Essays-Stories
"The Last Spies" by Damon Myth
My name is Marcus Wright; I am a spy. I have short, dirty blonde hair. I’m 5’8, with green eyes and light skinned. Well, it started one day while my best friend, Nixie Jackson, a girl with long red hair, 5 ft. even, brown eyes, and tan skin, and my brother Tyron Wright, who has short brown hair, 5’2, green eyes, and light skin, and myself were waiting for our next mission. We were waiting on our commander to come tell us what we have to do. When he walked in to tell us,, we were getting a guard assignment. We were told that we would have to go and protect plutonium that could power a laser, which had the ability to change aspects of a person’s mentality and, if used by the wrong people, could shift the balance of good and evil into evil’s favor if we didn’t stop the enemy in enough time. We ran to our rooms to grab our equipment and outfits and to grab our anti-gravity boards. When we met up to leave, Nixie was dressed in black, skin-tight pants with straps on the sides for her daggers, and black steel toed boots; on her upper body was a black, long sleeved tight shirt with pockets for carrying different items and a face mask to cover her lower face. Tyron had dark green cargo pants with his blowgun in a harness hanging from his belt. He had normal shoes to not weigh him down, and he was also wearing a matching shirt with a full head mask. I was dressed in dark scarlet loose fitting pants with different pockets for supplies. I had protected combat boots, a skin tight, burgundy top with loose sleeves and a harness around my waist for my rapier and main gauche. After we met up, we set out for the factory that was secretly housing plutonium. A half-hour later we arrived at the factory. We headed for the low security storage that had a secret hatch where the plutonium was stored and none of the radiation could slip out. We found places where we could quietly talk over our headsets and keep an eye on the door to the hidden room. We sat in the factory for three hours, and I had to listen to Nixie and Tyron argue about nonsense the entire time. After things quieted down, three spies came in. There were two girls and one boy, none of whom tried to cover up their identities. The first girl is 5’4, with medium length black hair, tan skinned and blue eyes wearing a dark blue outfit with loose sleeves and combat boots, the second girl is 5’2, with long, purple dyed hair, with orange contacts, and dark skin. She wore a traditional ninja outfit with pouches containing questionable items. The only male was 5’5, short red hair, and brown eyes he wore a male version of Nixie’s outfit. Nixie, Tyron, and I quietly stalked out behind some crates, when Nixie accidently kicked a pipe. When they heard the clattering, they grabbed their weapons. When we saw this, we pulled ours out. I saw that the male had two daggers with black blades in his hands, the black haired girl had a short musketeer rapier and main gauche with typical basket hilts, and the purple head had two miniature crossbows strapped to her arms. I charged the black haired girl; we were parrying, lunging, and slashing at each other. Nixie and the only male were circling each other and when they saw openings, would dash in and clash blades at random moments until one of them would kick the other back. Tyron and the purple head were throwing punches and kicks with each other. While we were doing that, an ally of theirs was able to get one of the canisters of plutonium. I shouted to Tyron “Tyron! Stop him now, we cannot let them get away with the plutonium!”
Tyron yelled “I’m on it!” When he was able to get a moment of freedom, the person had already escaped with the plutonium. With that revelation, our opponents dropped smoke bombs and dashed off.
We then headed back to the base. Once there, we told our commander what happened, and he said “You guys did your best to stop them from escaping from the factory. Don’t beat yourself up over it. you will get another chance to stop them.”
We all said “Thanks sir.” After that, we all went our separate ways for a break. I decided to make a plan for the next time we ran into each other, then take a nap while I had the chance.
When I woke up, Nixie was standing above me saying, “The commander wants to know if you have a plan to catch them and if you do he wants to hear it immediately.”
We walked down the hall to the meetings room where they were waiting for me to tell them my plan. I started by telling our enemy’s names. I started with their leader, the black haired girl I battled, her name is Jasmine Sanchez, then seconded in command, the purple haired girl, Sabrina Myers, and the final member, the only male, Kevin Jackson, Nixie’s younger brother. When I revealed, that everyone looked shocked, and Nixie was trying to figure out how I knew all this in such a short amount of time. I then revealed that I put a tracking device on each canister of plutonium in case they escaped, and the only thing we needed to do was locate the signal and break in. Once we found their location they were hiding in an abandoned factory near the edge of town.
Once we got there, I told Nixie and Tyron that we would wait for Jasmine, Sabrina, and Kevin to leave. When we saw them leave, we snuck inside the building and the tracking device showed the plutonium was one floor below us. I told Tyron to bring out the laser cutter to cut the stone floor. Once we were on the correct level, we saw several rooms. I brought out my radiation seeing goggles to locate the plutonium. Once I found the correct room, we stealthily made our way to it. Once we got to the room, we found it to be heavily guarded. So we decided to toss in some knockout grenades. The minute we were sure they were out cold, we made our way inside the room. Once in there, I noticed a machine mass producing plutonium. I told Tyron to grab the original and make his way back to the base, and Nixie to guard the room while I programmed the machine to reverse the process to destroy the five copies already made, then to overheat and explode. This gave me and Nixie two minutes to escape. We were able to escape and make it about four feet before the place went up in flames. Nixie and I were knocked into an alley by the shockwave and covered by trash.
We woke up a few hours later in our bases' infirmary. Tyron chose that moment to come in; I asked him “What happened?”
His response was “Marcus, you and Nixie were thrown into a concrete wall by the force of the shockwave and hidden by some trashcans. I had already called HQ to send you two some backup. They were able to locate your communicators signal and find the two of you.”
After that me and Nixie were discharged and went to our rooms to wash up.
When I saw her later that day she looked really confused. I questioned “Nixie what’s up; you look really confused?”
She responded by saying “Yeah, I am confused Marcus.”
I asked “What’s wrong?”
She responded “I am trying to figure out how you know all this stuff about our enemies.”
I chuckled and replied “Simple. A few months ago my girlfriend was Sabrina and she told me the names of her best friends, who were named Kevin and Jasmine, and I asked her about Kevin and if he had an older sister named Nixie, since you have mentioned a brother before, so when I saw her I figured out who the other two are easily.”
Nixie was shocked and could only mutter “wow, that is harsh. My brother, your ex.”
In the awkward silence Tyron called out to us “Hey guys you should come see this it is serious trouble,”
"Heaven Out There" by Jennifer Roberts
I don't want to open my eyes. I can hear them talking, talking about me. But I don't want them to know. I don't want to be conscious. I don't want to be here in this horrible place. My wrists are throbbing. My head is throbbing. I'm so thirsty. I'm afraid. I'm angry. I'm too many emotions to deal with. I would go back to sleep if my dreams weren't nightmares of the evening my husband killed me. THe cold expression as he told me he was leaving me... The tears that spilled as I begged him to stay... The blur of everything as the wine made me so sleepy...The wine. The Conti Montrachet Grand Cru that we bought when we visited DRC in Burgundy for our fifth anniversary. We were so happy and in love then. Before Sien came to stay with us. That wretched brat has been pushing her way into my life and ruining everything since the day she was born. I know I'm dead. This place, these nightmares, this agony... it is most definitely hell.
"Make sure she is in my office for her session in one hour, Nurse Kee."
"Yes, Dr. Vincent. I'll have her there."
"Good mornin', Eugenia. Rise and shine! You know I know you're not really sleepin', girl. Now, are you ready ta' get up and out for some fresh air today?" Nurse Kee is the only tolerable one here. Sometimes it feels like she actually cares. But, she's too...bubbly. It looks force. There's a deep sadness in her eyes. Maybe this is her hell too.
"Leave me alone," I say.
"Aw, honey. Suit yourself, but you have to talk to Dr. Vincent today, so ya' might as well get on up and get your day started."
"Go away, " I tell her.
"Hmph! I'll be back in 45 minutes. You can get up and walk down or we can wheel ya down again. Your choice."
As the door slips shut, I kick the covers off the bed and growl.
"Hello, Eugenia. How are you feeling today?" I don't speak. I hate this man and his fake pleasantries. "Nurse Kee says you still aren't eating. Your body needs nourishment."
I scowl and say, "I'm not hungry."
"We will have to feed you intravenously if you have not eaten by this evening." The pompous prick...
"F**ck you," I mutter.
"Ahem. Language, Eugenia. Are you ready for Theo to visit?" he asks.
"My husband is a liar and a cheat! He and my sister both should be rotting in hell, not me!"
"Well then let's talk about why you have so much anger towards your sister. Were you close grow-"
"That's who he's f**king, you idiot. She moved in and seduced him so she could take away something I love. She's been doing it since the day she was born when she killed my mother. I have every right to be angry at that evil b*tch."
"And this is something that led you to try and take your own life?" He still doesn't believe me. No one does...
"I told you, I told the cops... They did this to me."
"The police have cleared your husband and sister of all charges. The evidence shows that you did this Eugenia. You took too many pills. You drank too much wine. You took the straight razor and sliced your wrists."
"They cleared him because he's a clever sh*t. And she's even worse! They've convinced everyone I'm just crazy."
"Eugenia, you have to come to terms with the reality of the sit-"
"F**CK YOU," I scream. I'm sick of hearing his condescending psychobabble. "Just let me go back to my room...Please."
"Fine," he says after peering at me for a moment through those stupid, tiny spectacles. "We will talk again Wednesday."
"Whatever, a**hole."
It's night outside, but the moon is so bright. I can still see how blue the sky is. It's so peaceful out there in that little town. I remember our summers there in Saint-Remy. Mother and I would take a walk every evening after dinner while Father painted. There was this garden where we always stopped and played hide-and-seek for a little while. It was heaven for me. That's how I know this is hell. I'm trapped in here. reliving a nightmare every time I close my eyes...
Waking every morning to the nightmare of these people, these walls...But to add the torment, I can look out this window and see heaven. I can remember its warmth...the love of my mother and father...Theo took me there every year for my birthday and we would picnic by the river...
"She's staring at that painting again, I see."
"Yeah, bless her heart. It's worse after her visits with Dr. Vincent, ya know. She just sists there and stares at it and cries...Well, I'm off now, Paul. Gotta hurry home now. Mr. Vos gets upset when his dinner's late."
"Alright, Good night, Kee. I'll see you in the morning."
The painting that Eugenia stares at is The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh.
"A Mother's Love" by Jennifer Roberts
Agatha Christie wrote, "A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in this world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path". To me, this means that a mother loves fully and fiercely. This is how my mother loves and how she taught me to love. I have so many memories of just how fully and fiercely she loves, but one stands out above the rest: the day I held her hand as she signed her name to a divorce she did not want. One might ask, "how could something so sad possibly be an example of my mother's love?" Divorce often symbolizes the death of life. But it was not the circumstance that I hold dear, it was the confession she made to me as we waited for the lawyer to enter the room. She told me that he had been unfaithful many times in their 36 years of marriage, and that he had left us three other times before - the times my siblings and I believed he was away in the Army. Most significantly, she told me that even now, if he would call off the divorce and come home, she would forgive him and work to restore her marriage. I did not realize that day, but years later, that it would be a significant turning point in the evolution of my own concept and understanding of love. In hindsight, this memory is only one of many, yet it is a rich illustration of how she loves as a wife, a mother, and as a Christian.
One part of this memory that tugs at my heart to this day, is the sadness that haunted her clear blue eyes as she talked about how deeply she loved my father. As I sat beside her in that chilly, brightly lit room, we stared silently at a folder full of documents laid out on a polished, dark cherry conference table. She looked up at me with uncertainty as she began her story in a melancholy tone, saying, "I've never told you this, but this isn't the first time he's left me." Already barely holding my own emotions in check, this revelation was mind-blowing. I was speechless. Her puffy eyes were welling up with tears on the verge of spilling over. The pain and shame was so clearly written across her aging face. I took her hand and desperately tried to subdue the feeling of a bowling ball in my stomach. Anger and confusion, mixed with despair and pity, were wreaking havoc on my spirit, and the tears threatened to burst from my own eyes. She spoke slowly and evenly, but still got choked up several times. She talked about how she had forgiven him every time because she believes that is what you do when you truly love someone - even if they don't deserve it. Being a young and selfish person, I found it difficult to understand this concept at the time, but looking back, I realize she was teaching me about unconditional love.
Somewhat outraged at the revelation, I asked, perhaps too excitedly, "When? Why? How come we didn't know?" The room was no longer chilly to me; in fact, due to the adrenaline now rushing violently through my veins, the temperature seemed to be steadily rising. For a brief second, she appeared to be taken aback by my outburst, but immediately she regained her fragile composure and looked at me with an understanding of my reaction. she now took my hand in hers, and she patiently explained that she never wanted her children to bear the burden of rejection from being abandoned by a parent. She confessed that she had lied to us, hiding her own pain, in order to protect us from emotional damage. As she told me that the times we thought the Army had stationed him somewhere that we couldn't go were really the times he had left us, her demeanor began to change. A sense of dignity and pride now washed over her worn features. She sat up a little taller and held her head slightly higher. Regardless of anyone else's idea of right and wrong, I could tell that my mother truly believed she had done an honorable thing. She had not only spared us from a most certain despair, but she had protected our image of our father. She actually smiled slightly in that moment, as she explained why the latter was so important. It was not simply because she didn't want us to resent our father; there was more to it. She believed wholeheartedly that he would return each time, and eventually all would be well. At this point, the temperature of the room had stopped climbing, my heartbeat had begun to slow, but now that incessant lump had made its way back into my throat, making swallowing a labor. Tears had begun to stream down my pink cheeks. Wrong or right, she looked so noble, sitting there at that long shiny table, glaring at me with the bluest of eyes that pleaded silently for me to understand and forgive. So many emotions plagued my spirit at that moment that I honestly could not have put into words what I was feeling or what I thought. This is that fierce love for her children that I mentioned earlier. It was somehow made manifest, visual and tangible, in this beautifully sad, but proud and strong woman next to me.
The final few moments of this conversation are also very significant to me. As most mothers do, and perhaps because her heart had been moved to do so, she used the opportunity to teach a lesson. Her lesson was about faith, and unconditional love according to her beliefs as a Christian. At the time, I was myself without faith. I was distant from my savior, spiraling down a dark hole in my own life. Suffering through my own unhappy marriage, and failing as a mother as a result, I had turned my back on God. I tried to listen attentively to her words about having faith in God's plan for all things, and how He is always in control despite the darkness we sometimes have to go through. I confess, at this point though, my mind was wandering and becoming preoccupied with my own problems. I was carelessly tuning out her sermon, and I think she could see it in my distant expression. Never a pushy woman, she cut it short and watched me for a moment. She then reached up with her warm, soft hand and wiped a tear from my cheek. She squeezed my hand and said in a now clear, strong voice, "I love you, Jenn. Everything will be O.K. Everything will always be O.K." I cannot claim that this powerfully moving interaction was the turning point for my personal journey to regaining my faith. It would be several miserably strife-filled years before I reached those crossroads. I can say, however, that this brief conversation in that cold bright room had left its mark in my mind and on my heart.
To summarize this memory somehow, for the sake of a conclusion, would be an injustice. I feel I could go on and on about that day - what was said, and unsaid, and all the feeling that accompanied. There have been so many occasions when I saw or felt how fully and fiercely my mother loves, but this one - the heartrending, yet uplifting, confession she shared inside the indifferent walls of a lawyer's conference room - is the epitome, in my eyes, of unconditional love. The range of emotions that played across her face, and showed in her posture and voice, throughout the course of it were clear and vibrant illustrations of every aspect of her love. I will never forget what she told me that day, but most importantly, I'll never forget the emotions it stirred within my own heart or the influence it has had on my own life as a wife, mother, and Christian. In his book, The Love Dare, Stephen Kendrick wrote, "The only way love can last a lifetime is if it's unconditional. The truth is this: love is not determined by the one being loved, but rather by the one choosing to love". I don't know all the experiences in my mother's life that gave her this knowledge and understanding of the heart, but unconditional love is something she does well. Those who are fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of it are indeed blessed beyond measure.
"Live Action" by Alex Singerhouse
As seasons pass, I notice I have naturally accompanied an acquaintance to their house to watch football games. We would order a thin crusted pie, the typical pepperoni and extra cheese, and horde extra-large boxes of our favorite fruit flavored candy. I thought to myself, being such an avid supporter of American football, why don’t I attend the event live at the stadium. I have only been once before, and the experience was exhilarating. The intoxicating feeling of the live atmosphere is mountainous in contrast with watching a buddy’s high definition flat screen.
Rooting and cheering actually affect the gameplay and specific players on the football field. While the huddled opponents collaborate their next offensive attack, fans strategically yell and cheer in hopes to disorder the play caller. The deafening yells make it nearly impossible for the opposing team to ascertain individual role information. The supportive verbal barrage increases the player’s stamina to endure an intense and seemingly longer second half. If the good guys reach that longed for end zone, a blast of enthusiastic cheers, could propel team morale to an uncontainable level, ensuring victory.
Being at the games, replaces a cross-couch high five with an emotional collage of hugs, handshakes, and hallelujahs. Hearing the National Anthem performed to a live audience always makes my body tingle with sweet emotion. Meeting new football enthusiast and experiencing a higher level of fandom renders the television obsolete. Adrenalines pumping through the spectators like electrical current in a power line. Positive movements like a splash of water intensifying the electrical shock. The crowd full of energy is much more satisfying than a living room with a single second-rate supporter.
Exerting such force generates an uncanny appetite. Fortunately the traveling snack man is on top of his game, as he hurls a bag of ideally salted peanuts and an oversized hunk of teriyaki in your direction. The real palatable masterpiece is the massive onion smothered chili cheese dog followed by that perfectly chilled bottle of local brew. And if overtime occurs, a vast assortment of sodas and snacks are always readily available. Hunger subdued, an occasional handful of butter drenched popcorn keeps the hands stimulated during a suspenseful timeout.
The loud rumble of the live action incorporated with abundant meal options and team pride is a recipe for unmatched American entertainment. Before heading to your dudes pad to couch cram, consider the superior perspective directly from the sidelines. Indulge in a refreshing treat with the crowd during and upmost invigorating football experience.
"Ghost Town" by Madilyn Stark
The audience of the Speaking Convention for Descriptive Writing sat quietly as a timid young lady stepped up onto the stage. Simple and plain, the crowd did not expect a fine speech from her. Her straight brown hair hung shoulder length and her glasses hid her nervous honey colored eyes.
After taking a deep breath, the girl began, "The ghost town sits quietly without a disturbance as it conforms to a hillside with remarkable rock formations jutting out of it. One formation appears as though a rock sperm whale decided to fly out of the side of the stony cliff. Another resembles half of the Cheshire Cat's face. In the distance beyond the rock formations, separated by a valley, another cliff side covered in brush is visible. Above the ghost town and both cliffs, the blue sky is shaded by soft, fluffy clouds. The town itself appears deserted long enough for brush to thrive in the streets. Looking higher on the cliff, it seems as though someone attempted to prosper there, judging by the power lines and sporadic blue windows. It seems as though it was not worth it to them, however, because it appears uninhabited. The houses give the impression of a Spanish nature with the ways the red roofs are tiled. Most of the gray dwelling places are still standing upright, but definitely unlivable. The rooves are crubmling and the doorways are nonexistent.
Stones were the building materials for the walls of this town and the ones that have crumbled leave gray rocks strewn across the hillside. Apparently, underneath one of the buildings, there is a circular entrance to a chilling inlet, which is perhaps a cave. The shrubbery ranges from a faded green to a dusty brown and covers the portion of hillside that houses or stones have not claimed yet. Whether filled with spirits or not, this ghost town is a haunting reminder of a forgotten place."
The whole crowd erupted in clapping for the girl's remarkable speech. She blushed, gave a small bow, and then returned to her seat on the front row.
Later on that night, the awards were announced.
"First place goes to Erin Smith for her remarkable speech, Ghost Town!" a man in a tuxedo proclaimed. With a cheer from the audience, the young lady trotted up the stairs to receive her prize.
"Haunted House" by Brandy Szczekot
There I stood, trembling in cowardly fear as I faced the sum of all my childhood nightmares. Standing some 20 or so yards back from the street, guarded by rusted black steel railings, there it stood, the derelict, neglected old house with its swinging broken doors and shattered windows.
There was a cold, musty damp smell that filled the air about the place. The old and tragic house stood amidst a gloomy backdrop of a blackened and cracked chimney stack as well as half-cracked column pots that were still glistening from the drops of rain left after the storm earlier that day. I summoned all of my courage and straddled the gate, so cold to the touch it nearly froze my hands onto it. Once over I slowly made my way through a path of overgrown weeds and thorn bushes that seemed to impede my every inch of progress of the only path that led up to the front door. There was an eerie mist that began hovering around my kneed and a chilling deep down in my bones. As I finally reached the door, my heartbeat leapt out of my chest just as a car raced swiftly by behind me on the wet pavement. I paused for a moment to try and regain some of my composure and yet still trembling with fear I pressed on. I noticed that the clouds encompassing the house above were getting darker as night approached. All of a sudden the bone chilling wind began to howl, and I could hear the crackling of the shattered windows above and the door creak as it slowly swung open ever so gently. I took a step back and slowly looked up; I saw nothing.
Quickly I blurted out, "DOMINOES! Did you order a pizza?"
