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Mr. Hawke Isn’t As Cool As You Think!!!

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by Jack Skellington

Continuing Fiction

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10th grade

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Inside- Counter Work a novel

Written by - Gioia Schwalm

Recorded by: The Modern Age Voices

- Poetry Halloween editionWritten by - Maggie

- Dakota Jane’s Journey a novel Written by - Hannah Manzanares

Writing: A Skill That Everyone Needs

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Written by - Jason Seiple

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- That One Kid Who is Always Getting in Trouble

10th grade

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Inside

Written by - Elena Miller

- Featured ArticleWritten by - Jack Skellington

- Finishing A Book Series

- The Legend of The Four Amulets Written by - Michael Perez

10th grade

- John Cena: or Why I need a new hobbyWritten by - Mr. Hawke

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STAAR ATTACKS!!!

Coming soon... Are you Ready???...to a Testing room Near You

THIS HALLOWEEN

PREPARE TO BE SCARED!!!

A Texas Education Agency Production

Directed by: Ms. Wadie

LHS-Killough’s Testing Coordinator

He arrived in the city on one of the last trains that ever ran.  With smoke billowing up

from beneath the rails, he stepped onto the platform.  The metal grates underneath his

feet did not give the impression of being the sturdiest material, especially considering the

great height of the tracks.  If the support of the grating were to falter, it would be roughly

a fifty-story fall to the cracked pavement below.  However, the man did not give this peril

any thought, as he was used to trusting this city’s precarious exterior.  Everything ap-

peared to be on the verge of crumbling away, but nothing ever did.  It was quite miracu-

lous when one thought about it, but then again, he didn’t.

His mind was set on another goal, far more specific than simply surviving the walk across

the grates to the lifts that would take him to the streets below.  On that platform, precisely

between the two adjacent tracks (one of which was now occupied by the train he had just

exited) there was a wall of small, slightly rusted metal lockers.  Wasting no time, the man

paced over to them, sliding his unoccupied right hand into his pants pocket on the way. 

His long fingers closed firmly around a small, brass key.  It was meant to be unique to him

and the train company – they shared ownership of the locker itself – but, unbeknownst to

all but for himself and the second holder, there had in fact been another copy made of it. 

This made it easy to inconspicuously slip notes and messages, sometimes even items of

interest, back and forth.

The man reached the lockers and found his: No. 1604.  He efficiently drew the key from

his pocket and brought it up to the locker’s padlock.  There was a muffled, internal click-

ing sound within the metal chamber as he turned the key.  He could tell that the locker

had been accessed recently by how easily it was opened; he did not have to exert any great

force to wrench the creaking metal door back on its hinges.  The inverted cubic interior

was empty apart from a small, white envelope placed precisely in the middle of the square

base.  Quickly, the man slid it out of the locker, secured the padlock again, and, with the

envelope tucked into his pocket along with the key, he was on his way.

He did not stand out from the crowd enough to start getting glances from the people

around him until he was in the lift.  Closed together into the metal walled space, they

peered at him uneasily, unsure whether he returned their gazes or not.  His own eyes were

concealed by dark glasses, obscuring the subject of their attention.  In addition to this ir-

regularity, due to the fact that the sky was rarely anything but a gloomy yellowish-gray

these days, he was also, as they used to say, dressed to the nines.  His clean white shirt was

tucked into the slim waist of his long, black trousers with the crisp sleeves rolled neatly up

to his elbows.  He had no jacket despite the chill weather that hung over the city.

He stood up straight, his posture well-supported by his expensive-looking shoes.  In one

hand he held a thin suitcase, and the other was tucked into his pocket.  Among the drably-

dressed passengers of the now-active lift, he stood out significantly.  Still, no one voiced

their uneasiness and skepticism toward him, and the minute-long ride to the street below

was spent in silence.     

iv

FictionA Continuing Story By: Gioia  Schwalm

Student

Chapter One

Counter Work a novel10th grade

The autumn brought with it a cool chill, one that hung thinly in the air, penetrating

all layers of the seasonal clothing the city inhabitants wore on the street.  The chill

cut down to the bone, and the dropping temperature was more like the weather of

winter than the season's predecessor.  The world had gotten colder, and while not

everyone questioned the recent patterns, everyone noticed them.

Alexandria was one of those who took a particular notice of the change.  Still, she

would never bring it up in conversation.  She despised small talk, and any topic that

remotely resembled it was one she avoided.  Today, in an attempt to fight the cold,

she wore a long coat and a black scarf.  She had on thick leggings beneath a knee-

length sweater dress.  She had bought the dress months ago at a second-hand

shop  lit only by a flickering fluorescent light directly above the register, but one

wouldn't guess it to look at the outfit.  She was used to cutting corners, making do

with what she had while appearing to get along effortlessly.

This city seemed to be the opposite; on the outside, it appeared dilapidated and

crumbling, but at its core, it ran surprisingly smoothly.  As she walked through the

wide, though not overly crowded, street the shadow from the bridge stories and sto-

ries above fell across her face.  She was passing beneath it just as a train was hissing

to a stop in the elevated station.  She looked up at the rattling tracks.  The platform

shook, appearing unsteady beneath the weight and momentum of the passenger

train, but in truth it was unfailingly sturdy, raised up on thick, iron columns.  These

were large enough in stature to conceal lifts that carried passengers up to and down

from the station.  The lifts were in constant operation, despite there being only two

trains that arrived in and departed from the station.

Steam sprayed down in hot, billowing clouds, utterly visible in contrast to the frigid

air.  It dissolved into clearness, leaving no trace of its presence.  With her neck still

craned, Alexandria looked up at the underside of the station.  Through the count-

less metal beams and grates, she could see the dark forms of the passengers stepping

out onto the platform.  From where she had temporarily stopped walking on the

crooked pavement, they looked like tiny insects crawling across a surface.

Those, too, were very common in the city.  There was no real focus on pest control,

and the population as a whole seemed to have gotten used to seeing bugs scuttling

over walls and through alleyways. 

Alexandria tucked her hands in the pockets of her coat and walked on.  She briefly

wondered about the people who had arrived on the train this morning.  Were they

travelers, planning on visiting the city for only a few days?  Or, like her, were they

moving here, relocating their lives?  There were only so many places that they could

be coming from on these tracks, but she was not in the habit of keeping up with the

trains’ schedule.  Wherever they came from, she did not know, and soon she did not

particularly care.  Her curiosity about the crawling strangers was a fleeting thing.  As

she walked further down the familiar street, leaving the massive structure behind her,

Alexandria's mind went to other things.  The well-oiled gears inside her head spun,

meshing together in the contemplative motions that she never rested from.  On occa-

sion, she wished that whatever mechanism her brain possessed that held her in con-

stant thought would function a little less smoothly, and spare her from the over-

analysis of everything.

She didn't particularly enjoy how her thoughts latched onto every detail and

churned them through their complex process.  She didn't want some things to inter-

est her as much as they often did.  The weather, for example.  It was a popular topic

for strangers to discuss in a moment that, if not for the brief conversation, would be

deemed uncomfortable.  Alexandria despised this philosophy; she found silence be-

tween two people far less awkward than starting a conversation that they neither in-

v

Chapter Two

tended to finish nor were actually interested in having.  Silence was comforting to

her.

She only wished that, for one moment, her thoughts could go silent.  Despite all of

her efforts, she could not mute the ceaseless musings about the weather and people

on a train that only reminded her of struggling small talk and all of the meaningless

conversations throughout her life.

She emerged out of the long shadow of the train bridge after she had walked down

the right side of the street, passing about twenty of the narrow two- or three-story

buildings that, despite being of varying height, all seemed to run together into a sin-

gle structure.  They all served as homes, mostly apartment buildings or duplexes. 

There were no specified living quarters in the city, but this street consisted mostly of

lodgings.  Despite the fact that many citizens lived on the long, wide avenue, Alexan-

dria rarely crossed paths with her neighbors.  She didn't know much about them,

but was, as usual, always noticing things.  The woman next door, whose wispy hair

was dyed a dreadful and obviously unnatural red-turned-orange, had about five

squat, borderline-mangy Scottie dogs.  Always wearing the same ratty old coat no

matter what the weather, she took them outside every morning, even before the

break of dawn.  Their restless yapping tended to wake Alexandria.

The old woman's habit had allowed the un-neighborly veil of obscurity to be slightly

lifted, and had allowed Alexandria to learn more about the people that she spent so

much time around, separated only by thin walls.  

The occupant of the building on the other side was a middle-aged man with an un-

recognizable accent.  He was an immigrant and had come to the city by boat, not

train.  Almost every morning, his sleep, like Alexandria's, was interrupted by the

Scottie dogs and their frail, fanatical owner.  He was more vocal about the nuisance,

however.  Just in case the other neighbors slept through the dogs' taste of fresh air,

the immigrant would be there with his front window shoved open, yelling down at

the woman on the street in angry, broken English.  The old woman would always

yell back, though her raspy voice never carried very far.  The worst aspect of the

nearly daily exchanges was that neither the woman nor the man could understand a

word that each was hurling at the other.  Alexandria, powerless in the situation, was

left stuck between the two sides of the battle until the woman, each morning, eventu-

ally subsided.  She always took her time, however, and stayed out long enough for

the manic little dogs to run themselves exhausted.

Now, with her duplex building in sight, Alexandria crossed the wide street.  She

stepped around a sewage grate that billowed foul-smelling steam up toward her. 

Traveling diagonally across the grimy concrete, she reached the opposite sidewalk. 

Once up the three steps of the minuscule cement porch, she slipped her key into the

lock.  She shared her half of the duplex with Annick from work.  Annick was also an

immigrant, although she was better adjusted to her new home than their neighbor. 

Although she had settled into the duplex with Alexandria nearly three years ago, she

had never talked about her big move much.  She always said that she “got out of

France before it was too late,” and nothing more.

The other half of the house was owned by a young man, about Annick and Alexan-

dria’s age.  His name was Owen, and he was a writer.  Rather, that was what he

called himself.  He didn’t actually write as a profession, but if anyone asked him

what he did, he would only ever say: “Write.”  No one ever actually did what they

loved these days.  Alexandria had always loved to sing, but even that joy had

dimmed over time.  The practice had lost its spark, and now, singing was merely a

job to be done.

Annick was upstairs when Alexandria arrived.  The sound of the shower running

resonated down the narrow staircase as Alexandria took the small stack of envelopes

out of her coat pocket and set it down on the little table in the hallway by the front

door.  It consisted of the usual assortment of mail that she had come to expect

vi

weekly.  One was a general bill, one a paycheck for herself, and the other two were

for Annick.  Alexandria left them there for later.

She was still settling in when the shower stopped and Annick came downstairs,

dressed in an oversized sweater and loose pants.  She patted her wet long, brown

hair with a towel in an attempt to dry it.  “Anything interesting in the mail?” she

asked after the usual greeting.

Alexandria shook her head in reply.  They continued along in their loose routine,

not feeling the need to say anything more.  The two of them got along exceedingly

well.  Annick never made small talk, perhaps as a result of the still-present language

barrier, or perhaps not.  Either way, she appreciated – savored, even - silence.  Some

of the best times between the two women had been spent in silence, merely sitting in

each other’s company.

They shared a small meal; small mostly because they had yet to do the shopping for

the week.  Alexandria would go out sometime tomorrow for groceries.  For now,

though, neither of them really minded the lunch-sized dinner.  It was early to eat,

but they both had to eat now or wait until much later.  Tonight, their shifts began

and ended at the same time.  Annick waitressed at the lounge where Alexandria

sang nightly.  It was low pay, but nothing better was offered elsewhere.

As Annick washed the dishes – a quick job, to be sure – she listened to Alexandria

warm up her voice in her own shower.  She enjoyed hearing her sing.  It somehow

reminded her of home.  For Alexandria, however, it was merely a habit.  As she

worked her slender fingers through her lacquer red hair, the familiar melodies and

words she knew by heart poured out of her as if they were an extension of her be-

ing.

He savored the feeling of the steaming water on his back as it poured over him in

forceful streams.  Much to his own unrest, it was becoming the norm not to have ac-

cess to the showers that he enjoyed so thoroughly.  It had been months since he had

been in a place where he was able to indulge himself in the jetting torrents of hot

water for however long he wanted, or even at all.  Now, he intended to take full ad-

vantage of the situation while he was in the city, however long that might be.

The message he had collected earlier in the day was lying in the other room.  He

had already opened the envelope and read what had been left for him inside, and

still he knew nothing about why he was here.  Running his hands along his scalp, he

let his eyes close.  He let the darkness of his eyelids swallow his thoughts for a

moment.  It was an elusively comforting blackness, and after not long at all, the con-

solation morphed into something far more sinister.  This kind of blackness was a

wholly different breed, and it haunted him.  After each brief moment of soothing,

the otherwise constant overwhelming anxiety was never far behind.

Opening his eyes again to the mist of the shower, the man composed himself.  He

checked his watch; it had been a gift.  It was intended and enhanced for any given

condition and was thus water-proof.  After so many years, it still functioned

perfectly.  He did not allow himself to sigh upon seeing the time, but inwardly, he

wanted nothing more than the release of that seemingly insignificant expression. 

Release in general.  One last time, he ran his fingers through his well-cut hair.  Fi-

nally, he turned the faucet, ceasing the flow of water from the shower head.  He

dried off quickly with the hotel towel and then stepped out into the only other room

in the very temporary living-space.  Still unrushed, he dressed in the orangeish light

of the bedside lamp.  Again, he checked his watch.

vii

Chapter Three

Sitting down on the edge of the stiff bed, he tightened his thin, black tie around his

neck.  A noose, he mused.  Just part of the required attire.  He grew increasingly

vexed by the hypocrisy of his ways; he had to go out of his way to find somewhere

low-key to stay, but he was also told how to dress, and this particular requisite ap-

parel never failed to draw attention to him in a crowd, especially during the day

time.  Oddly enough, this was when he did most of the traveling around that was

essential to his work.

Out of boredom or anticipation – even he wasn’t sure which - he pulled on the suit

jacket that had been tucked in his briefcase next to his other, more essential, gear. 

Once again, he glanced at his wrist.  He stood, taking a single step with his long legs

to reach the table.  With the opened envelope now in hand, he returned to his spot

on the bed.  He quickly drew the thick paper card out of the envelope and set it on

his lap.  Reaching across the bedside table, he lifted the phone – cradle and all – to-

ward himself, evading the lamp.  The cord could only stretch so far, and the man

was left in an awkward position.  Nevertheless, it was time.  So, glancing down at the

card, he dialed the number – black type against stark white paper.

The recipient of the phone call was quick to answer.  A familiar, distorted voice

spoke, and the caller replied, “1-0, 0-9.”  At the utterance of the numbers, no matter

how hard he fought it, his throat tightened.  He cleared his throat, covering the mi-

crophone of the plastic handset.  Quickly, he uncovered it again.  In as clear a voice

as anyone could muster, he said, “I’m ready for my assignment.”

__________________________________

Alexandria wore her red sequin dress.  She liked the idea of it – it was something

flashy, maybe risqué, maybe even tawdry.  Yet what she had on was elegant.  It fell

down to the floor and was cut perfectly for her body with its high square neck and

cinched waist.  It also went well with her ginger hair.  Her absolute favorite thing

about the dress, however, was the fact that she had bought it for almost nothing at

the flea market, and no one would ever guess.  It was reminiscent of another time –

a true vintage.  It had been worn and loved by someone else, long ago – the old

woman who had sold it to her had also offered a personal anecdote.  Though her

retelling of the days of her youth had been hazy, Alexandria could clearly see that

the dress had meant more to the woman than just any piece of clothing – even one

as beautiful as this.

She met Annick at the top of the staircase.  The brunette wore her customary skirt

and blouse.  This was the closest the Alizarin Lounge came to having a uniform for

its waitresses.  Pulling on her second two-inch-heel shoe, Annick asked, “Ready?”

Alexandria sighed.  “I suppose.  Here we go again.”

“You look very good,” Annick assured her, her French accent kicking in.

“You, too.”  She started down the steps, grabbing her coat from the hook mounted

on the wall.  “Well, let’s go, then.”

They linked their arms together as they walked through the streets, huddling close to

each other in order to stay warm.  Occasionally, they would step over a grate – care-

ful not to catch their heels on the metal grids – that spewed clouds of warm vapor. 

Most of these, however, were surrounded by the less fortunate.  For the homeless,

these grates were the only means of staying warm.  The Alizarin Lounge was not

located in the most ‘respectable’ part of the city – the girls’ apartment was close, af-

ter all.  The area was frequented by vagrants, along with petty criminals, call girls

and hustlers, and, amusingly enough, musicians.  It was the perfect place for the clas-

sic musician personality – low rent, plenty of venues, and a wide acceptance of beat-

nik behavior. 

Still, neither of the women ever felt threatened by the milieu that they found them-

selves in, even now as they walked through the sparsely-lit streets.  They actually felt

that they fit in with the somewhat grimy and yet also somewhat honest way of life. 

viii

It was honest in its lack of the societal veil.  The absence of any pretention or mas-

querade of being high-bred or high-class.  It was honest  in  its griminess and its

harshness.

By the time they arrived, The Lounge was already bustling – if only at a lethargic

tempo – with slow, smoky, activity.  The tables and booths were mostly occupied by

men, although some women joined the fun.  Glasses and steins clinked, cigarettes

puffed.  The smoke hung in the air, drifting and swirling around the already dim

lamps that hung down from the high ceiling.  Both girls clocked in, punching their

timecards into the machine around the back of the bar.  Then, they parted ways –

Annick headed off to begin her rounds, and Alexandria headed for the stage.

Judy, the girl who performed during the early shift, when there were really only a

few customers in and out, was just finishing up.  She was a pleasant person – pretty

and simple, with a case of perpetual, but inconsequential, stage fright.  She didn't

mind singing to a small audience, especially when those people paid her no

attention.  Alexandria dealt with this as well, but she preferred a more sizable crowd.

“How was it?” she asked Judy.

“Oh, alright.  Just about the same as every other night.”

“Sounds about right.  Where’s Carlos?”  He was The Lounge’s resident pianist, and

an excellent accompanist for the two singers.

“I think he’s just taking a break.”  She stepped down off the stage.

“Are you taking off ?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired,” she said, almost sounding apologetic.  “I hope your set goes

well!”

“Thanks, Jude.  See you tomorrow.”

Alexandria stood on the unlit platform – it was a humble stage, only about four and

a half feet wide – the piano sat down on the floor – and adjusted the old Shure 55

microphone to match her height.  Where Judy was small and petite, Alexandria was

tall, even regal-looking in her heels and dress.

She headed back over to the bar, behind which its tender had returned.  He greeted

her the same way he did every night they shared a shift.  “There’s my girl.”  His

lighter clicked open and shut in his hand, one moment ablaze with orange and blue

flame and the next dark.

“Hello, Van,” she replied with a slight grin.  “Nice jacket.”

“Oh, what, this?”  He pulled the red leather collar up.  He wore almost the exact

same outfit every night – the same dark trousers, the same thrift shop loafers, and

that same jacket over a rotating variety of ironic Hawaiian shirts.

Alexandria remembered the shirts being the first thing she had noticed about Van

when she came to The Alizarin – back when she was living alone in an even cheaper

apartment.  She had even asked him, “Are those authentic?”

“You mean did they come from Hawaii?” he had asked in return.

She had shrugged, the shadow of an amused smirk on her painted lips.

“No.  I’ve never been.”  She remembered him leaning in across the bar with mock

surreptitiousness.  “I don’t think it exists,” he had murmured.  “I think it’s a lie

the government feeds us – this prospect of paradise?  There’s no reason to work un-

less you’re working toward this goal of visiting the Aloha State.”  He pulled back

away, raising his eyebrows at her.  “Just think about it.”

“Oh, it’ll keep me up at night,” she replied.

He had laughed and told her, “You know what, I like you.”

“Oh, thank god!  I don’t know how I could go on without the approval of a conspir-

acy theorist.”  

Again, he had laughed to applaud her wit.

“Thanks a bunch,” he said now.  “What can I get you, darling?”

Although he was not much older than Alexandria, his pet names for her had never

felt strange.  She pulled off her coat, tucking it back behind the bar.  “Just some wa-

ter for now.  You’re going late tonight, right?”

ix

“I’ll be here when you’re done,” he assured her.  He turned to grab a glass from the

mirrored shelf on the paneled wall.  As he ran the tap into it, he looked Alexandria

up and down.  “Great dress.”  Handing her the water – lukewarm, as he knew she

preferred before a set – he raised an eyebrow.

“Well thank you,” she said, somewhat flirtatiously accepting his somewhat-flirting. 

“I’d better get up there.  See you after.”

“You’ll be great, as always.”

The Manager was milling around by now, weaving in and out between tables and

booths, as transient and dodgy as the arabesques of cigarette smoke that his custom-

ers breathed.  Tonight he wore a faux-designer pin-striped suit, his usual assembly of

rings.  He was truly the quintessence of Sleazy Business Owner.  His name was Ray

– or Mr. Durante, if he was power-tripping for the night – but everyone just called

him The Manager.

He sidled up to Alexandria, putting his hand on her waist.  “Looking good tonight,

honey.”  She much preferred Van’s sobriquets for her.  “Good luck up there.”

And so she began.  Carlos returned to his piano bench just in time.  The spotlight –

a dim, pale blue beam – strengthened into its full brightness, the first notes of her

first song (by tradition) twinkled into the air, and she began to sing.  She knew every

song by heart; even the ones that she had learned more recently to add variety to

her set were ingrained in her head and in her voice.  Despite her perfect memoriza-

tion, no one could ever accuse her performances of being programmed, redundant,

or bland.  Each time she sang a song, it was a little different and, it seemed, always

better.  Although she no longer thrilled in the nightly performances, she gave each

one her all.

She was so well-loved that everyone in the lounge gave her attention, and the whole

room was respectfully quiet.

On occasion, Alexandria would look out into the audience and find Annick, who

always gave her a supportive smile.  Sometimes, in the smattering of applause after

each song came to its conclusion, she could hear Van’s distinct ovation.  Mostly, she

did not mind her work, and even then it was made better by the presence of her

friends.

About thirty minutes into her set that night, the lounge door opened.  This was not

a unique occurrence, as people were always coming and going.  Alexandria did her

best not to be distracted by it, but each time the light from the flickering street lamps

outside poured into the venue, it drew her attention.  This time, her attention was

held by the silhouette of a man entering through the doorway of The Alizarin.  The

exterior light outlined the tall, thin figure like the corona of a moon.  A cigarette –

just an orange-ish, reddish glow – burned between his lips.  The ember reflected in

the lenses of dark glasses.  He was an imposing shadow in the doorway, with eyes

burning. Then the door closed behind him.

Alexandria tore her eyes away from this new presence just as she sang the last note

of her song.  She hit the high pitch perfectly, having regained her focus just in time. 

The crowd applauded.  She thanked them.  She crouched down and took a drink of

the half-empty glass of water.  Standing again, she introduced her next song.  “This

one’s called ‘Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”  Her eyes followed the newcomer as

he walked coolly through the dark room, not looking up once toward the stage.  She

watched as he put out his cigarette in the ashtray of an empty table.  “Some of you

might know it,” she said, flashing a showgirl’s smile.

She looked at Carlos, who began to play.  After a few beats, she began to sing.  The

man found his way to the booth in the very front, closest to the stage.  He sat down,

joining another man at the table.  When she heard him speak, her professional re-

solve and concentration almost foundered yet again under the sudden rush of

exasperation.  

He said: “Hello, Mr. Bower.  How have you been liking the weather?”

x

    

 

 

xi

12

I am the voice inside of your headI am the creature under your bedI am the figure you see in the darkI am the noise you thought just a bark

I am the one who makes your heart raceI am the fear that no joy can replaceI am the figure you see at your door;the reason you keep your feet off the floor

I am the breeze that sends chills up your spine;the shadow you saw was not yours but mineI am the feeling that someone is watchingThat sudden chill of temperature dropping

If you want to meet me then just turn aroundBut know you will pay and never be found...

By: Maggie 10th grade

Student Halloween Edition

SLENDER MAN

Fear

ArticleStudent

By: Rajith Regi

A Skill That Everyone Needs One aptitude that every-

body needs to have is writ-ing. Writing is creativity that's shown in the use of great words in which it gives a great imagination for the readers.  When I write, I feel that I am creating a world for the reader in which their focus is all on what they're reading.   With the use of great words and sentence

structures, we make our-selves proud when we look back at what we wrote.   I feel the urge to write more when great thoughts come to my mind. Other readers who read your great story might even praise your story for giving them a world of imagination.

Writing is also useful for businesses and in creating job applications along with other things.  If you write well, you most likely might even get accepted into a career field of your choice.  With the use of writing, you are able to comprehend with what you imagine, and you are able to bring that imagination onto paper. With my experience of writing, I was even able to send a formal letter by email to my teachers and they were actually able to "comprehend" with what I had said in the letter.   In re-turn, they sent amazing responses to me. The only way a world would progress is through this skill and crea-tivity of writing. The more you prac-tice gaining this skill, the more you will make it your own. With the use of writing, authors like you and me can even create amazing and interest-ing stories like an anecdote for exam-ple.  A lot of the times even though I have had great imaginations in my head for what to write, I was afraid to bring them out onto a blank piece of paper.  But, the main conception there is to not be afraid and let that spirit shine. Also, if you don't know what to write to start off a piece of writing, start with a random scribble and pick up the ideas as you go on.  This way, you will be able to finish a well-thought piece of writing and you will be able to revise it after-wards.  In higher standards, you will need to have those writing skills, the ones you have to build up with the use of your own imaginations and ideas. So, you better get going on those skills!!  Another thing I want to say of how I gained my writing skills

is that when I was in seventh grade, I used to lack these skills and wasn't able to create a piece of writing that made me satisfied. Most of what the teacher said were imponderable to me. But, I never gave up on myself. I kept pushing it throughout the years until I knew how to use these writing skills based off of my own ideas. I would consider that 80% of what you write is based off of your own creative writing skills and your imagi-native ideas. The rest of the 20% that I would say is based off the struc-ture that you already have to know to set for the piece of writing.   So, it mostly depends on you to have a well-thought piece of writing, but through the use of your own ideas including the writing skills.  Overall, writing is the skill we all need to have to show these imaginative ideas and for the many uses with it.  

9th grade

  

My legs are turning to jelly and I skid across the driveway. The darn things just bailed on me right when I need them the most. It takes all I've got not to stop and survey the dam-age and cry from pain, when I realize why I fell. I was running... from HIM. I have a feel-ing of familiarity when I see his face but, why? I snap back into reality (a very strange thing as of now) and I start to break into a full run. I was flying now. Why is our driveway so long? I rushed to the door. I turned the knob. Oh, yeah, it was always locked! Duh, Dakota. I am fumbling and I snatch my wrist and frantically take the key off my bracelet and jam it in. Stupid, stubborn key. Now is NOT the time to give me any trouble. Today, of all days, why? Finally! It fits and I dash inside. I do a U-turn and SLAM the door shut. I bolt both locks. I squeeze up against the door and--breathe. Then I start to remember what happened earlier today...

I had woken up early and I felt like something would go completely wrong. If only I knew how wrong it would go, I probably would not have tried to rush out of the house. My Aunt Mara is a very kind, sweet person, but she always embarrasses me. This time I woke up earlier than usual, ate a quick breakfast, and was ready to head out the door when I heard Aunt Mara call, "Dakota! It's time to get up, up, up!" "So close!" I said quietly, "I'm already up, Aunt Mara. I was about to go so I wouldn't bug you on your day off." Not that this was a complete lie, I really didn't want to bug her, but I also don't want to deal with "Safety Aunt" again. Aunt Mara appeared at the bottom of the stairs--not like she got down super-fast and was there, but literally materialized--with her sandy-blonde hair in a braid down her back and wearing a loose tie-die T-Shirt and a flowing skirt that reached the floor. "Aww, you didn't have to do that for me. I don't mind." I did my best not to look too disappointed.

Aunt Mara smiled at me, full of joy. "I am so lucky to have you in my life, Dakota." she told me, still smiling. Great, I thought smugly, now she’s getting all sappy on me. Well, two can play that game. "Aw, thanks, Aunt Mara. You're the best sorceress to ever live," I told her with as much emotion I could muster without crying and laughing at the same time. Aunt Mara's bluish-silver eyes gleam with unshed tears. Aunt Mara can really get emo-tional sometimes. "Well," she says, trying not to cry. "It is off to school now. Are you ready to learn more?" I completely forgot I was trying to get away from her and go to school without her. "I...guess so." "Good," she replies with a grin that means something 'exciting' is going to happen, "Then let's get on with it. I don't want you to be late." She must have forgotten it was seven in the morning. I had plenty of time to get to school; something is wrong. "Aunt Mara," I said, irritated that she is keeping something from me, "What did you do?" "Nothing..." she trailed off. I could almost hear that 'Yet.' "Really, it's nothing." "What is “Nothing”, exactly?" I say, now glaring at her. "Don't sound so suspicious, Dakota Jane. I was going to tell you tonight at dinner, so you would have the rest of the night to take it all in. "If something suddenly comes up or changes, I want you to be prepared. Expect the unexpected. I just want the best for you. Don't ask questions, respect your authorities. I am your guardian after all. If anything happens, I am responsible. I-I--I just want you to grow up happy and right, you know?" Aunt Mara said wearily with her head in her hands.

******xiv

FictionA Continuing Story By: Hannah Manzanares

Student

Dakota Jane’s Journey 9th grade

Chapter One HIM: The Unexpected Guest

We arrived at my school, Huffines Middle School, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't get off so easily about being late again. Seventh grade is tough like that. My social stance in middle school was so-so. I mean, I wasn't a tall, glamorous, tanned-to-golden, lip gloss, designer- handbag girl. I wasn't a know-it-all or a geek either. Basically, I was a nobody. I was a plain-Jane. I was ranked higher than the know-it-alls, but not quite a mean-diva-popular girl. I was an in-between. Any-ways, I arrived at school knowing the bell was about to ring. Even though Aunt Mara and I hadn't spoken since we left the house, I could see the worried expression in her silver-blue eyes as I turned the corner. I hiked my bag up my shoulder and started racing down the halls to my first class, as fast as my sandals would let me. As I rounded the corner, I saw a familiar sight. Mrs. Robinson shutting her door. Dang it. Two days in a row I'd been late! I'd already missed the first five minutes of Texas History. I couldn't decide to skip class and go stay in the bathroom, or to stumble into class, late again. Being late isn't as bad as missing it, so I went ahead and took my seat in the desk, hoping she didn’t notice me. But Mrs. Robinson turned around and gave me a sly smile. What was that about? After I learned about whatever we had talked about, to be honest I fell asleep about half way, and got a paper-cut from my textbook, I was ready to break free when the bell rang. Brrring! Making a break for it I dart out of my desk, only to hear-- "Ms. Lockhart?" Don't you hate it when they call you by your last name? "Will you stay a moment?" Obviously, it would be more than a moment. I trudged over to Mrs. Robinson's desk. "Yes ma'am?" I said. I hoped she didn't detect the annoyance in my voice. "Just look." Again with that smile! She handed over her attendance check book. I gave her a blank look and she repeated "Just look." I scanned it and found my name. I glanced over at the "Late" column. My name wasn't checked! She marked me on-time, but why? "Let's just say, the score is now even," she whispered, taking back the book and smiling. By now, to me it was considered her signature smile. What score? Karma points? As if my life wasn't as mysterious beforehand. I now rushed to Spanish. None of the other teachers were ever that giving. But what made me so special? What score? I was so absorbed in my thoughts of what just happened I smashed into an open locker. I'm not clumsy, but I swear someone had opened it on purpose. Or it jumped out and bit me. Or I was so wrapped up in my mysterious encounter with Mrs. Rob-inson, I was looking for answers, and not opened lockers.

“Buenos días a ti también, clase! ¿Qué pasa con las caras amargas?" (Good morning to you too, class! What's with the sour faces?) Miss Gonzales complained at the groans. First we started our daily warm-up/ routine, starting with basic gram-mar. I quickly took notes and added proper pronunciation in parentheses on the side bars. I really hated this class. Miss Gonzales thinks learning a new language is easy!

--Knock-knock.—

The rest of my day was blurred, until right before Gym. I was at my locker when my friend, Kaydie, arrived. We chatted on about noth-ing really. She was interested in guys. I wasn't. Love could wait, though. The teach-ers, homework and school could not, sadly. As we talked we worked our way down the hallway toward gym, I noticed something off. As I said, I am a nobody. Only nobodies hang with nobodies. I knew every nobody in the school. But there was this -well- feeling that I was being surveyed. Yeah, yeah it sounded like a scary TV show but I was SERIOUS. Dead serious. I walked cautiously, trying for Kaydie to think nothing was up and for whoever was staring daggers in to my back to think I didn't realize. I spotted him. He was far enough behind that when I turned a corner he wasn't there, but sort of, trailing me. I could see a lock of sandy blonde hair lying over his left eye, peeking out beneath the black hood or his robe-ish thing. I carried on with my life, yeah, whatever. I was just imagining this! I was still hung on what hap-pened this morning. I continued on to the last period, gym. Today was Mile-day. But I just love running.

--Knock-knock, BANG!—

After gym, Kaydie and I were sweaty and we changed out of our dirty clothes, and took down our ponytails. I was back in my all-day school clothes and my strappy white sandals. The end-of-the-day- bell rang. Last period was over.

--BANG, BANG!—

I was on my way home, turning down the narrow, curvy, sidewalks. The spring air was fresh and amazing on my warm face. It smelled like fragrant flowers and newly cut grass. Wind tossed my long, chestnut hair around my shoulders, it flowed

xv

in the breeze. A monarch butterfly swooped down on to a wildflower growing in a small crack. It was a peaceful, wondrous moment that was quickly shattered when I saw …. HIM.

--BANG! BANG! BANG!—

My flashback ends abruptly and I am sucked back into the present. I lock all the doors and windows with entrances from the outside. I also lock the windows up-stairs, even though I know (unless a ladder materializes) he can't come up. Then, I dart for my room. For what seems like hours I wait, and try to figure out what to do next. All I am coming up with is let Aunt Mara deal with it. I hope she decides to vaporize him. She's only the best sorceress to ever live! One day I will learn how to do that, but for now, I am just her apprentice. Just then I heard the back door open. I'm panicking now and thinking 'Didn't I lock it. How did he do that?' I was trying to think how he could have gotten in when I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I notice they stopped right outside my door. Believe me when I tell you I would have gotten my aluminum bat out of my closet and beat it down on his head, repeatedly. My door is opening. My thoughts flit to the bat. I am trembling from head to toe with fear so greatly that my body won't listen to my brain scream-ing, "MOVE!" Why does it have to end this way, I think to myself, fear clouding my judgment. A cloaked figure steps into the room, their face half hidden by the hood. I close my eyes as it reaches out to me. I feel the person shake me and then Aunt Mara's worrying voice says "Dakota Jane? Answer me! Are you all right?" I ask myself; how and when, did Aunt Mara get here? Did I faint? Why isn't she helping me? Can't she see that I need her? I open my eyes and see Aunt Mara. The Cloaked person IS Aunt Mara! Wait, ok, but where is…. he? Did she follow me home? I am so confused. I start looking around my room to find his dead body or ashes to mark it. She shakes me again and yells "Dakota! Are you all right? What happened to you? Answer me!" "Huh... What?" I said a little dazed. "Oh, sorry I thought you were this person who's stalking me." I answer with a little bit of fright. She has a look of confusion, worry and... anger? "Who is this person? Can you tell-" Aunt Mara is rudely interrupted by the doorbell. "Hold on a second. We'll talk about this later." She storms out to get the door. I head toward my bed and plop down with a soft thump. At the door I heard Aunt Mara say, "Oh, Hello there. Please, come in."

"Thank you, Miss Hutchins," the unexpected guest said. I determined it was a male from the nice, medium-low voice. "Is Dakota here?" That sent an icy, bone-chilling shiver down my spine. "What do you wish to say to her?" Aunt Mara interrogated. He just laughs in response. Then he turns serious. "Nothing that important, if you have already told her." This makes me grimace. Wait! I remember our conversation earlier this morning and I have a moment of remembrance.... "Don't sound so suspicious, Dakota Jane. I was going to tell you tonight at din-ner, so you would have the rest of the night to take it all in.--Take what in?-- "If something suddenly comes up or changes, I want you to be prepared. Expect the unexpected. I just want the best for you. Don't ask questions, respect your authorities. I am your guardian after all. If anything happens, I am responsible. I-I--I just want you to grow up happy and right, you know?” What hasn't Aunt Mara told me? "Shhh! She might hear you!" Aunt Mara hissed. "I shall tell her when the time is right, and she is ready to hear it, or when in need of the information." There was a short pause. Then the mystery dude says "You need to tell her today-- right now, or I'll have to." He said it with so much authority. Right now I pretty much agree with him. I start to get up and join the conversation when hear footsteps coming toward my room. Aunt Mara was saying "…...Dakota can take care of herself and I've done a great job of training her! You can't do this! Taking her away would be bad for the both of us!" They enter my room and I hope, like Aunt Mara said, I am not being taken away from her.

xvi

17

It’s Kind Of A Funny Short Story By: Jason Seiple 10th grade

Over the summer, I went on a cruise with my family. Needless to say, I wasn’t very excited at the prospect of 5 days of continuous family time. However, on the third night of the cruise there was this "fiesta" thing going on in the main deck. So I went up to check it out. Standing on the sideline, there was this guy who told me, "go dance" and I said "no". He followed with the line "I dare you" so of course I had to start dancing. Apparently

my “Moves Like Jagger” were starting to bother some guests. After an hour, a secu-rity officer came up to me and told me to stop dancing "your bothering the other guests.” he said.

“Wait stop the story” inter-jects Mr. Hoskins, “Seiple, how were you dancing?” Without hesitation, I reply “provocatively”.

“You were too good”, com-ments Vincent.

Taco and Kit Kat discuss some of the more negative aspects of LHS and Marcus High School's tradition Battle of the Axe game

- 18 -

MODERN FARMER: ISSUE SECTION 4

Podcast Modern Age Voices

Listen @

LitmagclubLHS.wordpress.com

Listen to this podcast @

litmagclublhs.wordpress.com

Battle Of The Axe

We all have at least one kid in one our classes who seems to always be getting into trouble. Not only does it distract the teacher, but it's usu-ally always comical. It's amazing when it occurs in a class that is so terribly boring it's not even the slightest bit funny, and the teacher talks in a soft monotone like voice, and you and all of your classmates are just sitting there, fighting your eyelids that feel like a really heavy weight, and praying for the fire alarm to be pulled or something. When suddenly, that one other stu-dent says or does something that pulls the teacher entirely off track, it makes the class 10x more interest-ing for a brief five minutes.

The kid is arguing and making snide comments, the teacher is los-ing all composure and all rational-ity that they may have had, and then there's you and the other class-mates, and you have all these ques-tions running through your head, is the kid going to get sent out of the room? Is he/or she going to get sent down to the office? Will the teacher also go down? What's go-ing to happen next? Who's going to take it too far? The feeling of shock, amusement and curiosity just consumes you and everybody else witnessing this hysterical scene, it's kind of like watching a quick episode of some Soap Opera with your mom.

A bonus to this: Is that since the teacher and the kid are having a conflict, and you remember that you have a few questions on your homework that you forgot to finish, or just didn't feel like doing, be-cause a new episode of " The Walk-ing Dead " was on, and you were not about to miss that.

You can easily get those few ques-tions done without having to worry about the teacher saying anything about it. We should all give thanks to that one, troublemaking kid, for the amusement he/or she brings, and for those extra minutes they helped give you to save yourself from getting a seventy percent for a late grade. Oh also giving you something to laugh about for the rest of the school day.

The reason though, that I think it is one of the most awesome things, is because it's interesting to see how creative this kid can be with getting in trouble, there's always a new way and different tactics and new plan that they use and it's al-ways interesting to see what else that kid is going to do next, and even though none of us will admit it, everybody enjoys conflict, be-cause honestly seeing something like that, that doesn't involve you is just awesome!!!

ArticleStudent

That Kid Who is Always Getting in TroubleBy: Tiffany Reazor 9th grade

  I remember myself as a child rummaging through my grandfather's possessions. Vari-

ous knick knacks and ancient clothing litter the old attic. My iconic dusty brown hair

matches the wood, and my slight tan tells I am somewhat of a wild child.

I Wear a pair of jeans and a dark green shirt, I note that I have to take a shower soon or

my only pair of jeans would be ruined by the flying dust around me.

          The dust was recently disturbed by My grandpa and I on its wooden cove. Various

books and heirlooms litter now the deteriorating attic. I brush my fingers along a table to

leave a negative trail of dust.

I breathe in the nostalgic air around me, but it doesn't bother me. Memories flash through

my mind, riding my first bike, eating cookies on a cold night, my parents… now long

gone. My emotions drop as I realize that my parents are now nothing more than an old

memory. I shake it off and continue my adventure through the museum that is my grand-

father's attic.

As I stroll around the old room, I can hear my grandfather telling a specific story about

each thing every item holds, but being an eight year old boy I get tired of my old man's

tales, so I continue to look through a chest in the corner.

Then I finally find something that peaks my interest…a single engraved box. Made of

wood and about a thousand years old? I open the box to see it lined in crimson velvet with

four circular indentations. Each containing a single stone tied to a chain… all but one.

“Hey grandpa whats this?” I ask him as I held the chain.

The feeble man continues to his notes barely hearing my question. He waves a hand and

warns “Alex don't touch that or you will be in so much trouble that-”

“Oh come on grandpa I just want to have a look at it.” I interrupt holding the rock part  

Grandpa comes stomping toward me, he slaps my hand making me drop the necklace

 and growls  “You look with your eyes, not your hands!”

“I just want to know what that stupid rock is, and why its here...” I said rubbing my hands

“If you must know that ‘rock’” he starts as he grabs the necklace off the floor. “It Hap-

pens to be a great beacon of unfathomable power.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Ok...?” I ask unsure “So what do you call… this power?”

The old man looked at me for a while and then back to the rock. He gives a heavy sigh

and sat down upon a box covered with dust. He sits down sending millions of tiny dust

particles into the air.“ There is something you must know Alex. You are the beginning

product of the project my...friends and I began long ago, and part of this project was to

make those very stones you see now! Well we originally called it The Creators rock , but

the name didn't make sense so we just named it an amulet...and you are to one day inherit

it.”

“Whats it do?” I question.

“It would give a chosen few amazing abilities with the elements of nature itself, to be the

creator and destroyer of all humanity, and to-”

“Wow-that’s-pretty-cool-can-I-have-it-pleeeeeeeease??” I start to use my child like charm.

“Not yet. You must wait until you're older.” my grandfather says he didnt even look to-

wards my general direction.

“How much older? ”I plead.

“Sixteen.” Grandpa answers.

“Sixteen?” My heart sank to that. “What?! But that’s a such a long time!”

xx

FictionA Continuing Story By: Michael Perez

Student

Prologue

The Legend of

The Four Amulets9th grade

Created by: Michael Perez, Samuel Jack, & Andie Martinez

“Yes, but that will show me if you're responsible enough to handle the power of the

 amulet.”

“Ugh fine I’ll wait.”

Its been exactly six years its was August 24th. I was resting for school tomor-

row, well not exactly resting just laying there looking at the ceiling. My grandpa was

in his study, working tediously on a journal of his. It all seemed like a normal way to

end the day.

         When out of no where I quickly removed the covers  that were on top of me,

because I was hot but at the same time cold. There was sweat around me (I believe it

was sweat). "Crap, I'm thirsty...” I say to myself. I get up to get a drink of water.

I walk through the living room to kitchen. Turning on the lights as I go. Amidst of

the silence there was a loud bang on the door. I was about to answer when my

grandpa shoved me, looked through the peephole, and his face began to drain of

color. My first assumption was that something was wrong.

He turns slowly and says, “Get your things we need to go now!"

“What?” I ask confused

“We have to go now!”

I just stood there unsure of what to do.

“You need to go to your room and pack your things, do it quick and only pack what

you need.. GO!” He orders as he violently ushered me up the stairs.

At this point being the brainiac I am, I realized that the man at the door had some-

thing to do with the amulet I saw Earlier. Then it came upon me even more ques-

tions. "Why? Who is at the door? Does he want the amulets? who made these amu-

lets, what are we  running from, who are the others, what’s happening anyways?”

The words were pouring from my mouth.

“You will understand later. You Just have to get out of here “

I was still confused. I ask again. “But what about y-”

But as I was speaking, a louder bang than before sounded causing the door to glow

faintly, and just before it exploded into smithereens and sent splinters flying every-

where. It was as if the door exploded from the inside out !

Through the dust and smoke, I heard the footsteps of a man entering the house. As

the smoke cleared, a dark figure emerged. It's around six foot and as thin as a rail,

looking like your everyday thin man.

Except for the man was draped in a robe…dark and sinister, almost as if the cloth

was a part of him. The robe draped down to its wrists, only to reveal two clawed

hands. The skin looked pale and cold… like the way you may imagine a corpses

hand may look. The fabric ran up his neck and covered his face to only to leave the

bridge of his nose supporting two cat like eyes that were blood red…almost as if the

very prism of red was encased in this mans eyes. The pupils pierced through me I

began to feel faint and lost. It seemed the whole world was gone all that was left was

the blazing red eyes of this man.

I began to lose all hope of fighting and just stand there.

Suddenly a voice that sounds like scratching fingernails on a chalkboard broke the

trance. It screeches only four words “Get me the boy!!”

From behind the man emerges two figures cloaked in rags comically held together

by patches and poor stitching. They didn't seem to walk they just… glide along.

They would have soon cornered the me it had not have been for a bang, a flash, a

spray of blood, and my grandfather running to grab me…still holding the smoking

gun.

My grandpa fitted me into the closet and whispered, “Okay Alex , these are very

bad men. You have to get out of here. Now. I got you your bag. It has a few things in

there some clothing, a map, some food and drinks, and a switchblade… just in case.

I realize that this isn’t a lot but it’s all you need, but the one thing you must guard

with your life… is this.” The old man placed the cold unfeeling rock in my hands.

The chain slid and plummeted only to be jerked by the tie. “I want you to run now

and don't bother coming back for me… I'll see you soon.” Grandpa Whispers as he

held me.

This kind of thing is hard for me knowing that I'm his only grandchild. “Okay...” I

said with tears in my eyes. Then I opened the door and bolted towards the back

xxi

door, swinging it open. I didn’t know how long or how far but I ran and never

looked back.

I saw what I thought was a plains biome but was a field of rocks and mountains. I

was amazed to see what was out of the forest that I lived in... “Wow...” I breathed in

a surprised tone. I collapsed on the floor.

“Grandpa… are you there..?” I murmur with a slight quiver in my voice.

I was up in an instant looking around, trying to figure out what happened. My first

instinct in my confused mind was to go back to grandpa. I was just about to turn

when erupting through the land and shattering the tranquil silence, there was a

boom, a flash of red, and the next thing I knew I was staring at a humungous billow-

ing cloud of fire and ash in the sky… directly where the small cottage was located. I

just stand there, in awe of the horrible and dark sight. Unable to say anything, I just

looked. Then without warning, all the remembrance from the night before had

came rushing in, causing me to burst out in anger.

“WHY?!” I start "Why does all this always happen to me!? Why did you leave me,

why did you leave me alone?!” I didn't know who I pointed that after, my grandfa-

ther or my parents. My anger was uncontrollable. I fell steamy tears running down

the my face, unable to find a vent for my anger. Pacing around in anger and wrath

started to control me. I was so angry, so frustrated. that I punch an immense boulder

in hope to drain my anger.

Expecting my hand to shatter was soon a dream. What actually happened was the

bolder I punched shattered itself ! The huge boulder caved in and then exploded

with an array of dirt and pebbles. My anger lowered and confusion was taking over.

I needed to stay in control by doing so I punched the air, as I did this, I saw another

bolder fly in the direction I punched. I was Amazed at my grandpas work. It turns

out he wasn't lying.    

“Alright... I need some answers” I say to myself as I search through my backpack,

thinking it contained something. I quickly repeat the words, “Where is it, where is

it.” at last I found it. Searching through the backpack I found these things: clothing,

food, bottled water, a first aid kit, and a small black book.

Pulling every little thing out I examined carefully until I got to the book. The book

was black, small and had an oddly shaped key hole. “Hmmmm,” I thought, “What

can I use as a key?” Just then, I look down “Ah ha!” I exclaim while taking off my

amulet that I waited so long for. I stick it in the keyhole. It opened and first thing I

saw was a note from my grandpa; I read it carefully.  

“I know that i've haven't been real clear with you but you must know that you are

the chosen one.Here is what I desperately tried to tell you but could not. A long time

ago me and this band of people called the creators, made these amulets to protect

humanity from destruction. During this process we had accidentally created a mon-

strosity. A monstrosity of which would soon be the end of us all… if it weren't for

you. You see what we were trying to create was a band of AMULETINS of which

would be used to fight evil with the only natural weapon there is… nature itself. But

creating these we realized that no human would be correct for the amulets. As for

humans ourselves are creatures of wrath and envy. So we tried to make a perfect hu-

man, one of which would have an element of nature itself embedded in its very be-

ing. But we had decided to make a human for each element, fire ,electricity, earth,

love, water, and fear. We tried to create a human of fear first because to the old say-

ing, if you conquer fear, you conquer all else.But what we did not know was that fear

was a disease, one that would contaminate a vey soul. Thus was created a demon by

the name of Series. His plans are to drain the world of all life and destroy anyone

that is involved with the amulet so that he cannot be challenged by any other. You

have untapped power you could only DREAM of.There will be a group of others

along the way you will meet, then and only then would Seris try to drain earth of

life… he will try to drain you first.Remember You are the   leader of a band of 4

other Amuletins. find them and make an alliance and beat Series  the sorcerer. Re-

member Alex I will always love...”

I noticed then there was a blood stains all over the paper, making my eyes widen.   

“Oh dear god...” I whisper, putting my hand to my mouth; containing my tears.

xxii

Chapter I The Raging Fire

                             

I awake screaming, sitting upright in my bed, my shirt stained with dried sweat.

“That dream- no... nightmare.” I thought to myself. The unsteady sound of my

breathing was the only thing that broke the silence in the house. That was it, the

nightmare I’ve had every night since that fateful day where I lost my grandpa, five

years ago. I decide to get up and do my daily routine to get it out of my head.

4:30- 4:50: Get dressed for school (ugh)

4:50- 6:30: breakfast

6:30- 8:00: practice skills in basement

I’ve gotten dressed and eaten my daily toast and burnt eggs, it was about time I at-

tend   to my workout session. I have done this daily workout everyday for the past

two years, but I'm not exactly the strongest of men because of my small structure

and almost no muscle mass. You may realize that I don’t have the everyday workout

you’d sign up for at an intown gym.

I have my workout session in my basement. I'd open a ratty rotten wood door. That

descends to rotting, crisp brown steps onto a dirt floor. I set a timer for an two and a

half hours. I then place the timer on the bottom step along with my shoes, socks,

and shirt. After that I’d sit with my fist together er and concentrate on that feeling

deep within the one that had all the power in the world and yet was only the part of

something big.

To then be brought back by the comforting glow and the small humm of my amulet

given to me long ago. Finally I stand with my eyes closed, breathing in the air

around me; preparing myself.

I flash open my eyes, throwing an upwards punch. Feeling the earth react with me; a

pillar of dusty brown rock rockets out of the surface. The swift movements of my-

self were just as well imitated by the ground. Punch after punch, kick after kick, and

series of complicated movements to conjure the rocks around me glide, shift, and

hover around me. The power of millions of years coursed through my veins

through, my mind, and through my soul. I would then dramatically stop, grab my

th ing s , re tu r n the g round to i t s o r i g ina l s t a t e, and l eave fo r

school.                                    

I live in a town called Hinton Town (well the outskirts that is). Just your average sub-

urban town, no particular backstory, and nothing special. Oh, and get this, it's actu-

ally special for being literally the only town with nothing special about it. It’s located

in the middle of average day Texas… surprisingly if you bring a random person to

that town, they couldn't tell if they were in Texas or Minnesota…or Canada. Its a

really bland town…perfect for someone trying to stay low like me. The town con-

sisted of maybe 1,500 population…yeah not exactly a popular town, It consists of a

small neighborhood, one fire and police station, a small high school, a local string of

shops and grocery store, and one itty bitty town hall.

As I walk through the small town. I glance at my watch and realize the time. "Not

again." I adjust my satchel, ready myself for a sprint, and run.

With great difficulty I rush up a hill. When out of nowhere a shopping cart came

towards me. (The kids around this town like to steal them and take them for rides on

hills and such and when they are done they usually don't return them.) So I guess

that this one was just abandoned.

Normally what a person would do is move out of the way, but I decide to face

the cart head on. I do so by trying to stop it. I place my left in front of me and wait

for the impact. The cart slams on my left hand, and since I'm on a hill the back of

the cart lifts of the ground. I use my right hand to grab the handle, I lift it over my

head, and toss it aside. "We'll now that's over let's hurry on to school," I tell myself.

I decide to take a shortcut. I take what I think is an alleyway. Instead I emerge from

the corner to be brought face to face with a dead cold wall. “What a dead end? "Are

you kidding me?!” I say to myself. “I have no time to go back... so I'm just have to go

over it." I strategize  in my head what I'm going to.

xxiii

After a few moments pass. I turn to the wall on my right,  jump, and grab a bar that

was hanging from above. Then I push off the wall with my feet; letting go I turn my

body around and grab the other bar on the left side that was about a foot high. I

prop myself over the top. “All right now what” I thought again. I look over the roof-

top edge, grab a rock, and drop it over the edge.                Gravity pulls it towards to

ground, as I count how many seconds it took to hit the ground. “One…two.” "So

that's about twenty feet."

I jump over, and put my left hand and foot against the wall. Just before I hit the

ground I jump of the wall and land on the sidewalk unharmed. I skidded my right

foot behind me, and blast forward.

 I spoke to myself while running “Okay I'm almost there all I have to do i-," but be-

fore I could finished. This girl and I collide making both of our bag of belongings

explode. To my map of the town, my book, school binder, and my water bottle; to

her papers, pens, pencil, basically everything a typical girl needs for school.

Being dazed entire time I examine the girl from head to toe. She has curly, red hair

put into a ponytail that was braided, a face littered with freckles, beautiful brown

eyes, a chainmail necklace that shined in a way that was underneath her black t-shirt

that has some kind of a anime design on it, dark blue skinny jeans that were a little

worn out, and niké baby blue sneakers. She seems familiar somehow, but I couldn't

figure out why. I scramble to my feet and help the girl retrieve her items.

"I am s-so sorry m-miss!" I stutter. “Really Alex, MISS?! What are you in? The

1800's?” I coach myself in my head

She asked rubbing her head. "Ugh, what was that!?"

“Thats was me. I kind of ran into you...sorry.”

“Its ok just watch where you're going next time ok."

"Um..yeah. Sure." “This girl is actually kinda cute!” I think darkly.

We just sort stood there for a couple of minutes. I decide to break the silence.

“Um..My names Alex...what's yours?” My voice trailed off.

She answers “My names Kara  but most people call me a...nevermind"

There was a sudden pause. It lasted for several minutes. The girl Kara starts,

“so…?”

“what?” I say laying on the grass; folding my arms behind my head

“What were you in a hurry for?” she asked confused

“Well I was going to be late for the bus, but now I can't because I am…thanks alot ”

I hint with attitude.

“Ok, ok there’s no need to be a jerk about it!” she says back. The bus is probably

late anyways.

Just as she was finishing her sentence there was a loud horn. The bus pulls up and

surprisingly we were the only ones on the bus (for now). Kara and I sit together tak-

ing turns on talking about our childhood. To my favorite food and hobbies; hers as

well. We also got to talk about her just moving here!

“I’ve never actually had a real friend.” I say with a smile, I begin to actually feel hap-

piness (for once).

My dreams were then smashed when within seconds a fairly large set of hands

landed on my left and right shoulder. I hear what is a voice that I was familiar with

The deep voice with sarcasm “Well, well, well, the Dweeb got himself a girlfriend.”

I turn to see that familiar teenager that I've seen so much of. Dressed in a navy blue

blazer, a light blue collar shirt, Lightly faded blue jeans, a pair of the whitest Vans

you’ll ever see. They appeared to have never touched the ground; even the soles

where purest white. His skin looks like he spent most of his time outside but was a

little pale. His height was unfathomable for a seventeen year old…six foot two inches

I believe. His silk black hair wavered over his right eye and was adjoined by (an obvi-

ously painted) blue streak of hair. He flashed off his blue stud earing and his silver

bland ring, but above all else that stood out on him. His electric blue eyes.  

“Hey...Finn...” I mutter annoyed.

“Wow they look real cute together right guys. Ey Rico how long do you think these

dorks been dating? ” Finn asked one his gang members.  

xxiv

Ah...His gang. These guys may not even have a mind of their own; it was as if the

only reason they existed was to accompany Finn. I honestly don't think they can

even take a breath without him saying so.

           Kara and I correct in unison “WE AREN'T DATING!"

Finn continues to tease us until we arrive to the school. We sit down to eat breakfast

amidst the swarm of tired, half awake, coffee drinking, sleep deprived teenagers in

the café.The only sounds that brakes the dry morning was the chitter chatter of teen-

agers, the clip clop of someone passing by, the occasional car vroom passing by, and

of course the ridicule of Finn and his gang.

“You're really gonna let him push you around like this? Kara whispers

“Just ignore them they'll leave eventually.” I reassure her. I ignore The rage was boil-

ing within me and I notice my amulet hum as Finn says something that pushes it too

far. He leans over to my ear and hisses “You like her and I know it.”

I say nothing, just clench my fists, as small stream of blood trickle from where I dug

my nail into my palm.

“look dweeb, this is how I see it.” He continues  “Someday you'll fall in love, get mar-

ried, and have--”

“I told once and I’ll tell you again we are not dating, you jerk!” I interrupt.

“What did you call me…?” Finn asked dumbfounded.

          “Did I freakin stutter?!” I ask sharply, slam fist on the table, stand up bringing

the chair I sat on to the floor, and punch Finn in his annoying trap that is his mouth.

He steps from back from me, as he did Finn and I hear series of quotes from other

tables.

“What’s going on?”, “Oh my god!!! did Alex just punch Finn!?”, ”I think he did.” , “

OH MY GOD ITS A DEAD MAN WALKIN!”, and other choice phrases.

Kara  asked  to the girl next to her. "Is he usually this violent?”

The girl next to her answers “um...no…”

“Is there like a story against these two or what?” She questions the girl

“Well yes there is...ever since Alex came to this district Finn has picked on

him, I guess he finally broke. Though I never knew he had the guts to actually hit

Finn like that. In all of my years knowing him he has NEVER been one to jump

into violence.”

“Oh, and you are?”.

“Me?” the girl starts “My name’s Charlotte. Charlotte Schatten. I’ve basically been

the only one who would talk to the kid. He isn't the most social thing.”

Kara’s eyes return to the fight unfolding in front of her. Finn put his hand up to his

mouth to check for blood. Speechless he tastes blood he had nothing to say until I

turned to leave.

Finn at the top of his lungs shouts “Holy crap! Dork over here has got an

arm!”

I close, turn around, and the same time I tell myself Slowly. “In...out…in…out”

“WELL...GET HIM” he yells at his gang. With a crack of my eyes I sees the bully

advance his troop of juvenile delinquents towards me. Rico, Daymond, Elvis, and

Gasher against the one moron who had to open his mouth…me.

           And these aren't your everyday gang members. Everyone of them has a laun-

dry list of committed crimes and felonies.

Rico was charged for 13 different cases of trespassing and vandalism, and Elvis has

been in and out of prison ever since he could open a cash register…which kinda

tells you what he is in for.

Deymond actually killed a guy… and thats no rumor. He actually brags about it on

campus like it was like winning an award. And Gasher you don't wanna know. Lets

just say he didn't get his name for nothing, and the only thing that keeps these dicks

from overtaking Finn is the well known fact that he can kick all of their butts, at the

same time… it’s been done before. Three of them had to go to the hospital and one

of them was in the I.C.U. for a month.

Rico came at me, full speed punching and kicking while at the I was effortlessly

blocking his uncontrolled attacks. There came a time during the fight to where Rico

was open. Thats when I striked; by doing so I punch Rico as hard as I could in the

stomach, and kick him in face.

xxv

By the time Rico fainted Deymond leaped on top of me. I flip him off of my back.

He collides into a table. Bringing the plates on the table up into the air and onto the

floor. Making them shatter into tiny pieces.

Elvis yells as he charges toward me; alerting me in the process. I spin to Elvis swing-

ing my foot up to his cheek. His face sinks into the heel of my sneaker; causing him

to whirl around until he hits the floor.

           After I had defeated the three out of four of Finn's gang, I had believed that

I would live to see another day. A smile of both relief and satisfaction grew across

my face as I listen to the crowd around me cheer.

Apparently that’s not the case! Finn looks at the Strongest of the gang; Gasher and

gives him a slight nod.

He slowly walks towards me, as he did he removes his hood, flicks a cigarette out of

his mouth, rolls up his sleeves to reveal the many tattoos pasted onto his arms, and

reveals a bloody switchblade.

There was a large gasp over the crowd. I was so scared that my heart actually

skipped a beat. To boost my spirits up some idiot hollered  out “Somebody call an

ambulance.” I glance over at Kara…Her face...the face full of fear, but why was she

scared? It was me that might die today.

There was a long stand off. It lasted more than a couple of minutes. I assume

Gasher was studying me; trying to decide how to take me down.

He called out to Finn “This shouldn't last more than a minute”

I clench my fist together, and cough out the words ”You better rethink that.”

He turns to and swings for my chest with the knife in his hand. Reluctantly I block,

by bringing up his arm, and hitting a weak point to make his arm go numb. In effect

Gasher dropped the blade.

Gasher swings his other arm downwards. I put my wrists in a X formation to block

this attack. By the time his critical attack made contact with my wrists they're in-

stantly brought down.

Gasher saw this as his opportunity to attack. He brings his arm back and with full

power he strikes for my head. Without even thinking I bring myself around Gasher

dodging his fatal blow. I then jump backwards to get away from him.

He turns to me with his blank expression, as he looks at his watch as the second

hand slowly crosses the twelfth hour. He slowly at stares at me, the whole crowd was

speechless, for everyone saw this moment as the acme of the fight. After a while he

said something while taking off his jacket.  “Hphm. Well you've lasted more than a

minute you should consider yourself lucky.”( I had know idea that he took this min-

ute thing literally.)

Then he came at me throwing a right hand punch. I grabbed his arm with my right

hand put my other hand on his chest lifted him over me and basically threw him

across the large crowd. I sensed someone was behind me, so I turn to see Rico up;

breathing heavily in his fighting stance. He threw a weak right hand punch. I moved

his hand out of my way and punch him in the face. He fell face first to the floor. I

got a bit cocky so I yelled to him “Get up again and I swear!”

I Turn to see a knife to my face, so instinctively I duck. The knife that I barely

dodged belonged to Gasher that he some how retrieved. He took no to time to do a

vertical slash with the knife. Then a horizontal slice across the face. After that a di-

agonal slash towards the right arm.

I dodged almost everyone, but the last one got me. Though the amount of adrenalin

I made it to where the wound didn't even faze me.

Everyone was surprised to see if I could survive Finns entire gang. I figure that this

fight should end, so spin my fist toward Gasher hitting him on the right side of his

cheek bone causing him to fall to the floor.

There was a long pause in the crowd. “Its over.” I thought to myself.

Finn was surprised, everyone was including myself. Finn shook his head back and

forth like he didn't believed it. I looked at his face was red I knew that he was angry.

He came towards me I stepped back, but I hesitated to run. That was my first mis-

take and maybe my last.

xxvi

He grabs my neck and squeezes it like it was a chewtoy. He threatens while grinding

his teeth “ Oh now you’ve done it.”

I was losing oxygen. I think to myself  “Well it was fun while it lasted,” and before I

blacked out I saw the fading image of Finns deathly blue eyes…

xxvii

Mr. Hawke Isn’t As Cool as You Think

28

W hat’s this?

What’s this? Is it true what stu-dents say? What’s this? He wears flannels everyday?

Enough sing song from my oh so popular and cult classic Halloween picture. It’s time for Jack Skellington to come clean and admit I had teach-ers all wrong... There are cool teachers out there... wait!!!

He hasn’t seen Nightmare Be-fore Christmas? ...What?

Who hasn’t seen this movie?

Ok ok before I judge Mr. Hawke too early let me ask a question: Is he over 40?

No!!! ....He’s in his 20’s?

Featured

By: Jack Skellington

Well I’m sorry, but this is just in-excusable. How can you be a millennial and not have seen this movie? Please tell me that this teacher lives in a bubble completely void of pop culture relevance? ...He plays drums? And he sponsors School of Rock???

I can’t take it...

Let me right here and now go on the record and state that Mr. Hawke can never be “cool” until he has seen one of the coolest movies of all time.

Do I even need to mention that when my movie was made it was before Pixar before the age of super Apple computers with abilities to render the most life like computer animated scenes movies have ever seen?

No, in my day if you wanted compu te r an ima ted you needed to mold each character artistically out of clay and then shoot each shot frame by frame with artists and engineers me-ticulously moving each charac-ter by hand. That is what makes

my movie greater by far than modern hits such as The Incredi-bles, Up, or even Wall-E.

My flick was made before Blue-ray, and because of the artistic quality to stop-motion anima-tion, only became greater as a result. Let every student reading this do me a favor, and before Halloween night, hound and call on Mr. Hawke to do me justice and see this movie.

Oh well ... I’m sure this is just one movie that has slipped through the cracks; surely he’s seen Shawshank Redemption

Article

When I walked into the American Air-lines Center Sunday night, surrounded by 9 year olds wearing John Cena mer-chandise, old men wearing John Cena merchandise, and middle aged women wearing John Cena merchandise, I knew I was in for a treat. Now, I haven’t been to a live WWE event since roughly 2005, but some things haven’t changed: I still can’t stand John Cena.

            It’s not that I don’t like the guy: by all accounts he is a fantastic human being. That man has granted more wishes for the Make a Wish foundation than any other person. He’s just….I guess the right way to put it would be that he’s stale. He’s stale and refuses to change.

                      All the greats in pro-wrestling have changed, adapted, and evolved. Hulk Hogan went from “eat your vita-mins and say your prayers” to wearing the black and white of the NWO and spray painting his victims after giving them the leg drop. Bret Hart shifted from being the classic underdog hero to being an Anti-American Pro-Canadian villain. Even Dwayne “The Rock” John-son shifted from “The People’s Cham-pion” to being a Hollywood snob that didn’t have time for the people who used to adore him. Meanwhile, John Cena has gone from “Hustle Loyalty and Respect” to…”Hustle Loyalty and Respect”?

            John Cena has been booked as the underdog for over 10 years now. He won the United States Championship from the Big Show at Wrestlemania XX and has since continued to become one of the most decorated champions of all time. Good ol’ John has won the WWE Championship an unbelievable

12 times (You know how many times Steve Austin won the belt? Six). Over that time frame Cena has overcome every opponent in his way and beaten the odds stacked against him so many times it’s hard to count.

            The point I’m getting at is this: who in that building honestly expected Randy Orton to beat Cena? We all knew that Cena was going to win again and we all didn’t care. When Cena came out last night the spectators chant-ing “Cena Sucks” vastly overpowered those chanting “Let’s Go Cena”. How has the WWE not caught onto the fact that we are all sick of him?

                      I’ve crossed my fingers and prayed that Cena would do something to change his character and make him-self entertaining for years now, but it’s clearly a lost cause. Until all those 9 year olds stop convincing their parents to pump money into the Cena founda-tion, he’ll continue to spout off the same old shenanigans we’ve been watch-ing for 10 years now.

            I should probably just find a new show to watch.

ArticleTeacher

By: Mr. Hawke

John Cena: or Why I need a new hobby

Then you stare back at the book, re-alizing you’ve actually completed a book series for once in your life. and for a brief moment, there’s a little celebration in the back of your mind, with Dauntless cake and blue food and pumpkin juice, and all your favorite fictional characters (dead and alive) are there, congratulating you for finally accomplishing some-thing for once in your life. When you snap back into reality, you realize everything is the same as it was before on this awesome, amaz-ing adventure with these characters. If you own the book, which is always a thousand times more satisfying than borrowing it from the library or from a friend, you slide it back on the shelf; the last book in the series. Your eyes scan the first book, and you slide it out of the self. The cover is familiar, almost comforting, as you remember how simple everything was then, before everyone got in the way of danger or betrayed the pro-tagonist or died. You shed a tear as you slide it back into the shelf and pick up the second book, where your favorite character was introduced, and you think to yourself this was my favorite book in the series, and you remember how everything was so simple, when yes, the government hated the main character, but be-sides that everything was so normal. Then you see the third book, the one you just finished, the one when the main character found herself in seri-

ous trouble, to the point where she’ll either overthrow the government or she’ll be brutally murdered by them. You remember when you had to push yourself through the middle of the book because it was completely and utterly un-extraordinary. Then there was then ending, when your favorite character died, and when you slowly started to realize the main character has changed from an inno-cent, scared, little teenager growing up in a dystopian society to a com-plete psychopath, ready and willing to kill anyone that comes in their way. You try not to cry at this nega-tive character development, but soon it all comes out like your eyes just turned into Niagara Falls or some-thing. The journey these characters have gone on was amazing, and you know you were there every step of the way with them. Even though everything is all happy and everyone (who is still alive, that is) has found their place in the world, you crave to remember everything in immaculate detail. Slowly, you pick up the first book again and begin to reread...

30

ArticleStudent

By: Elena Miller 9th grade

Finishing a Book Series

As the end draws near, your speed slows down. Your head starts spin-ning, saying “No! It can’t end this way!” Every word you read you cherish, knowing this is the end, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

And then it happens.

You slowly, carefully, start to read the last sentence, making sure you read everything correctly. 

And then it’s all over.

You reread the last words again and again, slowly, but still compre-hending everything it says.

The pages stare back at you, and in the midst of “All these adventures end like this?!?!” or “This is the last book in a series why does it have a cliffhanger?!?!?” you hear a tiny voice in the back of your head, al-most sounding like a little elf, say-ing “You’ve finished it!! You’re free!!”

31

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