Nowhere

Going into a group home in another town and not knowing anybody there could be very scary. But the life I live, my family thinks that I should not cry. I ran away twice. The first time I stayed with friends, but sooner or later they’ll get tired of you staying there. You might be too clean, or too dirty for them, and then you’ll have to move. From pillow to post it gets tiring, not knowing who to turn to, not knowing where your next meal is coming from. Some females turn to prostitution and some just sleep in parks. It’s no fun having nowhere to go.

By Kiaozhanay Williams

When the world died, so did the hopes and dreams of many people. Once the survivors of the dying planet saw through their illusions of life, they perished too. Despite the state of chaos and ruin the cities were left in, some souls were unlucky enough to live through these catastrophic times.

The black scorched walls of the alleyways began to groan and crumple under the weight of generations past as the dark clad newcomer trudged his way through the scum covered streets of the forgotten city. Carrying only what he needed to survive the harsh elements and the locals, he carefully trekked forward in the damp weather.

Devilish eyes peered down upon this strange and unknown figure from the darkened windows above the street. As wind swept whispers wavered over the city’s dismal existence, the stranger’s echoing footsteps silenced in the midnight air. With a slight flutter of his raincoat the man in black turned around to face the unwanted welcoming committee coming forth from the shadows.

As the odd group of city dwellers advance, the mysterious warrior raises a bushy brown eyebrow and speaks in a low, calm voice as he takes a slow step forward, My name is Serak, I wish you nor the inhabitants of this area any harm. Since there appears to be no response from the pack, he continues to talk. I need to pass through here to get to my destination . . . and to fulfill destiny.

At that last word, the inadequate mob stopped and a man no taller that five feet stepped before the mutant gang facing Serak. With a snap of his chubby fingers, two gangly men lunged for the figure ahead, stopping only a few feet from him to nurse their bleeding wrists from where their hands had once been. Glaring at the leader, Serak wipes the dripping blood from his father’s Katana. Can I continue on my way now?" he growls. With a defeated nod of his head the leader gestures for Serak to proceed on his journey.

Just as day passes into night, so does the mysterious warrior into the land beyond.

Anonymous

Steps

There are many, many steps in life. Step slowly to be assured you are doing stuff right and going the right way. For instance, when I was a freshman in high school I used to write real fast, but I learned to write slower. Step forward to get ahead and graduate by getting your diploma. Do school work and study so that you can graduate. Step into something and participate. When you do this you can meet new people and learn new things for fun or work. Steps are things that enable you to do things and try new things in your life.

Mike Kellogg, 11th Grade, Galt High

The Forest

As I was walking through the dark, cold forest on a rough, uneven path, I could smell the pine trees that loomed above me. Up ahead I can see a person; he is wearing a pair of midnight black pants, and a snow white T-shirt. He sees me and casts a hateful glance at me--fear causes me to shudder. Once he passes, I come to a rushing river with a makeshift bridge going across it. I look intently at the cross beams and wonder if it was safe to cross. I decided that it was safe and crossed the bridge. Reaching the path, I can hear the birds singing their songs of spring. When I get back on the path I look ahead and see a small brown cup in the middle of the path. I pick the cup up and look at it, noticing some red Gothic writing on the bottom. The writing bothered me, so I set it back on the ground next to the path. After walking for awhile, I come to a white picket fence, and behind the fence is a quaint little cottage. I walk to the heart-shaped front door and gently open it. Inside the cottage is a small red, metallic table. I can see a small object on the table. As I go to inspect the object, I see the man I saw in the forest, he is sitting on a large chair made of bone. Fear sweeps over me, and I start to run. As I reach the door, I can hear him laughing at me. His laugh was an evil hideous sound.

James Philo, 12th Grade, Galt High

Some Epitaphs

Here lies Peter Pan
Hit on the Head
With a Cast Iron Pan
-----------------------------
Here Lies a Plumber
That was Dumber than Dumber
He Died Last Summer

Richard Henry, 12th Grade, Galt High

A horse is the eagle of the Earth's surface They glide across the Earth without a worry or thought They have the vision of the hawk and the speed of the wind to guide them along A horse can smell you miles away in the day or night It does not matter There is a horse in all of us.

Ryan, 9th Grade, Laural Springs

My Dream Car

The car of my dreams is a porsche. The color of the porsche would have to be black. Black cars go with anything I would wear. My car would have leather seats. They're comfortable, and they really don't get that hot in the sun. Also, I want an automatic. Automatics are easier to drive because you don't have to shift all the time. When I am driving my black porsche, people would look at me and want my car.

Christina Garrison, 9th Grade, Galt High

How to Con Your Teachers

There are many different-styled teachers in this big old world today, and many ways to con them. One way to con your teachers is to help them out. If you help them out, they tend to like you more, so you may get a better grade. Another way to con your teachers is to be polite, yet productive. If you do this, they will usually cut you some slack, even when you're having an off day. Yet another way to con your teachers is to show eye contact, nod and affirm to them when they are giving a lecture or asking questions. This makes them think that you are paying attention even when you aren't. If you con your teachers like this, you probably will end up with a better grade.

Josh O,Neal, 10th Grade, Galt High

You may e-mail your original manuscripts to Kevin Grady, (pongolo@worldnet.att.net), or send them to the following address:

Write On
Kevin Grady
9738 Lincoln Village Drive
Sacramento, California 95827-3399

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