no, I am only the creepy elf on the shelf, who will get stuffed back into a box on January 2nd and lay there for 11 months, waiting to take my place again next Christmas.
JANUARY 29, 2015
There was an uncomfortable stir in the room, as the Malaysian official stepped foot up onto the platform, and began to finger and fumble with the microphone before us. We'd heard the news three days ago- "it was all a mistake," they told us. My mother has been on that flight- March 8, 2014, it disappeared- that's what they told us. For months, we sat around, hopeless, all of us, weeping for those we believed were gone, gone for good. We wept and wept, until three days ago. The tear-stained faces twisted into confused looks, followed by more crying. No one knew what to make of this news, whether it was good or bad, relieving or dreadful- so no one stopped crying, in c ase they were up there watching us.
He balanced the microphone between his fingers, sweating now. I could see the glisten from where I was standing amongst the crowd. A silence flooded the room just before he managed to choke into the microphone.
"H-hello, all. Ho-ow is everyone doing today?"
The hundreds of pairs of eyes did not even blink. What exactly was he getting at? Why was he trying to make small talk in moment such as this? What was he hiding?? I just wanted to know where my mother was!
"...So, it seems that the Malaysian government has made a mistake. It-it seems, that flight MH370, has not disappeared at all. In fact, it took a little vacation..."
No one said a word.
MARCH 11, 2015
FEBRUARY 4, 2015
I could hear them, crowded on the pavement around the glass window, still 20 stories below. It was the eve of Christmas Eve in New York City. All types of people, young and wrinkled, and everywhere in between, were waiting in line, waiting for their annual photo with me- no, no, not with me, with Santa Claus. I couldn't do it again, anymore- I am not Santa. I am not even me. I'm a lousy excuse of a human being.
Now it's 10:45am, and the crowd is getting rowdy. I was supposed to be there, to smile with them, to listen to all of their wishes, but now all I hear is "We want Santa!" from up on this roof. Now, I'm here, sprawled on the concrete, with nothing but an empty flask. I am nothing at all.
FEBRUARY 12, 2015
Beep beep beep beep. The screech of the alarm sounds in my eardrum, interrupting my sleep of cheerful dreams. 6 am already. I toss back the comforter lazily and drag myself to the bathroom, where I prepare for a monotonous day at the office.
Coffee in hand, purse on my shoulder, I shuffle slowly through the glass doors and procede to the elevator. From there I rise 14 stories to my company'd level.
"Damn, it'd be a real hame if there was a fire in this building," I devishly contemplate, visualizing the scene of chaos in my head.
"Hey Rachel! How are ya this morning?" I hear permeate over the tops of the cubicles.
"I'm good Todd, how are you?" I reply carelessly to the office waterboy, proceeding to walk away without listening for his response.
Rounding the corner, I sullenly come to a hault at the cubicle I call my own. My coat gets hung up, my purse plopped onto the desk- I proceed to sit, making sure that my skirt is unwrinkled and my blazer on correctly, and power the comoputer. After about 20 minutes of waiting, I click the program and begin my scheduled typing, on and on, click, click, click, until the day is over.
FEBRUARY 26, 2015
With a current average lifespan of about 70 years, most people tend to focus the entirety of their attention on one specific skill or task, as they attempt to master it in their lifetime. Some people have the same job for their whole lives to pay off the one house that they bought in their thirties so that they can retire and pass their accomplishments onto the next generation. At this point, life for many seems very monotonous.
However, if the average lifespan were extended to 400 years, I, and hopefully most others, would most definitely be able to make much more of our time spent on this planet by experiencing a plethora of things. Instead of limiting myself to one skill, I could learn a variety. There would be room to start my life over and begin completely anew every 20 or 30 years. One day I am a scientist, the next I've dropped everything- sold my home, moved out of town, traded in my lab coat in exchange for an instrument, and begun on a journey as a talented musician in the making. There'd be no need for routine with so much time, and that way, it's truly possible to achieve that sense of "YOLO."
In my opinion, people stress too much- I myself being included in those "people." And much of that is probably due to time constraints. With a 400-year life, however, I would quite frankly be "straight chillin'." I'm always in a rush, even when there is no rush, but there would literally be no reason at all to do so anymore. I could take a mental health week, month, year off. I could lay around, doing nothing and not feel so bad about myself. I could travel everywhere possible- twice. Life would be so much more relaxed.
While on vacation, I would love to spend my time in camper rather than a hotel or just a tent. It's true, that everyone knows that campers are squished and uncomfortable- the floors are always too hard, the mattresses are always too stiff, and the bathroom is always way too small. But it forces the people inside to step out of their comfort zones and fuse with others (literally). It's fun being able to park the camper in a random, not-so-city-like area, and let the night unfold in your lap. Ghost stories are told until the crack of dawn, with people cuddled together on the floors for warmth and stuffed into the top mattresses. But at night, when everyone's finally asleep, and the truck is finally silent, the world outside opens up and comes alive. And if you listen close enough, you can hear the sounds of the crickets chirping (and if you're lucky, even a wolf howling at the moon.) And when the morning ascends, it's still possible to experience the sights of the city, when you pack up and head off to the next destination.
MARCH 23, 2015
A tangled cord eliciting
the mood of the moment,
releasing hundreds of thousands of layers,
layers of rhythm, layers of sound,
vibrating, pulsating in waves
through the air.
A spindle of beads
unraveling, never-ending,
into curvatures of a spinning
black beat. Molecules
dancing in the wind.
MARCH 24, 2015
The whipping gust of wind
fondles my hair
and twirls it without rhythm,
leaving a domino of chills
dancing up my spine.
Stained with a touch of frost now,
my fingertips huddle in the
depths of my pockets,
from my strawberry-ripened nose
drips crystallized droplets of snot.
APRIL 9, 2015
The cold wind blows, whipping against
the bitter faces of those
young and old,
huddled in unison on the
curb of the world.
The hard metal jingles, despairingly
crying out for comfort
in an empty home,
thousands of crumpled friends
stuffed in the warmth
of the pockets of passersby.
The old man weeps,
his face stained with years of hurt,
his clothes creased with
layers of dirt.
Then there's you,
with fleece on your back,
a penny a spare,
and not a damn to give.