Boyfriend

You are 15 again. Write a diary entry about what you endured at school today.

November 14, 1991

Hi Diary,

Had a bad day today.  I failed a science quiz, I didn't finish my Spanish homework, and I think I'm getting bronchitis again!  I did get an 80% on my math test, though.  I just painted my nails melon but I think I'm going to put a coat of poppy over it because it's not bright enough.  I'm really sick of Rhonda.  Everything is "Mark Mark Mark and Mark this and Mark that and Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark!"  Ok, we get it, you're infatuated.  She's my best friend but lately she's acting so horrible, since she got a boyfriend. Did I tell you what she said to me yesterday?  I told her I thought we should go practice our singing in the chorus room 7th period, and she was like "No!  *gasp* Mark will be there 7th period." And I was like "Oh, come on.  If we make it big you'll be singing in front of thousands of people.  I think you can sing in front of Dork Brain."  And she said "Well, at least I HAVE a boyfriend."  Can you believe that? It was so mean.  I just rolled my eyes but it really made me feel bad.  I just don't know who she is anymore.  She's not the Rhonda I know.  Sometimes I think I'll never have a boyfriend.  That I will just be that old lady down the block that everyone thinks is a witch because she's ugly and gross and she never leaves her house.  

On the bright side, I had a great time talking to Mandy and Kristin today at lunch.  They are really funny.  At first I thought I would be bummed out that Rhonda wasn't in my 6th period lunch this year but the way things have been going lately with her it's been kind of nice to have other friends to talk to.  Mandy and Kristin and I are talking about going to see "Beauty and the Beast" next weekend.  I'm excited for it!  I loved "The Little Mermaid."  This new one looks really good!

Well, my nails are dry.  Time for bed.  

Till Tomorrow,  

- M

By Brian

You are 15 again. Write a diary entry about what you endured at school today.

 Monday April 14^th, 1986

            School sucked today until lunch time. I had to go to the bathroom across from the Band room and the smoke was from the ceiling to the floor. Totally grody. I had to hold my breath, run in, pee and run out. Gag me with a spoon.

            I have Mrs. Penner for English. She is really nice, but I wrote an essay about how people do not have to do everything that they are told and that there are people out there who like to manipulate other people and she just seemed confused. Earth to Mrs. Penner. Come in Mrs. Penner!

Passed notes back and forth with Mickey Hanson. She has a boyfriend who is supposed to beat up people and stuff. She hates him, but stays with him. I do not understand girls, but she puts her feet under my seat and I put my feet back and sometimes they touch and that is awesome.

All these USB dorks didn’t invite me to join their stupid student government stuff. I don’t want to be a part of it, but they could ask, right? It’s not like we aren’t in every single class together.

I am almost done reading the Hitchhiker’s books; I read part of the second one during history class while Mr. Crow lectured. All the stuff is in the book, which I have to read anyway. I laughed at one part, which was a problem because nothing was funny in class, but no one noticed.

It’s going to be super smoggy today, too hot for my Members Only jacket. Scott said I can come over after school and we can swim right after we watch Robotech. That is like the best show ever, I mean a guy dies in a cartoon and stays dead, not like he turns out not be dead later. It is so much better than Inspector Gadget. Scott’s dad just waxed the slide, so we are both going to go upside down and backward. I went down on my knees last week and almost fell over the side on the twist. No way am I going to try that right after its waxed!

Lunch time was cool, as usual I threw away the lunch my mom made for me and bought the school pizza. I saw Mickey at lunch, her boyfriend was out sick and she sat with me. She complains about him a lot. She would never complain if she went out with me. We would be the happiest couple on campus because I am a nice guy.

I finally got a copy of Ultima IV and I already mastered one of the eight virtues. I pinned the cloth map on my wall and I carry the golden Ankh in my Velcro wallet. Bill says he mapped out the whole thing on graph paper and it wallpapers his entire room. The game is hard, but cool. If my stupid disk drive would stop chunking and rebooting I might actually solve the game. OK, I probably won’t, but that sound makes me want to throw the thing out the window.

Steve says his school sucks, private Christian high school, but school sucks no matter what. I hope to god I do not grow up and become one of those people who says, “Oh, I miss High School, it was the best years of my life, because I am here right now and it sucks. We run around like rats in a maze, when the bell rings we scurry from one cubby to another. The jocks try to steal my M&Ms at PE and the girls are crazy.

            I gotta go talk to my grandma and grandpa on the phone. Will write more tomorrow.

Where Be the Captain?

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

 

O

ne day, a group of outcasts were sailing the Seven Seas. A man named DogBreath Doge called from starboard, “Aye! Where be our captain?”

T

he crew suddenly looked around for Beratilo Barnicalos there captain.

“There be no captain on board. Who is driving this transport. Who cares who be doing it, no cap’n mean no rule following.”

 

S

uddenly, one of them named Bongo Billy said , “Why not we make a party?!” Bring out old crates! Even though I do know where me captain is!”

 

“He be at Chattersworth Town, drinkin’ a beer with pretty ladies. I wish we’d never left that town!” said DogBreath.  “Well, now that he’s gone, I’m the new captain. And my first rule is: Why there be any rules?! Party time all day! We drink rum out of kegs and steal away treasure from sailors.”

 

THE END.

Story by Rachel Arnold (Age 8)

 

 

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

There was no wind that day.  The local mermaid, who usually enjoyed causing minor discomfort for nearby vessels, was disappointed and bored.  The English navy was stuck in shallow waters and there was no way for any of the sail boats to move beyond their current resting place, no matter how much the crew prayed, cursed or pointed their fists to the sky.  “Per-rr-fect,” thought Black Tooth Brian – the proud captain of that nameless brigade that is known in South Caribbean for their blood thirst and love of treasure.  “Pe-rrr-ffff-act!” screamed his loyal parrot, lovingly known amongst the crew as the That Bloody Bird.    No, there was no wind that day, but the treasure, safely bound at the bottom of Princess Royal, was in no way of monetary value and couldn’t have been spent either in My Lady’s Thighs whorehouse or in a Gold Finger, Black Tooth Brian's favorite pub. 

You, idiot!!!”  The screams of enraged mermaid could be heard all through the island.  Groans of pain, not uncommon on her part of the land were as often followed by gun shots as by sounds of shattered glass and mad-sounding laughter.  Mermaid was new to this island.  Her arrival was announced a few weeks ago by the sudden violent death of all local men named Eric.  The local population, originally frightened by these developments, attended plenty of church services asking Father O’Henry to intercede on their behalf on the question of removal of green female creature from their peaceful island.  Someone even suggested that since mermaids weren’t mentioned in the Bible, the Catholic Church should consider calling the Holly Inquisition on them.  Father O’Henry agreed to write to the Vatican and the good people of the island were patiently awaiting Holy Father’s approval to burn the mermaid at stake.  She, however, wasn’t a bit concerned.  Loud laughter and screams of pain never seized, in fact, they became more frequent.     

-        “You stupid, useless, impotent idiot!”  The Interim High Commander of Spanish Navy and Chief Intelligence Advisor on the Matters of That Heretic Queen of Great Britain to His Highness the King of Spain Grand Duke Phillip Avilliaroza was getting used to being addressed this way by the mermaid. 

-        “Calm down, Agent.”

-        “Don’t you be asking me to calm down!  You called me in here for WHAT?” 

-        “We needed your skill, Agent.”

-        “That’s right!  You needed my skill in avenging the loss of the Spanish Armada.  You asked me to scare the living souls out of those nimrods aboard of the British vessels and to abduct the illegitimate child of the British Whore who is being shipped to the Colonies to be brought up in obscurity.  What you do with this child, Phillip, is not of my concern, but you can’t expect me to do my job if there is no wind!  Give me the wind!!!”

-        “Agent, you know perfectly well that I can’t command natural forces of the wind,” Phillip replied for calmly.  This wasn’t the first time that they engaged in this discussion.  The mermaid never stopped being unreasonable.

-        “Bastard!!!!!  How dare you ask for my help if you are unable to conjure the wind!?!,” the high pitch of mermaid’s voice broke yet another glass window in Grand Duke’s apartments.  This mermaid business irritated him immensely, but they needed her help and windows could always be replaced.

-        “I am taking a vacation,” announced the mermaid.  “I am going back under the sea for a few days of relaxation, beauty sleep and massages.  Call me when you are able to provide me with the proper wind.”

-        “As you wish, Agent.”

-        “I don’t work for you,” hissed the mermaid.  “Now, where is he?”  The doors opened and a young sailor was pushed in. 

-        “This is Eric,” announced Phillip.

-        “Of course he is, stupid.  I told you that I only wanted sailors named Eric. After all, I am on the mission of killing all men by that accursed name to avenge myself on that idiot of a prince who didn’t notice me when I was in love with him.”  A gun shot was heard and Eric’s blood spilled on the floor.  “It’s too bad that your name isn’t Eric, Grand Duke.  I would have loved to shoot you as well.”  With this words the mermaid disappeared into the sea. 

-        “Enjoy your rest, Agent.  I will work on getting you the wind,” whispered Phillip.

- Asya Zoolman

 

 

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

The bottomless ocean opened up and Brian, the sea god of nastiness and colds, came out and took all his play toys away.  Towering fifty stories in the air, not to mention his toes that were under the waves, Brian was happy with his work.  Nothing was left, not even a rubber ducky to sail the seven or eight seas.  Then to Brian’s shock, a lone vessel came skipping along the sea shore right smack dab towards him.  Brian couldn’t understand how this could be.  Then again, he was the sea god of nastiness and colds, and not of brains or brawn. In any case, there was no doubt that Brian had missed one of his toys.  The god looked dumbfounded as drool dropped from his mouth.  In itself, this was nothing to be alarmed at.  Brian was dumbfounded quite often.  Remember he was the sea god of nastiness and colds, not of thinking, nor manners.  Where were we? Oh yes, upon looking closely at the toy that got away, the mighty sea god noticed that upon its mast was a black flag with a skull and crossbones on it.  

- Jason Margolies

 

Sunburned

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

Where the seawater burned off under the sun's watch, Michael's skin was weighted and pocked by the thousands of millions of salty micropustules that were the sea's signature.

His regular business was not normally so carefully conducted this close to the shoreline, where gulls circled the cracked and flaking nape of his neck a mile or so above the din of Michael's life. But on this particularly sweltering Sunday, he could not escape the weight of his charge and the responsibility that shackled him under the steaming sun's focus. He longed for the cooling breeze that licked his arms at home, that fed the green pasture on which he spent most his summer months. There he was among a chosen few men whose worth and merits were balanced not by their willingness to chart stars or work ropes, but by their brute strength, sweat-fueled speed and ability to work wood and cork.

A crack pierced this quiet reflection, and Michael's sinews tensed. He could hear a collective breath drawn all around him, as if thousands of watching spirits now focused on his every twitch. His legs responded. They whirled before the rest of his taught body shook into position. Arms pumping, Michael's eyes darted upward, choosing among the circling vulture-gulls a satellite moving unlike the avian ballet above. 

Where is the wall? Michael's feet were attuned to every step. Unlike most men his were trained to feel past the rubber soles, past the ground crust and into some tertiary level, where his feet would know when he left the grass. They had to. Their role was critical in the engine of his body, where each part worked independently yet reliably. Arms made their pendulum rhythm opposite the pistons in his legs. Eyes kept locked to their target, impervious to sun and sharp salt sea air. Lungs and heart sang, propelled in a push-and pull match keeping the rhythm of the rest of his parts in lock-step.

The downward arc began. From the sky the object darted to the earth, at lesat to the untrained eye. To Michael it dripped, poured from the heavens into one mark on the perfectly coiffed grass that only he could see. He arrived at the location well before his prey, and his predator body need not stretch to meet it. He stood instead erect, defying the coarse saltwater that rubbed on him, in him. In the air around him it stuck, now taking form, the air vibrating with a hiss and boom meant to cripple Michael and break him under the constant burning thumb of the sun. 

He stood and he waited. His run gave his arms a little relief, like the cool river breezes of his native Pittsburgh.

"I hate away games," Michael puffed as he heaved the ball back to the pitcher.

Marooned

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

Sand and saltwater filled her nose and scraped down her throat.  Her head felt too heavy to lift, but she knew she had to get up and move or the sea would claim her.  She pushed herself up to her elbows and heaved up all she had just inhaled, exfoliating her throat and windpipe.  Waves crashed on the rocks and ripped at the sand beneath her, threatening to pull her back into the ocean. She pushed herself up on shaky legs and staggered toward higher ground, away from the reaching waves.  She collapsed under a group of trees.

When she awoke, it was morning.  The sea had calmed, and the sun was warming the ache from her bones.  She pushed herself up to sitting and looked back to the sea.   The horizon was azure, and unbroken. There was no sign of the Chimera.  They had taken her from her home, used and abused her, thrown her overboard and not looked back.  They hadn't even had the courtesy to let her walk the plank; just dumped her into the depths like a dead crewman.  She was marooned, and left for dead. 

But she survived.  She was alive, and on land.  And furious. 

They had no idea what they had created in her, but she could see it. She would take back what they stole from her town, and others.  She would hunt them down, beat them, humiliate them, and then throw them overboard as they had done to her.  She would become what they were.  Right after she found some food.