Rss

Archives for : Creative Writing

Ghosts (Parts II and III)

Gotham is subject to yet another night of pillaging. There is a robbery cut short by figure that bathes in the nightlife of this pit. Balancing himself and a thug on a ledge, twenty stories up, the Batman dangles him upside down. He thinks, “Johnny Bones, a small-time thug trying to get big here in Gotham. He works for Scarecrow, and I need information.”

There, he speaks, “Bones, my arms are getting tired. Speak, before I drop you.”

“FINE, FINE,” Johnny replies, looking down to see the the herd of traffic below him.

“Do you work for Scarecrow?” Batman asks, raising his arms so that his eyesight would level with his chest, his symbol.

“I used to! I used to! I haven’t worked for him in years! I used to, man.” Lenses squint, not believing a word he mustered. And with a slowed breath, he lets Johnny go, tumbling to the ground below.

Twenty stories.

 Eight stories.

Five stories.

Before he could muster a howl, the thug is swooped into the arms of a beast gliding from above him. They seemingly fly over to the rooftop of a theater, one of the last in Gotham. “I will ask ONE more time, Johnny, do you work for him?”

After taking a second to position himself on this new surface, he brings himself to his feet, despite his shaking legs. “No…” Batman steps closer, “BUT, I do sometimes run things by him. You know, little things from off the streets.”

This was useful to him, the Batman would use him as bait to catch Scarecrow. “Take me to him,” he said, grabbing him by the collar with strength unlike Johnny had ever seen, and they retreat off the rooftop using his grappling gun.

III

 They stand near a warehouse on the East End; the docks were a dirty place, even for the Batman. It was a shock that these supports were still in use, despite their ugly features.

“Here,” said Johnny. “This is where he’s been hiding out these last couple o’ days, man, I swear!”

As if the wind were a calling for him to flee, The Dark Knight lifts off into the night, disappearing before Johnny Bones even knew what happened. “Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow; once a doctor at Arkham Asylum turned inmate himself. Like my father used to tell me before bed, ‘Gradually slipping into one’s own sanity is better than slipping into everyone else’s.’ I know this now.”

After making his way in through an air vent, there is a rhyme, one he hadn’t heard since childhood echo through the metal surrounding him:

“Hickory Dickory dock,

The mouse ran up the clock.

The clock struck one;

the mouse ran down.

Hickory Dickory dock.”

Scarecrow stood in front of a crate. The warehouse was an abandoned shipping dock, dilapidated but sturdy.

“Hickory Dickory dock,” Scarecrow continued, dancing around the crate among machinery.

“The mouse ran up the clock,

the clock struck two;

and down he flew.

Hickory Dickory dock.”

“For the last five days, Scarecrow and his men have been blowing up relay towers, causing blackouts all over the city. After dark, they loots stores, rob whomever and whatever they can. Bones told me Crane has barrels of his fear gas SOMEWHERE in Gotham. I need to know where they are.”

There is a faint light in the pipe; it was a grate, big enough for him to fit through but the location of said grate was unknown. “I need to get to Crane before any of his gas is released in MY city.”

“Hickory Dickory dock,

the mouse ran up the clock.

The clock struck three;

and he did flee.” Scarecrow is interrupted by a deep voice in origin; soothing but menacing.

“Hickory! Dickory! Dock!” Batman musters from behind the crate. Its frame flies off with a kick. His cape falls behind him gracefully; a slick landing makes for a dramatic entrance.

“Where are the barrels, Crane?!”

GHOSTS (Part I)

Solace comes in all shapes and sizes. Big or small, everyone has their own way of coping. For Bruce Wayne, it was visiting a familiar sight that was forever mended into his thoughts like a scar, everlasting. Tonight was a night unlike any he has had in a while, waking up from a dead sleep from a nightmare. This wasn’t new to him, but tonight’s dream was… vague. Bruce awoke, unsure of what he dreamt. He sat up from his lying state, running his fingers through his coal colored locks. The billionaire shifted to his side, his elbow supporting his weight against the bed. He tossed the sheet from over his legs aside. His feet find comfort against the warm ground.

Getting ready to leave the manor was swift; clothes, keys, shoes. Bruce was out the door and on the road in less than a minute. Fingers tightened around the steering wheel as he sped down the busy streets; ironic he was ignoring all laws at this point, despite his all too dark and gritty counterpart. Bruce could see the city fading from his rearview mirror; a graveyard was up ahead. Upon pulling in to see its grim features, almost immediately he felt an ominous chill crawl up his spine.

“I didn’t know this, this crusade would end this way!” Bruce made his way to a familiar structure that towered over the rest. It was his parents’ tombstone; it was one of those nights. “I lost so many people!” His furious gaze settled on their names: “Thomas and Martha Wayne; beloved patrons, and parents.”

Thunder rumbles. Knees fall. Barriers fall to the ground.

Lightning cracks the sky!

Irises of blue gazed over their names. Over and over he read, tears filling his lids; they dared to fall. “I wanted to avenge you, and honor your memory!” His fingers rustle through the dry grass. Unbeknownst the ground, the sky wanted to weep. There was another strike, this time, the billionaire looked up to the tombstone in awe.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

It was raining now. And with each drop came a breath. After a brief moment, his breathing was quick, rapid, and coming in huffs.

“Am I wrong for wanting a life? So many I’ve lost; Jason, Selina, there’s too many to count! I’ve given my life up for this, and all I wanted in return was to be happy!”

From the isle between light and darkness, something like a consciousness came a voice. It was rather deep, soothing but menacing. It called out.

“Happiness is a weakness; the Batman has no weaknesses. I have given you many chances to be happy.” Like a snake, the voice came slithering from the darkness to reveal itself. What once seemed soothing changed as the voice deepened, its roots becoming a growl.

“You pushed them away!” said the dimly lit figure, his features barely visible by the pale moonlight. What was seen were ears, twelve inches in height. They seemed familiar.

“No!” screamed the brash billionaire, throwing himself to his feet, eyes locking on to see what more he could muster. There lying on his chest was a symbol, one that had taken a hold of this man’s life and turned it upside down; it was a bat.

“You pushed them away! What I want is one day to be happy – no vigilantism, none of it! Can’t you do that for me?!”

“I wouldn’t be here without reason, Wayne, you know that. I cannot and will not allow you happiness while Gotham’s safety is at risk.” Like a rag doll, Bruce’s body was picked up by vicious claws. It was with ease, his body swaying in the wind. Legs dangled in the pouring rain, whilst his hands clung to this creature’s grasp. Bruce’s breathing was worsening.

“You’ve had your chance… now suffer!” Without mercy, the brute chucked Bruce’s body into the large tombstone, its support giving in by the impact. Coming from the other side in amazing pain, the playboy hit the ground with a thud.

“You took an oath,” bellowed the creature, stepping over the rubble.

He continued, “Are you a liar, or a man of honor?”

Vision shaky. Ears ringing. Bruce was numb, all he could feel, though it was faint, were the rain droplets smacking against him. It took everything out of him to stand, both legs wanting to give in to the 210 pounds he wielded.

“I am many things, but a man of honor I am not. There’s nothing HONORABLE about what I do; not a damned thing.” He took a step, then another step. Bruce continued this until his steps turned into a full sprint. “I am a failure. There’s nothing to me but vengeance and rage!”

Bruce ran head first into the beast, knocking him into the rubble of the once beautiful tombstone. Bruce straddled his stomach. Heavy blows connected to a jaw covered in an obsidian blanket that felt like tethered leather. Instead of blood seeped a thick, black liquid. It covered his fists and forearms.

Lightning cracks the sky.

Darkness surrounded them; the rest of the world melted to accommodate this black nothingness.

“You’re not what I wanted!” shouted the billionaire, his punches weakening from the constant blows. After a while, he stopped and stood to back away. “You’re not what I wanted,” said he, turning to face this black void that engulfed the two. Just then, a light shined in front of him – this temporarily blinded the weary man. When his vision focused, he was surprised to see a large case holding the Batsuit, this made him stand back, threatened. “You’re not what I wanted.” Bruce approached the case and pressed his blackened hands against the glass, this left a black stain visible from the other side. “I wanted to be happy… but all I have are dreams of vengeance.”

Bruce would be shaken awake by his butler, Alfred, whose face is most worrisome. It was almost like he had seen a ghost.

“Master Bruce, I am most terribly sorry for waking you, but I came down to hear you sob. Are you alright?” Very shocked at this realization, he would gaze around to see that he was in the Batcave, positioned in front of the Batcomputer.

“I’m fine.” He looked up to see the older man’s features. In one smooth action, the butler is hugged, the embrace warm and much needed. “Thank you.”

Interview with Shelby, Cafeteria Specialist

Clark Kent, one of the most well known journalists of our time, has decided to get to the bottom of every serious issue concerning the population at Springfield Local High School.

I approached Shelby this morning at 7:59 AM in hopes of interviewing her. My prayers were answered. With luck she was free; I proceeded to question her on the state of the lunches.

“How long have the lunches been influenced by the Obamas?” I asked.

And without haste, she answered, smiling, “5 or 6 years now.”

After writing her words carefully on my notepad, I asked her yet another pressing question.

“Many have pondered this very important lunch item these last few years. Is the ice cream bar ever coming back?”

Almost laughing, she shook her head and answered plainly, “No”.

I asked her my final question before parting ways, “Which do you think the most popular meal here is?”

She answered, “Either the B.E.C., the chicken garden salad, or the chicken basket.”

There you have it.  -Clark Kent Signing off.

Two Sentence Scary Stories

To get in the Halloween spirit, the Springfield High School publication students wrote two sentence horror stories and here they are…

I’m lost in the woods at night, and I feel like I’m being watched. I run blindly, and the crackle of leaves behind me, growing closer and closer, confirm my fear that I’m not alone. –Marlie Applegarth

It was getting dark as I walked along the narrow dirt road by the cornfields with my dog, distracted by admiring the chilling dark outline of the scarecrow standing near the edge of the field, almost as if it were watching me. I continued walking until I got home and the next morning I took my dog out for a walk again by the same cornfields, there was no scarecrow.-Natalie Babinec

It says open your eyes and look into its eyes so you do it. Before you knew it, you couldn’t move or breathe, and you felt as if you were turned to stone, then everything went black. –Victoria Blakeman

I had a dream that I had got stabbed by a man in a hoodie last week. I look down to see a knife, and I can hear it breathing under my bed. –Eric Cameron

I was driving past a cemetery when suddenly something ran in front of me. Later I found of it was my great grandfather, he is dead.  –Ellie Centofanti

One night I woke up at to a loud crash in the basement and what sounded like someone yelling but the messed up thing was that I was home alone. Then it got louder and I knew the end was near.   –Tim Chadwick

I looked into the mirror and saw a deformed apparition. I immediately looked away and when i’d looked back I realized I had been looking at myself all along. –Morgan Colwell

Walking down the steps, I trip and fall and I wake up to no noise at all.  Sleeping is peaceful, when you’re in a casket. –Cheyenne Heffner

Nobody knew what happened to that kid or where he disappeared to. I didn’t either until I realized that the kid was me. –Mariah Johnson

I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not because it’s really dark in my room.  I feel like I kept waking up every five minutes and seeing these red eyes in my closet behind my clothes, so I’ll just stay put in my bed. –Haley LaMorticella

He was running at me full-speed, and I couldn’t get away. When I looked down, there was blood on my hands. –Camy Mannion

I live alone in the woods far from civilization. There was a knock on my window. –Jarrett Orbin

My little brother always told me how he loved the sound of voices tucking him in at night. I go in his room to say goodnight one time but did not hear a single thing but my own breath.  –Morgan Santangelo

I got used to the scratches on the door when I had my dogs. But now that they have passed away, why do more and more keep appearing not only on the doors, but everywhere. –Morgan Santangelo

My mother had always taught me to see the best in people. So I did just that, until people didn’t start to appear anymore.  –Morgan Santangelo

I began tapping on the window of my one person apartment to the beat of the song I was listening too. I never expected to hear a knocking back. –Zach Swantek

The girl in the mirror was staring back at me. She was smiling, but I wasn’t. –Emily Yasechko

I woke up and started brushing my hair in the mirror. But my reflection was doing something else. –Nicole Yasechko

I took my phone and looked at my grades online. I screamed. –Nicole Yasechko

“Darling, what’s the matter?” she asked. “I saw that woman was bothering you again, so I made sure she’d never come back hehe.” –Jordan McCusker

I looked in the mirror, staring at my reflection. To my concern, my reflection wasn’t staring back, but instead pointing to the closet I thought I had closed. –Brianna Phillips

I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of the TV playing in the basement. We don’t have a TV in the basement. –Anthony Verterano

Okay Ohio, I See You

I wake up with the sun shining brightly in my eyes. My alarm is blaring as I throw it off my nightstand. It’s a Monday and while I’m usually a morning person, today was not one of those mornings. I throw on some clothes, slap on my face of cheap makeup and go. The weather was amazing for the beginning of February. Of course I didn’t notice this until after I walked into school with my puffy winter coat. My hair is full of static because of the material of my coat and even though I knew this when I bought it I didn’t care because it was half off. I walk into homeroom almost late with my hair looking like a troll doll. Most of my homeroom I’ve known since kindergarden. Some have joined our class over the years and just blend in now. The newest member of our class yells something about Texas and everyone laughs like they have been every day since the beginning of the year. In my daze I put my head on the desk and try to control the headache I woke up to.
I love school but today is the longest four hours of my life. Everyone has those days where something they love becomes something they dread. In Spanish we learned past verbs and had to write speeches. Usually I’m fine with this class but today was, again, one of those days. Writing is one of my greatest strengths, mixing together words so that they flow when you read them. However actually speaking the words I stumble and mumble the whole way. My voice will of course crack every time and my face will burn bright red. Writing is much easier because I can write what I feel and not get embarrassed or be interrupted. This love of writing is what determined my future career in Journalism. I put my head on my desk and the Spanish teacher instantly taps my desk, assuming I’m sleeping. Instead of focusing I move my attention to the window. Every car in the lot is a different person with a story and a life separate from this place. The bell rings, interrupting my deep train of thought.
I get home and first thing I do is turn on my laptop and start on homework. After about a minute I stop because of the pain in my head. I look back on my day, thinking about how horrible it was. Consumed with boredom I scroll through Facebook, looking at videos of puppies and posts from family members I’ve never met. I see a post from some distant relative that says “Start each day with a positive thought.” This brings me back to thinking about my day. The whole day I went through moping because I had decided that I was having a bad day instead of thinking positively and pushing through the negativity. Before going to bed I decide that tomorrow I will start fresh. A clean white slate is what tomorrow brings and I’ll start with a positive thought. As I drift asleep I can see the snow starting to fall outside.
I wake up to a bright light coming in my window. The few snowflakes of last night turned into a huge blanket of snow covering my front yard. My clean white slate right before my eyes. I take a deep breath and say, “Okay Ohio, I see you.”

Life is Like an Ocean

Life is like an ocean that deeply flows
The ocean continuously runs
Where to, nobody seems to know.

Watching the sweet waves flow
Enough waves to make you forget
Everything the past used to hold.

When life hits those strenuous times
And you feel like you can’t continue
Remember life is only at its prime.

Friends will always come and go
Even the ones you thought to stay loyal
But you will find new friends, so don’t bow your head low.

You decide your own path
Good or bad, the choice is yours.
Just make sure it’s a decision you want to last.

You’ll have many events in life that question your emotions
Some moments that you’ll never seem to expect
But just remember to always continue, because life is just like an ocean.

The Passion of Music

As I sit there with a candle lit and pen in hand
I imagine what magic can happen with that old guitar in hand
The music flows through me like a river
My music speaks loudly and it will make you shiver.

My passion for music will never die
I even sing for my grandma and make her cry
My favorite time to sing is when no one is watching
Even though it sure is fun when everyone is watching.

Music is what I love and what I live for
When I hit those high notes my voice just soars
Whether I’m in my room or on a stage
Everytime I listen to myself I let myself engage.

Ever since I was young I have wanted to sing
Everytime I sing I let myself ring
I even like to sing while playing in the rain
I think that singing is the only thing that keeps me sane.

I have been in choir since I have been in middle school
I sing louder than anyone, which is cool
I even have a voice teacher that is queen of rock and roll
Everytime she sings it comes from her soul.

Her name is Leanne Binder and she is my role model
She is really pretty and even looks like a supermodel
She has long blonde hair and baby blue eyes
When I sing with my soul she always cries.

Her studio is in a cold basement
We always do warm ups to find out my placement
I get to pick out my own songs to sing
There’s nothing that I can complain about not a thing
What can I say I have a love for music
I have been born with a talent and I like to use it.

Teachers

The everyday duties of a teacher
Is not to be your everyday preacher,
They teach us how to be the best we can be
No matter if the teacher is a he or a she.

They teach us how to be kind to others
Even when we are at home with our sisters and brothers
A simple knowledge that will constantly shine,
To keep all of us properly in line.

Students come up with a lot of questions
Even some of the students have different suggestions
To be answered during every period of the day,
Then the students leave and go merrily on their way.

Everyday the lessons are carefully prepared
Between every period the answers are shared
Preparing all students for a future career
Not all teachers are mean at least that’s what you hear.

Teachers just want what is best for their classes in school
When you see them out of school they are really cool
When you pass them in the hallway they say hi
But when you graduate you have to say bye.

Some teachers try to help you pass their class
Others on the other hand do not give a crap
A good teacher will always have your back
They will help you and you will be on track.

Whether it is Science, English or Math
They will make sure you are on the right track
Whether you are a boy or a girl they will treat you the same
You may even see them at the football game
You wake up everyday to do your best
You always study to do the best on your test.

Banned Book Week Meets Blackout Poetry

In conjunction with Banned Book Week Mrs. Mullane and Mrs. Johnston worked with their students to create blackout poetry! Here are some of the best:

Period 1 – Kate Denmeade
Inspired by Chinese Handcuffs
On a starry night remember things aren’t always as they appear
Do everything right, make no mistakes with discipline
He smiled a tired smile
Instincts all quiet
I was scared was something wrong God?
Believe it, my boy
I swear people were animals

Cierra Latronica
Inspired by Eclipse
Lost in the darkness

Dark, thick clouds, heavy air..
Shadows, gloom.
Gasp, sigh of relief.
Cool hand, found my chin,
Without a word..
Tightly against his chest
Hards lips on mine, tension in his jaw.
Pulled away.
He let me breathe.
Kissed me again.
Already gone,
Squinting into the darkness

Period 2- Shantel Springer
Inspired by New Moon
Vampires must work, get the credit
They’re not going to be very happy
They’ll act very quickly

I looked away, fighting against my teeth
As they tried to break through my lower lip
Bleeding was not the best idea right now

Tell me what I have to do
You don’t have to do anything
I’m going to get you as close as possible,
Then you’re going to run in the direction I point you
Try not to trip

Haley LaMorticella
Inspired by Vampires
Vampires do not smile.
I was realizing what she meant when she said ironic.
They are not going to be very happy.
She shook her head, her expression grim.
I looked away, fighting my teeth as they tried to break skin of my lower lip.
Bleeding .
Tell me what I have to do.
He just has to see you before he moves into the light.
How are we going to work that?
We do not have time for a concussion today.

Period 3- Natalie Babinec
He left with one last lingering look.
She had seen that look in his eye
A human being,
More than that, a desirable young man

The terrible truth had forced a smile to her lips
But after a few moments, she replaced it
Something she hadn’t expected

She thought,
Love exists
And no one is free

Cassie Bacon
Inspired by My Sweet Audrina
“But, but…Papa-”
“Don’t protest, just accept.
We know you are ultrasensitive.
We love you.
We want to see you happy”

He came to sit on the edge of my bed.
I lay on my back, frozen, trying not to breathe,
I might be dead.

He leaned closer,
I seized hold of the sheet and pulled it high under my chin.
Papa’s ironlike hands, his strong fingers
Digging into my tender skin,

Our gazes locked.
He was the winner again.

“Now, now, it’s not so bad, is it?
You’ve done it before,
You can do it again.
You can help me.”

“But-but,” I stammered, wanting to make him stop.
But he went on,
Inundating me with his needs.

I was afraid.
Was he going to keep this up?
Would I be able to satisfy Papa?

“Make all of your father’s hopes come true.”
I stared at him sitting there on my bed.
His dark eyes, “full of love…”
Could I keep resisting?

He was my father.
Fathers were supposed to know right from wrong.

“Won’t just one more time be enough?”
“Perhaps it will be…”

Period 4- Cole Sexton
Inspired by I Think We Shall Have to Try
I think we could manage this
I don’t know how you can be so sure
I think we shall have to try
You’ll kill yourself for certain, going over like that without even a look to see what to make for
Be patient
A deeper blackness was already reaching out with long arms
Its courses were all twisted and disordered
If we’re going to try, we had better try at once

Jeff Horn
Inspired by It Ain’t Beautiful
It ain’t beautiful, It’s scary.
We’re all vile sinners.
You believe it but you hate it
It’s crazy, why?
God’ll damn you to hell when you die

Pink Lemonade Sky

As the sun just dips behind the surface of the buildings,
And the looming shadows grow into an eternal night
The sky is stained with the leftover light
Creating a foggy, cheerful lemonade sky
Staring off into its beauty creates a blur in one’s self
As though you are not actually witnessing this moment
But have been transported into another realm, another world
As the buildings in the distance bring more luster to the sky
And the pool below is filled with a chilling void of promise
The calling and shouts of people bring your blurred self back
Back to the reality you are living
You don’t want to leave the sky, dusted with pink but you must
As you ascend into the peaceful chilly night
Surrounded by friends and strangers
You wonder if you will ever meet again
Again a person or place that blurs reality
And can be so flawed and yet so perfect at the same time
The thought isn’t held onto long for you are now gone
Encased in the stacher of the marshmallow statue of Abe
With such composure and confidence, he glares ahead
It’s as if he’s mesmerized by the sky too
You wonder what he would say about the sky
Would he call it a disgrace?
Or an unrecognizable beauty?
You may never know what Abe may think
But you do know what you think
And that is that no matter how many more days or years pass
This moment will never be lost in time
Only lost in your heart.

3003

The future seems like such a nice place
Filled with the utmost grace
With everything you could ever need
But without the useless greed
When the skies so clear it’s sad
And the world is rid of jerks who make you mad
When lying is no more
And bones don’t get sore
Where everyone lives to two hundred two
Yes this could be you
In three thousand three
Come along with me
Let’s find the golden key
And climb up a real tree
When war is just a bad story
And nothing gets real gory
Come along with me
In three thousand three
When people don’t pick a fight
And everyone has sight
Where no illness seems to spread
And no one is filled with dread
Yes you could be
In three thousand three
Don’t you want to see
Don’t you want to be
Come along with me
To three thousand three

In The Darkness Of The Night

In the darkness of the night

Bet your heart is full of fright

In the darkness where they hide

Surrounding you from every side

From the shadows they were made

They take the form of only shades

They reach only certain lives

They swarm about like angry hives

They feed on the anger inside

The bubbling rage you try to hide

But they will never be fooled by you