Ben's (late) short story

April 6, 1994, 5:47am:  I guess I’m surprised, but not confused. I can’t sleep.  All I can do is think, although my thoughts aren’t all that comforting.  I remember being 13 when he declared “I’m going to see where this music takes me, get big, and go out in a blaze of glory.” Jimmy’s tenacity was never questioned. It ends tragically, but no other outcome would have satisfied Jimmy.  Jimmy was never satisfied.  He was world famous, tours sold out, guitars auctioned off, but still, it all fell short. At age 23, he had basically invented a new genre of music, and, at age 27, he was dead. He didn’t really like his own music, thought it was “misinterpreted”. He liked one band, Rebelution, and one song in particular. The chorus of this song goes “Well you can gain the world, but for the price of your soul” This is exactly what he felt he’d done. Despite all that he’d gained, he thought he lost himself along the way.  

7:20 am: This feeling  is not describable. I’ve heard that grief is unparalleled to any emotion. I’m angry, but there’s no one to blame.  Even if there was, I don’t think it would help.  I’m sad, but I can’t cry.  Even if I could, I doubt that’d help either. I guess I’m indecisive.  I browse through some self help books telling me I need to “transcend my ego to move towards enlightenment.” Sounds like bullshit. I never should have stopped these journal entries, they kept me sane when life got insane. Like everything good in my life, I’d abandoned them for something bad.  In this case, I’d stopped writing journal entries in favor of tours and girls and heroin. They had their immediate obvious rewards, made me feel on top of the world. Like Jimmy, I’d gained the world for the price of my soul. So as expected, in the end, I’m blaming myself.  I guess I could blame Jimmy, but I always knew he’d stick to his convictions.  He warned me early on that he’d live, and die, on his own terms, as himself.   Not as “some malleable, publicly conscious douchebag”, which he considered basically all artists and fans of the music business. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, he’d never really changed.

8:57am: A quick escape is sounding more and more alluring.  It’s ironic that I’d introduced Jimmy to heroin all those years ago. I’ve unsuccessfully been avoiding that thought. I’m never really comforted by my thinking.  But that’s all there is to do; think, remember, write think, remember write....My thoughts are clouded, my memory strained, my writing stopped.  Amazing how my life would be if I hadn’t gotten kicked out of art class.  What did I think of him? what was he like? AHA!*

*Gordie suddenly realizes that he can view his work from past diary entries, hoping to find some connection or comfort.
May 25, 1980:  Kicked out of Art and moved into Drama class today. Ms. Wormwood is such a bitch! Dad wanted me to take a ride with him, which I did. As expected, it was a long, tedious lecture. “Gordie this” and “Gordie that”. I didn’t want to hear it. I don’t even remember why he needed to go on this ride in the first place, he wasn’t going to a store or anything. When we returned to my house, he told me to rake the leaves. I sharply refused. He told me “Well, you’d better start practicing; you’re in for a long life of blue-collar manual labor, you stupid fuck! Oh, yes sir, indeed!” The words sank in. They struck a chord. I’m not sure how to cope with this.  Let’s see-I’ve been here before: Screw up, get anxious, react defensively, think. I really need to think before I react, not the other way around. I don’t even really want to write in this journal, it seems pathetic. But I do, and I know I’ll continue to do so. This journal is my one method of stress reduction that’s helpful and practical.  Like having a therapist without all the bullshit and soul searching. Saw that the Melvins are stopping by Seattle on Friday so I’ll probably take the bus.
May 27, 1980: Noticed this kid in Drama class today, probably because he’s trying so hard not to be noticed. I have no clue what he’s doing in Drama class; he seems to despise the class, and acting in particular. But for some reason or another, he caught my eye.  He’s painfully introverted, and always seems to be flexing his jaw.  He has this cynical, detached way about him.  It’s as though he’s telling you “don’t fuck with me, don’t approach me” At the very least, he seems just as pissed off as I am.
May 30, 1980: If only to spite my dad, I stopped attending all classes except for Drama, the one he told me to drop. We had this weird assignment today where we were supposed to personify an emotion or state of mind.  I chose stubbornness, and remained silent. My teacher thought it was funny. Most kids would say something like funny, and fake laugh. When that kid, who’s name is Jimmy, was up, he chose nihilism.  I’d never heard of it, and was intrigued.  He then, suddenly, started yelling and thrashing violently. He screamed “GO FUCK YOURSELVES!!! YOU’RE ALL IGNORANT CLONES!!!” He stormed out.  Even the kids who would normally make fun of him were astonished and speechless.*
*Nihilism (Ni-hil-ism) noun - Total rejection of established laws and institutions.  This is what I wanted.  I fantasized about this but hadn’t completely found it within myself.  Jimmy had it. He had it intrinsically, and it showed. It wasn’t forced, or created out of some idealized version of himself.  it is how he really was. He simply did not see the world the other way that others saw it. He saw others as either normal or misfits, there was no middle ground. (I’d spent countless hours debating where I stood on this spectrum.) As with all great musicians, he molded others to see the world from his perspective, not the other way around.  He made normal people misfits, and gave misfits some consolidation, offering them a clear, rebellious identity.  This is the foundation of his music, and upon completion of showing the world how little of a fuck he gave, he saw no purpose left but to kill himself. He challenged the system, and it came out on top. He truly would leave as he came; “in a blaze of glory”.
October 14, 1982: I returned from Melvins concert late last night with Jimmy.  My dad was standing on the porch.  His face was austere, his eyes fixated and stiff.  He was holding a needle in his left hand.  I can always tell when he is really angry or disappointed. When he’s trying to motivate me he’s just a smartass.  But when truly angry, he gives me the exact look that I received last night and does something drastic. But kicking Jimmy out of the house was too much. His anger was justifiable, but our family was the one dependable source of support for Jimmy, and my father knew that.  Even Jimmy knows that he can’t turn to himself.  That excludes all of Jimmy’s outlets except heroin. His demise is looking inevitable, thanks largely to my father! Oh, how I hate him...*
   In retrospect, I realize that unlike Jimmy, I learned and matured from the experiences around me. My father had my best interest the entire time, something I’m just now realizing.  He’d always warned me about actions and consequence.  Thought without action is pointless, but action without thought is dangerous. Jimmy never learned that.  He was always pushing against, an action.  He pushed against the government, MTV, society, humanity as a whole.  But he never attempted to heal.  That requires thought. I strongly feel like healing, learning and changing from my experiences.  Don’t know where I go from here, maybe I’ll give my dad a call and thank him.

 First Page: A Boy Who changes a life

By Michelle Roybal

     La Darius yells at his father," I don't give a damn about your new job!" Henry, La Darius's dad, says " that's not your choice and you are going to be happy about it young man !!" " Where are we moving to?" Asked La Darius.  Henry answered "We are moving to New York."  La darius a brown hair and blue eyed seventeen year old boy then walks away and heads up to his room.  Later that evening he had to begin packing because he was leaving in the next day and so his mom brought him boxes to put his stuff in from his room.  "Thanks" said La Darius toward his mother while walking out of the room. " Your welcome" is all he heard from her because of the fighting that happened earlier. Meanwhile he continues to pack.  While he is packing he begins looking at some old photos that he had of him and all of his friends.  After looking at all of the photo he puts them in the boxes and carries them down stairs. After he put away he went up stairs and went to bed.

It was the next day and La Darius and his family were moving. The one thing that La Darius asked throughout the whole ride to the new house was “ How much longer do we have till we get there?”  His dad answered “ about three more hours” La Darius then sighed with his sadness and put in his ear phones to his music to block out all the world and everything around him.  

                                                Three hours later....

    “We're here!” says La Darius’s dad. Both his father and mother headed inside and started to unpacked while La Darius was still in the car meanwhile taking everything around him and his new life in.  Finally when he gets out the car he is in shock while walking through the driveway and up the stairs to the house.

Jimmy's Short Story

        The people were ready to board the plane. All the kids were sleeping and the adults were waiting to hear their boarding number. I was on my computer looking up survival stories, my boarding number was last. After everyone got onto the plane they finally called my number. When i got onto the plane there were only a few seats left. I chose the one closest to the emergency exit, just in case. I fell asleep but woke up to the sound of the fight attends voice telling everyone to fasten their seat belts, we might have a little turbulence. The plane started to shake and everyone looked scared. All of a sudden the oxygen preservers dropped and the flight attend told everyone that we were going to crash. Everyone started screaming and panicking. We started to drop and it felt like my stomach turned inside out. The plane crashed into the water and the surviving people tried to get out of the plane and swim to the surface. When I got up to the surface there was dead bodies floating, parts of the plane and people searching for their loved ones. The plane was on fire and sinking into the ocean. I looked around for anything that could help the few of us that survived the crash, and i found a survival box that had a survival boat. It wasn't big enough for all 12 of us so some of us had to hold on to the sides. 

        We were stranded in the ocean for 3 days until we finally came across a deserted island. We are all so happy to finally be on land. We decided to make camp on the beach for a few days just in case anyone was searching for us. We made tents out of sticks and leafs. I made a bonfire so it would be easy to spot us in the night. After a few days of waiting and living off coconuts and small fish, me and some of the other men decided to venture into the forest. We made markers so we would be able to find our way back. We went deeper and deeper into the thick forest until we came to a tomb, the tomb had ancient writing on the  front. It didn't look like anyone had been there in decades, it was covered in vines and bugs were crawling all over it. But we decided to make camp there because there was a fresh water lake with fish. So we gathered everyone and took our camp out to the lake. Everyone was scared to go near the tomb.

      We had survived on the island for almost a month and we had built bigger tents and weapons for protection. We did not explored the island because we didn't know what was waiting for us on the other side of the thick forest. One day some of the younger men decided to open the tomb they thought that their might be something that could help them get off the island. Many of the other group members didn't agree with them, but they didn't listen. As soon as they opened it a huge gust of wind knocked down the men and went into the sky. In the tomb they found ancient drawings on the wall. The pictures were all smudged so we could not see the whole story. All we could see was people opening the tomb and then a spirit going out into the sky. But everything after that was smudged. Everyone just ignored it. 

     A few days passed and everything was normal, except for the 3 young men who opened the tomb had gone missing. One of the other group members and i decided to go looking for him, we found tracks that led us to a camp, the camp looked abandoned. We looked through the tents and in the last one we found an old lady, the lady had gray long hair and a wrinkled face. We asked her what she was doing here and she mumbled something and smiled at us. We then asked her if she had seen 3 young men walk by and she said, "No, i haven't i haven't seen a person in over 10 years." We asked her if she wanted to come to our camp and eat, but she said she was fine here. So we went back to camp and told everyone about the old lady and how we could not find the other men. The camp members started to freak out. Some of them started run into the woods and run screaming until their screams could not be heard. I was all alone. I decided to go back to the old lady, when i got the the area of the campsite it was gone. It was like everything had disappeared. Since i could not find the old lady i decided to go back to our campsite and sleep there for a few days, just incase people decided to come back. When i went to sleep that night, i dreamt that i was back at the airport, waiting for my plane, it was like de javu. When i woke up in the morning, there were men talking outside the tent. When i went out to check what who it was, it was the men, who had gotten taken. Everyone who had ran or got taken away was back and it was like i had gone back in time. One of the men said, "So are you ready to go explore the forest?" I said "yeah." When we were deep into the forest, we saw something, we saw the shrine. 

Paul's Short Story: 1st Page

            Mondays, nobody likes them. I groan to myself as I roll over in my bed to squint over at my digital clock. At this point of the morning, it feels as if I’m looking straight into the sun, 5:33. Grumbling to myself, I pull my blanket back over my head and think to myself, “Just 30 more minutes…”

            Hung-over from our championship-victory weekend rager, I feel as if someone’s banging on the insides of my head. Neil Clifton, captain of the Jericho Warriors, I chuckle to myself. Pulling the blanket off of my body, I expose myself to the cold morning air. The clothes I wore the night before are lying on the floor in a pile by my bed. I pick up my old blue jeans out of the center of the pile and throw them on while walking over to my dresser to find a nice clean shirt. I look at my dresser, aware that I’m forgetting something. Running my finger over the top of my dresser, I notice that there isn’t any dust. Maybe Mom cleaned my room while I was sleeping. I grab a shirt and glance around the room to see if Mom messed with any of my other stuff. My room usually looks somewhat like the aftermath of a tornado, but today, it just looks empty. Shocked, I examine my Hall of Fame where i keep all of my medals and trophies, but it’s completely empty and I feel as if every single athletic accomplishment I’ve achieved has vanished into thin air.

            “MOOOOOOOOOOOM!? Where are all my stuff?” I shout stomping out of my room. No response. I half-hop half-walk down the stairs to see what was going on. There is nobody in the living room or the kitchen, so I assume that they've been sent away on one of those last-minute meetings they always have. I grab my backpack from the sofa and jog over to Adam's house. Adam is my best friend. Every morning, I go over to Adam's house and he drives the both of us to school. However, today has already proven to be a weird day so far. 

            

Ray's First Page

Ray's Short Story

Page 1

Dimitri Smirnoff is a 22 year old Russian boy. He has recently returned from the united States, where he went to College, earning a degree in journalism. There are currently presidential elections going on and he is producing Tv coverage as part of his new job. His partner at work is Nicolai Kavinsky, a 35 year old Russian man who lives with his wife and 3 year old son. They are reporting for a local news station, so they are supposed to be unbiased, yet the government signifigantly edits the contents of their reporting. One day the two men are reporting at the rally of one candidate, Vladimir Ivanov. They interview him and all goes well, but as they are packing up the film equipment, they see him in an adjacent alleyway, handing a duffel bag of money to an election official. He walks over to ask them if they saw anything and they say no. He later learns that he has been found out and begins to chase after them. The get in their van and speed away from the scene of the confrontation. Dimitri and Nicolai drive for 5 minutes, and begin to think they are in the clear. All of a sudden, they round a corner and see Vladimir in his 3 series. He begins to chase them down the road and they get onto they freeway. They drive down they freeway, with Vladimir following close behind. All of a sudden they see the Krymsky bridge approaching in the distance. Vladimir catches up and slams his car into theirs, sending them plummeting over the guardrail and into the river below. Vladimir assumes that both men have perished through falling into the river, but they both swim to shore and hide in an abandoned warehouse. They survive on cardboard and moss for the next three days while making sure the coast is clear. Realizing that the police are probably corrupt as well, our two journalists are forced to flee to Germany where they continue live their lives working as paper salesmen.

Sanams Short Story First Page

Sitting in History class is so boring. Ms. Little just lectures all day on the same old American Revolution. Man, she never comes up with anything interesting to talk about. Her voice is a drone that just keeps going on and on when she should just stop talking. SO, the teachers boring and the only thing that can make the class decent is the students. However, in all of Artesia High's 4000 students, I have to be stuck with the worst. I have no real friends in it, which is acceptable because I don't have many, but I don't even have any acquaintances either. Everyone is talking to their friends and interacting with the people around them while I just stare at the clock counting down the minutes until it is lunch. Just twenty more minutes to go now. Sometimes I just wish I could talk to someone around me and maybe we'd end up being friends but I'm too freaking shy. I keep saying I'll say Hi to the blonde haired blue eyed girl, who I think is named Ariel, next to me but I can't work up the courage to do it. It's not even that big of  deal, it's just Hi. But what if she thinks I'm weird, makes fun of me, or worst of all just plain ignores me. I give up. It's better to just not talk. If I say the wrong thing, it'll get around to everyone. In this part of Los Angeles, rumors spread around like a disease. If one person know one little thing about someone, that they don't even know is true, they have to go tell someone else about it, who tells someone else, and the cycle goes on until the whole world knows. The people that gossip the most are little Indian girls. They gossip, they're annoying, and worst of all the rumors they hear and/or make up, they tell their parents which eventually leads to my parents knowing some of the gossip at school but they can't make much sense of it. Once in fourth grade I told my best friend or so I thought my deepest darkest secret which at the time felt like the most scandalous thing. I had a crush on a white boy in our class named Johnny Fitzgerald. I was one of the only Indian girls that liked a white boy. Then, my friends from another school that didn't even know my "best friend" came up to me saying that she heard I liked Johnny, It's not really they're fault for being such gossipers, it's just the way we were raised.  


Lost in my thoughts, I blink my eyes a few times to regain consciousness of being in History class again. I see the clock and it says there's only a few seconds left until the bell rings. Everyone shuffling papers and packing their bags. Happily, I pack my bag and "brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing", the bell rings.

Ray's Short Story Proposal

Exposition:


Dimitri Smirnoff is a 22 year old Russian boy. He has recently returned from the united States, where he went to College, earning a degree in journalism. There are currently presidential elections going on and he is producing Tv coverage as part of his new job. His partner at work is Nicolai Kavinsky, a 35 year old Russian man who lives with his wife and 3 year old son. They are reporting for a local news station, so they are supposed to be unbiased, yet the government signifigantly edits the contents of their reporting.


Inciting Incident:


One day the two men are reporting at the rally of one candidate, Vladimir Ivanov. They interview him and all goes well, but as they are packing up the film equipment, they see him in an adjacent alleyway, handing a duffel bag of money to an election official. He walks over to ask them if they saw anything and they say no.


Rising Action: 


He later learns that he has been found out and begins to chase after them. The get in their van and speed away from the scene of the confrontation. Dimitri and Nicolai drive for 5 minutes, and begin to think they are in the clear. All of a sudden, they round a corner and see Vladimir in his 3 series. He begins to chase them down the road and they get onto they freeway.


Climax: 


They drive down they freeway, with Vladimir following close behind. All of a sudden they see the Krymsky bridge approaching in the distance. Vladimir catches up and slams his car into theirs, sending them plummeting over the guardrail and into the river below. 


Falling Action: 


Vladimir assumes that both men have perished through falling into the river, but they both swim to shore and hide in an abandoned warehouse. They survive on cardboard and moss for the next three days while making sure the coast is clear.


Resolution:


Realizing that the police are probably corrupt as well, our two journalists are forced to flee to Germany where they continue live their lives working as paper salesmen.