My Last Breath

“Elli, are you awake yet?” I can hear my mother calling up the stairs. I am too lazy and tired to respond, so I just lay still in my bed. I don’t feel right, I feel sick.  But not sick with a cold, just pain. My limbs rage with fury every time I move an inch.

“Sweetie, wake up,” my mother said calmly, “if you don’t get up soon you won’t sleep tonight.” My mom rubs my back, but she quickly notices something she wishes she wouldn’t have. I have a train of bruises leading down my arms. Bruises that weren’t there last night.

I can hear my mom rush down the stairs, pick up the phone, and dial seven numbers.  Seven little clicks that will change my life. I can’t pick up on much of their conversation, but I have decided she called the doctors. All these medical terms arise in the conversation, leaving me clueless.
            I decide to get out of bed and walk down stairs. My body feels heavy, and takes strength to walk every step.

“Look who decided to wake up?” my mom said, with a smile on her face.

“Me,” I replied, with no joy.

“Good,” she said.

“Who was on the phone?” I asked, like a right minded child would.

“Well, umm…Elli? We’re going to take you into the doctor, just because I know you don’t feel good, and we want to figure out what those bruises mean,”

“Alright, I’ll go get dressed,” I said gloomily.

“No need for that, you can go in your pajamas, hopefully we won’t be gone for long,” she smiled on the way to our car.

            Have you ever noticed the smell of hospitals? How they always seem so clean and happy, yet they have the most pain and heartbreak? If you haven’t noticed, lucky you. I sat in the waiting room, counting the squares on the floor.  My mother seemed to be taking forever to explain what was wrong with me. I felt better, maybe it was just being in the hospital, but something had changed.

            About an hour had passed of sitting in the waiting room; the cold, stale air had become normal, and we had made ourselves comfortable.

            “Elli?” I hear my name called from across the room. My mother and I get up and walk our way to the nurse.  My legs still aching with pain with every step I take.

            “Hi, Elli! My name is Nurse Megan,” she said while showing us to the room, “so, what’s wrong exactly?”  

            “I’m sick.  I have bruises, and it hurts to walk.  I feel weak,” I told her, batting my eyes innocently.

            “Yes, and she has been vomiting more frequently,” my mother added.

            “Alright, well we’ll take some measurements, and then I’ll consult with a doctor and go from there,” she said, telling us everything she knew. There was a long stare between my mom and the doctor.  A stare that said “I know we’re both thinking the same thing, but no one wants to say what it is.” The only problem being that I don’t know what they’re thinking. I am six years old, the only thing I’ve ever been sick with is a cold, and it doesn’t feel like this.

            “Elli, you wanna hop up on this scale so I can take your weight and height?” Megan said, gesturing toward the scare. I get on the scale, hoping for good news.

            “ 50 pounds right on the dot,” she said with a smile, “and your height is 46 inches,” she said, typing things into her computer.

            After what seemed like forever, a doctor ordered a blood test.  They said that there might be resemblance of what is causing me to feel this way in my blood.  An answer.  But I have picked up on the subtle hints that this might not be the best answer, if there is one found in the blood test.  There could be problems with my blood, and blood is what keeps me going.

            They told us, after the blood test, that we should go home because the results weren’t ready, and they would call us as soon as they knew what was going on. There’s always that awkward moment when you get home, after a tragic incident, and things aren’t normal.  No one talks, no one eats, and everyone just minds their own business.  We didn’t know what was going on, but I could tell that my mom had an idea. 

             The next morning we got a phone call.  Not one from my grandma just calling to check up on us, not one from a telemarketer, trying to get us to donate money; one from the doctor. I can’t hear the conversation, except for what my mom is saying.

            “…low count of white blood cells?” She said, with a very concerned tone. There is a pause, as the doctor is talking.

            “…okay, we’ll bring her in as soon as we can,” my mom said, “thank you very much,”

            It is about a forty minute drive to the hospital, and forty minutes is a long time to sit in the car in silence.  There is no talking, no nothing.

            “Sweetie,” my mom pauses, “you’re going to be staying in the hospital for a while,”

            “Why?”

            “You know last year, when Grandpa was in the hospital,”

            “With cancer,” I quickly interrupted her.

            “..Yes…well, you are believed to have ALL, or acute lymphocytic leukemia, which is a type of cancer,” she said, with tears filling her eyes and cracks in her speech.

            “I’m sorry mommy,” I said, starting to cry.

            “You did nothing wrong, and don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise. This is just a sickness, and God will help heal you in no time,” she said, bawling with every word she spoke.

            After we wiped away the tears, and got seated in the waiting room, it only took about an hour to get our room.  I felt bad when others had been there before me and were still waiting and I already got my room. The walls were white, not like the blue and green striped ones in my room. The bed was not covered with a pretty quilt, like the one in my room, and there were nurses, machines, and medicines everywhere, definitely not like in my room.

            The first step was to do some blood work, and then they’d go from there. They said they would be looking for a match, to see if we could get anyone to do a bone marrow aspiration. I needed that, because chemotherapy might not work for me. What six year old knows the word chemotherapy? Not a lot of them. But from now on, I do.

            “Elli,” Nurse Megan paused, “I hope that you understand you did nothing wrong,” she said, sitting on the end of the hospital bed, “In fact, I love that you aren’t too upset. You will get better, because I won’t stop until you are better,”

            “Thank you, but do you know how long I will be in the hospital? Because I really want to be out for Christmas, so I can go sit on Santa’s lap!” I said, with my heart racing, hoping they would tell me that I would be released from the hospital by then.

            “We’ll try to get you to visit Santa,” my mom intruded in or conversation.

            “Thanks,” I said, with a great big smile on my face.

“Okay, well we all think that you should get some sleep, you have a big day in front of you,” Megan said to me, and my mother. They turned off the lights, and closed the door.  My mom told me she would be right back in the room, after she knew our plan for the next day.

She slowly creaked open the door, trying not to wake me, even though she had.  My mom asked me how I felt, trying to be nice.  It was 7:00 am.  The sun was glaring in my eyes. As I opened them, I expected to see all the toys, not a white board with my name written on it.  Megan knocked on the door, smiling big and bright.

“Ready for a long day, sweetie?” she said.

“I guess,” I responded, with virtually no expression on my face. Filing through the door came two other nurses. There were three ways you could get the chemotherapy: orally, by injection, or through an IV.  My mom decided that it would be best if I had it through a shot, since the others seemed too scary.

About two hours after that I had been starting the side effects. I had been constantly throwing up, feeling worse after every time. Most cancer patients leave, but not me. I was going to stay at the hospital since I had a fast traveling cancer.  In the chance of an event they wanted to be able to give me medicine or do procedures right away.  They told my family that the fate my life could be determined in one second, and that it was safer to stay in the hospital.

Two weeks had passed when I lost my first chunk of hair; a long blond streak from the side of my head.  I can’t even begin to describe what that feels like.  My mom used to braid my hair, or put it up in a bun, and now she collects it as it falls slowly to the ground.  After a month of treatment, I was completely hairless.

            By mid November, I started to get visitors.  Family I hadn’t seen since the day of my birth came to visit me when I was in the hospital.  They brought books and stuffed animals to keep me company. Coloring books and crayons were my only friends. I received cards weekly from my classmates, all signed with some type of “get better” note along side. The room where I stayed quickly became more like home, more comfortable, more permanent.  I felt as if I would never leave, that I would be stuck here forever.

            “Hey mom? Dad?” I glanced over one day; talking to my parents, busy reading. They looked at each other, obviously trying to figure out which one should respond.

            “Yes?” my dad answered.

            “The first day I was shipped over here, mom said I could see Santa Claus.  When is that going to happen?” I said, sternly.

            “I know what I said,” my mom interrupted, “but you haven’t gotten better,” she said, with an apoplectic look on her face. I sighed. I was saddened.  Every year I went and visited Santa, sat on his lap, and gave him my wish list.  How would he know what I wanted this year? I started to cry. Tears rolling down my face, falling to the bed. My parents exchanged some looks and finally spoke up.

            “Elli, we’ll talk to Megan today and see if there is any way we can get you to go see Santa,” he said, watching the smile on my face appear.

            “Yay!” I screamed, motioning for my parents to come give me a hug.

            Excitement filled me like air in a balloon as I watched my parents converse in the hallway with Megan.  I couldn’t hear them, but by the looks on their faces, it looked hopeful that I would be visiting Santa.  There was only five days left until Christmas, and the only thing I wanted was to leave this place.  Whether it were to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap, or to the store to buy some medicine, I just wanted to leave this bed.

            I was wrong, the look I thought to be happy, ended up the opposite. There was no chance I was leaving. Recent blood tests showed that the ALL had traveled, and now had taken over my body.  There was no turning back; I had a very low chance of surviving.

            We spent the holidays in the hospital.  Family from all over brought a mini tree, and thousands of presents.  We sat in that small room as a family, and almost forgot about everything that was happening.  We smiled, and laughed, and had a good time, but as soon as they left it was back to a schedule.  I had no freedom in hospital. Throughout the months I’ve been the hospital, I’ve gotten worse.  Those bruises on my arm are everywhere now, they cover me.  Anytime I get hit, there’s a bruise that comes up. I still feel heavy inside, it hurts to get up, but I haven’t given up faith.  I know I’ll get better, I’ll always have hope.

             I turned seven just eight days after Christmas.  It was a happy day in the hospital; I was excited to see my friends and family again.  They were coming after lunch, and since I was tired I wanted to take a nap. I wasn’t feeling good, very tired, and I wanted to be my best for everyone.  My mom and dad said they would go to the cafeteria so I could sleep in peace.

            “See you in a couple hours, I love you,” my mom said, blowing me a kiss.

            “Sleep tight, baby,” my dad said, walking out, closing the door behind him. I never woke up.  I died there, in my sleep.  My heart just stopped working, the cancer took over.

            I never thought my disease would kill me. I never thought I would die on my birthday, especially at that age. I never thought that would be the last time I ever saw my parents, I ever heard their voices; I ever heard anything.  I never thought that there in room 234 of the hospital that would be the last breath I ever took.

The Truth

Prologue

No one knows everything about me.  People think they do, but no one does. I have one secret that I have been keeping from everyone, for the past year. Now, I am faced with this situation, one where I will have to tell.  I swore that I would never speak of the day again, but today is the day. My secret will be out, and everyone will know.  I don’t know how it will affect my life, I might not have any one who cares about me anymore, but I need to come clean. I need to confess.

“Amanda, what happened to Jennifer?”  Jennifer’s mom, Sherry, said while pausing to try to calm down.

            “I don’t know,” I said, staring at one spot in floor.

            “…what happened? Tell us now,” my mother said, looking around the whole room.

            “It was December; December 22^nd, just three days before Christmas. We were walking home from school. She told me that she wanted to show me something. I asked her what she wanted, not sure what to expect. She told me to follow her, and not to worry about anything. It was about a mile away, I was wondering if we would ever get there,” I said, chuckling, from memories.

            “Then what?” a police officer said, writing down notes to everything I said.  

            “We got there. It was an old, empty farmhouse.  I was confused why we were there, confused why she knew what this was.  It was cold, and covered in snow. Jenny told me that there was nothing to be scared about, as she opened the doors.  I couldn’t believe what I saw.  There were books, tons of them. I would say close to 500. I asked why she had so many books, and she assured me it was because she liked to read. I walked closer to them, reaching my hand out to grab one, when she stopped me. I just wanted to look at one of the books, but it all makes sense now. She wouldn’t let me look at them. She told me she needed to be home, and took my hand and ran out of the building,” I paused, looking out the window, watching the snow fall.

            “This doesn’t explain how my Jennifer is missing,” her dad said, crying.

            “Just listen to her,” her mother said, trying to calm the room.

            “Jenny, she wasn’t honest with all of you.  She had done things in her past that she wasn’t proud of, it started when she was six. She tells…told…me that at the age of six, she ran away from home.  She was gone for two hours, and no one noticed.  I kept trying to tell her that you guys probably were frantically searching for her, but she always doubted me. Then, at age eight, she started lying to you guys.  She would always go out with friends, friends like me. We would play this stupid game. Whoever’s house we were out, we would steal their cigarettes, and see who could smoke the most. At eight.  Then, when she was ten, she became depressed.   She injured herself…a lot. I think it was a year, yeah a year.  She wore a long sleeve shirt every day, and wouldn’t stop crying.”

            “Not my baby,” her father said, crying miserably.

            “On her 12^th birthday, I asked her if she was okay, if she needed help.  She said she didn’t, because everything was getting better.  Her life started to change around.  She joined more clubs, got some help, and was on top of the world. As for what I thought, she was the happiest person in the world.” I said, losing it, bawling.

            “Can you just get to what happened to her? Please,” her mother said.

            “We were running.  Sprinting back home, because she had to get to soccer, or what I thought was soccer.  She took me a way I had never been before.  She was laughing the whole way there, telling me how much she loved having me as her best friend, how much she loved having me there for her.  I was confused; I didn’t know what was going on.  Then we got to the train tracks. I could hear an engine roaring, and told her that we were going to have to wait for the train to pass. She had told me that she knew the train was there, she knew it was coming,” I said, laying my face in my lap, crying out to anyone who would listen.

            “It’s okay,” my mom said, rubbing my back.

            “She walked over to the tracks, and sat down. The last thing I remember seeing was two bright lights, and my fried disappear. But, when she was sitting down, she opened her mouth, and shouted “I’m free”, for the whole world to hear. She was gone,” I said to everyone in the room.  The room filled with only the subtle sound of tears, but no words.

            “The books, they were all of her journals.  Ones from the age six and up.  There was train schedules, with different ones circled, there were different books on suicide.  Different things she had written. I sat there, all night, reading them.  Crying, because my best friend was gone. Crying because I didn’t know what to do, crying because that was all I could do,” I paused, “but one thing stuck out to me, a letter, addressed to me. It was about how she was sorry, and how I couldn’t let anyone know what happened to her, so I didn’t tell anyone. But today, it’s been a year, and I just needed to confess, I am so sorry, I really am,” I said, crying uncontrollably, because I had just let my friend down.    

Deserted.

It was late in the night, the air was cold and crisp, and the street was deserted. No one on either side of the road, no car cruising along the road, no lights on to lead the way... nothing.  He was safe from his fear of anyone seeing him.   He was safe from the question, the answer and the consequence.  There was nothing for him to worry about, until they came.  They walked out of an old abandoned building, barely being able to stand. They couldn’t walk in a straight line, they couldn’t speak without a slur, and they couldn’t possibly have been completely there that night.  He quickly crossed to the other side of the street, hoping they would not notice him. His body filled with fear, as they might see him. No one could know what he was doing, no one could witness what was about to happen.  He walked a little further, until he got to where he needed to be.  He looked down, and saw his destination.  He knew this was the right choice.  He climbed up, took off his jacket, and…jumped.

T-Ray is an Abuser

I remember feeling like I had the worst parents on this planet.  That they didn’t care about me, that they didn’t want me there in life.  I felt like no one had worse parents than me, but people do.  There are kids that live with bruises from the time that their father threw them down the stairs, or marks from the time that their mother, the one who gave birth to them, hit them with a book. Lily, from The Secret Life of Bees, is a victim of this.  Her dad, T-Ray, is abusive.  He has been acting this way since the death of his wife almost 10 years ago.  I think that T-Ray has felt these emotions of abusing before she died, but after that his emotions overflowed and taken control.

We don’t hear much about T-Ray’s past.  We don’t know if he has had any previous marriages that would have ended badly, we don’t know if he had abusive parents when he was a child; we don’t know why he abuses his daughter Lily. But he does. For all we know, he could have been abused when he was a child, and that’s his parent’s style. As we read on page 8 we see that it says “He didn’t believe in slumber parties or sock hops, which wasn’t a big concern as I never got invited to them anyway.” This tells us that T-Ray didn’t let Lily go places or do things that she wanted. His actions probably followed the ones of his own parents.  I believe that one of the main reasons he abuses his daughter is because of his past.

T-Ray isn’t an abuser just because he might have had a bad past, the emotions of his abusing started around the time his wife died. It wasn’t a great marriage, and she was going to leave.  I think that he was stressed with the emotion of her leaving, that he took it out physically on his daughter.  In the beginning of the book, it talks about the day that her mom dies. On page 7 it says, “Get in your room!” he shouted, and shoved me.  I leaned against the wall, then fell forward onto my hands and knees. Lifting my head, looking past him, I saw her running across the room. Running at him, yelling. Leave. Her. Alone.” This is the first account in the book of T-Ray ever hitting his child, and it happened because of his wife.  She was trying to leave him, and he took his anger out by hitting his daughter. As showed, T-Ray abuses because of his anger with his wife.

Not only does the abusing come from his past and the stress of his marriage, but it also comes from what Lily did to her mother. As their parents were fighting, Lily had gotten a hold of the gun and shot her mother to death.  Whenever Lily does something wrong, T-Ray always has the excuse of that she killed her mom to blame her. On page 24, we are given a look at some of the things that T-Ray does to his daughter: “I’d been kneeling on grits since I was six, but I still never got used to that powdered-glass feeling beneath my skin.” Kneeling on small pieces of glass from age six.  She was a baby, making mistakes was normal for her.  There is no reason to make your kids kneel on glass, it disgusting and disturbing.  T-Ray is not a good father to his daughter, since he abuses her weekly.

T-Ray has been feeling the emotions of hurting his daughter for many years, but they have finally shown since the death of his wife. Lily didn’t only feel like she had the worst parents in the world, she did.  She had a dad that abused her.  A dad that physically hits her, a dad that doesn’t want her there, a dad that doesn’t care about her. But she has the courage and strength to leave this life of pain.

           

Say Goodbye.

Author's Note: This piece was written to show the extraordinary word choice I can use.  I needed to get  a 10 on word choice, and that was completed with this piece.

As I step of the bus, I walk in to the middle of a storm.  It’s raining bullets.  Looking up I see the sky brightening.  Crashes of lightning hitting the horizon, followed by roars of thunder.  Tress dancing in the wind, swaying back and forth. Walking along, stepping in puddles, but it feels no different from the pouring rain hitting my shoulders. Looking ahead, I see the sun emerge from an army of clouds.  I see birds flying and creatures stumbling.  As I turn my head, I see the storm that just passed. I say goodbye to wet cold weather, and hello to sunshine.

The Secret Life of Bees- Rosaleen

Author's Note: I wrote this piece, responding to The Secret Life of Bees. I had to write it in the perspective of another character, besides Lily. I chose Rosaleen.  I feel that this portrays the actions of her thinking.

I am walking, on a long journey.  Lily is with me, and we don't know where we're headed, we just needed to be gone.  I needed to get away from all this mayhem caused with T-Ray.  He was not a good person, and not someone anyone would like to be around...so we left.  I'm still worried about if this is the right decision, being that we haven't had anything change for the better, yet.  All we're doing, hopefully, is getting a second chance. A new beginning, leaving our horrible past  behind us.

"Can you tell me anything about my mom? Like what she was liked? What she looked like?" Lily asked.  I'm not sure if -I should answer her.  Yes, I do know what happened to her mother.  Every  fight that was ever fought, ever word that was ever said, and every action that was ever made. I know the truth; and Lily and T-Ray know parts of it, but neither knows the whole thing.  I was like a sister to Debra, I was her listening ear when things had gone wrong with T-Ray, I was like the book, and she was the author.  I only know the things that she told me. (which I assumed was the whole thing, since it took hours  to listen to her)

"No, sweetie, I don't know much about your mother.  Not much at all." I replied, watching the tears fill up in her eyes.

"Well can you please tell me what you do know?" She asked, begging.

""No," i said, sighing before I opened my mouth, "I....I don't know anything." I said, breaking her heart.

I know one day I'll give up, I'll crack.  Then I'll tell her the things she wants to know; then I'll tell her the truth.

Everything Happens for a Reason

Author's Note: I wrote this piece to explain my feelings on everything happening for a reason. 
 

"I don't believe in luck.  I believe that everything happens for a reason"-Nelly
If everything goes wrong in life, and you feel like nothing, remember that everything happens for a reason. That shirt, the one your wearing, it's for a reason. We don’t know all the reasons at first.  It could be that the guy your secretly in love with will compliment you, or that you'll get in a accident and die, and the shirt you happen to be wearing is one that your grandma got you the day she died; but it's still a reason.  If your life is crumbling, and you feel like nothing,  remember that any action you-or some one else- made was for a reason. If you're confused or worried why something happen, and can't find a good, valid reason, maybe it wasn't a reason in your favor.  You're not perfect. Not everything you want to happen in life will.  That's life, that's the way it goes.  Good reasons and bad reasons, but it still happened for one.  These reasons could change our life.  Like if you miss a flight, you could meet your soul mate in the airport.  If you lose the job, a better one could be down the road.  Or if your six year relationship ends over a stupid fight, maybe you won the fight.  In situations like that, it's hard to find the good outcome.  Some can spend many years searching for it, and even then still not know.  There will be reasons in our live that will remain clueless our whole life.  Things we could never find the good outcome, without looking at he rest of our lives.  Because you wore that shirt today, that guy, the one you like, could ask you out.  Then after about a month, you meet one of his friends that you like. Your world may be full of confusion, but look,  you would have never met his friend without meeting him, and you would have never gotten his attention without wearing that shirt. I hope you realize that everything really does happen for a reason.

God Bless America.

            Our country has overcome many things together. From fighting for our freedom to overcoming terrorist attacks our country has proven that we can accomplish many things. I am very proud in the things that our country has achieved and know that we will continue to strive for excellence.

            With the end of the Revolutionary war in 1783, our nation was declared a free country. Being the underdogs, many were surprised when we came back and won our freedom.  Thousands of lives were sacrificed to make America a free country.  With this being said, I am very proud of our nation for doing this.  The whole reason English men traveled the seas was to find freedom, and when they got here and still didn’t have it; they were strong enough to fight for it. This makes me proud to live in America.  The fact that our nation is free affects everything we do each day.  I am swollen with pride by the fact that we overcame the Britain’s to get freedom.

            September 11, 2001 is a day that Americans will remember forever. It is a day that our country was attacked and realized the impact of terrorism on our own soil. However, things that have happened since that day make America even stronger. In 2011, we killed Osama Bin Laden, the mastermind behind 9/11. To me, this is a very big accomplishment.  We were defeated in 2001, but this year we came back and showed the world that what the terrorists did was not okay. Our country will not accept thousands of innocent deaths.  I think that it is amazing that we killed Osama. We should all be very proud of our country for accomplishing this.

            When someone asks me if I am proud of America, I feel like it’s such an easy question to answer.  Step back and take a look at all the things our country has achieved.  We are free. Those three words are all it takes to make me be proud of my country. No fancy inventions or big technology, just freedom.  I am proud to say that I am an American citizen for all the things we have accomplished and overcome. 

Prison vs. The Community

Colorless, cold, lifeless; these all describe life in the community of The Giver. Never standing out, never standing up for yourself; because that’s what life is for you.  In the community the citizens don’t get to choose what they do, it’s chosen for them- much like life in prison.  Forced to stick on a schedule, being released at a certain time, and being the same as the person next to you. I believe that life in the community and in prison are similar in many ways.

            What would life be like if you knew what was going to happen? No ups and downs, no surprise, and no chance of living life to its full potential. Every day you would wake up and know your schedule.  You would have no free time, except what was included in your agenda for the day- but is that really free time? We all at one point just want to sit down and relax, and not worry about missing our next event.  In our lives, we’re all busy.  Sports, clubs, and different activities fill our calendars, but these are things we chose to do. For some of us, this is our free time; it’s how we like to express ourselves.  In the community or in a prison, you have to stick to a plan. A plan that decides your life for you.

            You do your time, and you’re released. Released from prison, released from the community, released from your life. When you become old, or just want to leave the community, in The Giver; you can be released.  Being released means leaving what you’re used to.  After living in a prison for possibly 50 years, the outside world is abnormal to you, as is elsewhere- where you go after living in the community.  Everything is so strange, you are able to choose things, and you are able to be an individual.  In the community it is chosen for you when you get to be released. If they feel like you are old enough to die in the near future, they release you.  In prison, when you have served your time, you can leave.  It is chosen by a jury on how long you will be forced to stay in four walls; and when your time is done, you can leave.

            Imagine a world where everything is the same. Everyone wears the same clothes, everyone eats the same food, and everyone acts the same way.  No one is their own person, they’re all alike. In the community, the citizens’ main rule deals with sameness.  Everyone gets the same amount of stuff, weather that is food, money, or even kids. They all dress alike and keep no secrets to themselves. Prison is the same way.  Everyone gets the same food, the same clothes, and the same attention. No one is different; in fact difference is not welcome. I think that the reason these two are so similar is because you are blindly following the rules of sameness.  You know you have to obey them, so you don’t think any further into them.  No one in prison questions being the same, because they know that they have done something wrong to deserve being there. In the end; being the same stinks whether it’s in the community or in prison.

          
             Living in the community would be a life full of enforced rules, and knowing when you’re released.  Knowing that everything must be the same; knowing what you’re supposed to. I think that if you have to live in the community you are being robbed from the chance of living your life the way you want to.  Not everything has to be chosen for you, because you know yourself the best.  No one else knows what you want to do in life except you.  Living in the community, or prison, makes you have a life full of the same things every day. A life full of boredom and misery; a life not worth living.  

Introduction

Short Story

7:30 AM
 I hate living in New York City.  The traffic every morning is so bad and since my mom doesn't want to  take the detour to drive me to school, I have to bike to school.   On normal days, when the traffic isn't  horrible, it takes me fifteen minutes to get there.  Except today I left a little late.  If I was tardy one more  time I would have a weeks worth of detention.  All I can hear is the beeping of car horns.  The traffic  light in front of me is on red, and has been for a while.  I decide to take a left and gun it to try to get  there on time.  As I am turning, I can see a Semi truck heading my way.  I peddle as fast as I can, but it's  not fast enough. 
 Essay
 Many teens around the country are dropping out of high school everyday; each one giving up their aspirations because school is to hard for them.  Every child should get a full education, not ending it in high school.  Kids that drop out of high school are being robbed from a successful job in the future, just because they couldn't pass  simple tests in many subjects.  Students who drop out of high school are holding themselves back from having the best life they can.

Color.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple.  These are just a few of the colors we see everyday.   Most of the time we make no remark so seeing them, because it is normal for us to see color.  However, for the citizens in the community from "The Giver" seeing color is not normal.  In fact only two people can really see colors.  Imagine a world without color.  I think that It would be boring, and so plain.

                When you look around, all you see is things that are colored differently.  We like colors, because they're pretty.  When we look at them it just ads so much detail to the object.  If we didn't have color, everything would be boring.   Color is so important because it describes an object so precisely.  If we didn't have color, everything would just be there.  It would all be colorless, all blend in.  Nothing would stand out.  Color is important to me because It makes the world unique.

                There are over 1,000 different colors in the world, but objects aren't the only thing that are colored.  People have color.   Different orientations of the skin tone, eye color, and hair color, all make us different.  If you think about it, there are so many different colors of skin, making us each our own person.  Yes, having different colored skin has lead us to conflict before, but i think that people need to see beyond that fact.  They need to think about that if our world didn't have color, we'd be the came color as the objects. Colorless.

                Without color, our world would be simple.  We have color to idnetify us as people, and give depth to objects.  When you people look around, I'm sure they dont even think about the colors we see.  It's a daily occurance to see color.  But, think about what you would feel like if one day you woke up and there was no color in the world.

Star

             As I thought about  down Hollywood Boulevard, I couldn't help but to think about the different stars on the ground. Michael Jackson, The Beatles, even Corbin Blue. These people all have stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, even though some are barley teenagers. 

People are looking for a package in the arts industry- not necessarily just talent. See if you had good looks and absolutely no talent, you would still have a chance in the industry.

Later that night I thought about what my dad said. I realized that he was right. In the industry of the performing arts, it doesn’t necessarily matter if you have talent, the looks are what they are looking for. However, if you  have amazing talent, but no looks, you will still have a chance- possibly not that big of one.  Take Justin Bieber as an example. When he was starting out, before people saw him, many thought he sounded like a girl. But the second that girls saw what he looks like,  they love his music. But think about Taylor Swift- she has amazing talent and is famous for that. In the end it is best to just be yourself and live your dreams…because only you know what you're capable of.