By; Maggie Collins
Lying, quietly in an old wooden canoe I listen to the sounds of nature. Hearing the songs of the blue birds in the nearby redwood trees, I finally relax from the long trip home. Then with a loud bang, all peace was disturbed. Everything went silent and all I could hear was the sounds of faint footsteps crunching on the rough leaves in the distance. I wanted to see what was going on so I peeked through a hole in the canoe. That’s when I witnessed something that would change my life forever. In the hunter’s arms was a child about ten years old, with a puddle of the blood leaking out of its lower back. Still as a statue, my body laid, for the fear that those very same footsteps would creep closer. Then the canoe tipped and made loud creak, the footsteps turned, and they got louder and louder as they came toward me. I felt the killer creep upon me. His every move sent tingles up my spine. Then a hand grasped my delicate throat, so hard that hardly any air could escape. I knew it was over when the killer pulled out his bloody hunting knife and pressed it against the ridges of my throat. Just as the killer was about to slit it the screen door slammed and there was my sister, May, staring at the killer and me. Then, everything went black.
Something strange happened to me in the darkness, for I still seemed to be in the canoe… alive. I heard a loud high- pitched scream as I opened my eyes. And there I saw it, the killer and his knife stuck in the front of my sister’s heart. I turned away quickly to wipe away the tears streaming down from my eyes and then he was gone. I ran over to her and held her in my arms. Then as I brushed her long amber hair I felt something in her neck. It was a bumblebee pin. As I sat there, tears pouring out of my eyes I vowed that one day I would avenge my sister. As night fell, the ambulance arrived and took her from me. I then packed my stuff and fled to New Haven, the child hood city I had been born in. I knew that staying in that cabin would only bring back the bad memories of long ago.
Two years later, fate had brought me back to that same haunted cabin. My husband and I had to move there because he had lost his job and there was no where we could go. I dreaded every minute of that long car ride. All the old memories I tried to escape from all came back and they felt as real as the day they had happened. When we reached the rickety old cabin, the familiar scents came back. The place looked rough, and we spent our first week there putting our belongings in our home, working on the yard, cutting fire wood, shopping for groceries, patching holes in the roof, and getting familiar with the neighborhood and house.
One night as we were lying in bed, a cold wind burst through the broken blue shutters. We were so cold that my husband decided to make a fire in the fire place. It was so cozy and we watched old black and white movies on the antenna TV. I was finally happy and warm. Soon we began to run out of logs for the fire, and when the last one burned to ashes my husband decided that he would bring in some more… a lot more. He put the dimmed, flickering porch light on and went to the back of the shed to grab more wood. Suddenly, I heard a shot from a gun and all went silent. I thought to myself, it’s probably a hunter hunting a deer, nothing to worry about; my husband will be in shortly. But ten minutes went by and I started to panic. Right then and there I knew it was the killer, the one who killed my sister, and now he had come back to finish what he had started many years ago. I went to the window at the back of my house to see what had happened but I couldn’t see a thing. So I foolishly turned on the brightest back light and there lying in a puddle of blood was my husband, but the killer was gone. What had I done? Now the killer knew I was in the house.
As I turned around I heard a squeak from the screen door and someone came in. I had nowhere to run, so I quietly fast walked and hid myself in the hallway closet, piling mountains of clothes and boxes on top of me. Then something knocked on the door and slowly entered. I held my breath for I knew that if he heard me I would surely die. He kicked around at piles and carefully checked to see if there was someone in there hiding. Then he turned to where I was hiding, and was about to rip the pile to shreds when he heard a deep bark. The loud, raspy, low pitched bark filled the room and there standing in an aggressive pose was my rottweiler, Wiggles. I totally forgot that I left him to live with the neighbors across the street and now he had come to save me and rip the killer to shreds. Then the killer turned around, not looking the least bit frightened. As he pulled the trigger of his steel plated gun and released the golden bullet at him, while I switched piles. The killer kicked the last pile, took one last overview of the room, and left. I was so close to ending up like my sister, husband and dog. Now I knew more than ever that I had to kill the killer, for he had brought pain and sadness to too many lives. It was his turn to die.
I crept quietly to the old oak door and gently put my ear to its rugged finish; I listened in the silence and heard the soft clomping of his size 13 black boots, going down the old carpeted stairs. He was heading to the basement. Then I realized that the basement had a door with a lock on the outside of it, so I formed a plan. When he sneaked passed the door and into the cellar, I would sprint down stairs with the shot gun hanging from the wall and shoot him. Then when I heard the door close, I sprinted quietly down the stairs. Just as I was locking the door, he turned around.
He ran to the door and stopped it with his foot. I couldn’t get it shut; he retrieved his knife and slit my hand. I let go of the door, but quickly grabbed the shot gun that was lying next to me and shot his lower left thigh. He dropped to the ground writhing in pain. I then locked the door and ran up the stairs. I sprinted over to the phone to dial 911. It was then that I remembered that my husband hadn’t set up the phone service yet. I had no time. I had to get out of that house, so I ran over to my neighbors house. I rang the door bell about a million times, but no one answered. The next neighbor was about a quarter of a mile away. I ran with all my might to the house, and finally some one answered. I asked to borrow there phone. He asked if I was hurt or in any sort of trouble, and I told him everything right up to the part when I trapped the killer in the cellar. I dialed 911 and the dispatcher on the phone answered and said the fastest they could get down there is about 30- 45 minutes. I hung up the phone, thanked the kind stranger and headed back out the door. But the strange man said I could stay in his house while I waited for the police to arrive. Twenty minutes later we heard a small knock on the door. “Maybe it is the police” the neighbor said. And right as he opened the door, the killer fired his gun at the kind man’s head.
The killer limped inside. He searched every room and just as I peeked around the corner to see where he was, he spotted me. He burst towards me in a fast pace. I ran towards the sliding glass door and crash!! I ran straight into the glass and was knocked out. Then I was woken up by a cold splash of water. When my emerald eyes opened, I realized that he had thrown me off the deck and into the pool. I was so cold and wet, but I didn’t see him anywhere.
I hopped out of the pool, soaking wet, and ran up the steps inside the man’s house to the loft area to see if I could spot him from a higher distance through all the windows. I still didn’t see him anywhere. I stepped back and fell down because I had slipped on a loose foot board. He just wasn’t any where in sight. I pulled up a bench and waited for the police to come. All of a sudden the killer crept behind me and pulled me off the ground by my throat. I knew that I was to die now. But then I remembered something quiet important. I had almost fallen through the loft last time, so maybe if I moved him far enough over, he would fall through. I wiggled and wobbled to get him to descend backwards, but he was a still and as heavy as a rock. He wouldn’t budge.
Somehow maneuvered my foot and kicked the groin so hard he jolted backwards, landing on his butt and throwing me forward. Then I heard the snap of the wood beneath him and he was sent downward. There was no way he could survive the fall, but somehow I did survive the belly flop into the pool, so just to be safe, I grabbed the shot gun of the man’s mantel and slowly crept down the stairs to see him. Right when I got down, I saw the killer hanging about eight feet off the ground. He had fallen on the deer antlers in the man’s hunting room and they had pierced through his skin, just past his shoulder blades and yet he was still alive. Finally, I went up to him placed the gun to his forehead head and yelled, “This is for my sister!” and fired it. Then I moved to his right thigh and screamed “This is for my husband!” and fired again. And then I placed it right on the middle of his heart and yelled, “This is for my dog!”
The police came two long hours later; way longer than the dispatcher had said, and they took my husband, and the kind man, to their station to identify the victims. As I took the last peek at them before they put each body in a bag I saw something familiar. Stuck in their necks was a bumblebee pin, in the same exact place I had seen two years ago in my sisters. Then once the bodies were loaded into the ambulance, the inspector went to see the killer’s body. He left him on the antlers while he searched his pockets for identification. He searched for about ten minutes, but all he could find was a small bumblebee pin in his front, left coat jacket pocket. When the second set of police men came they ripped the killer down, gave me the pin, and took me to the station with them for questioning.
There they proceeded to tell me that for twenty years there has been a series of killings where all the victims had a small bumblebee pin jammed in their throats. Then they told me that the killer has been on the wanted list for some time and that there was a fifty thousand dollar reward for whoever catches him. Later that month, the police officer handed me a check for fifty-thousand dollars. I took it and made a new life for myself in the city. In the city, I became a secretary for Entertainment Magazine and bought a nice apartment. I had nice neighbors and a puppy named Biggs. Each night as I went to bed, I dreamt of the killer. He had come back to kill me. It felt as real as the night as it had happened and one night as I was dreaming, I couldn’t escape. So I went to the top of my building and flung myself off.
The next day, they found my body in the bushes in front of the complex. When they inspected my body, all they found was a bumblebee pin in the palm of my hand and a note in my pajama pocket. It read, “The only way to escape reality is through the sting of death.”
Stranger at the Lake
By; Maggie Collins
Lying, quietly in an old wooden canoe I listen to the sounds of nature. Hearing the songs of the blue bird in the nearby redwood tree, I finally relax from the long trip home. Then with a loud BANG, the peace was disturbed. All went silent and all I could hear was the sounds of faint footsteps in the distance. Still as a statue, my body lays, for the fear of those very same footsteps would creep closer. Then the canoe made a loud CREEK, the footsteps turned, and they got louder and louder as they came toward me. I felt the killer creep upon me. His every move sent tingles up my body. Then a hand grasped my delicate throat, so hard that hardly any air could escape. I knew it was over when the killer pulled out his bloody hunting knife and placed it next to my throat. And just as the killer was about to slit my throat the screen door slammed and there was my sister, May, staring at the killer and me. And in one instant everything went black.
Something strange happened to me in the darkness, for I still seemed to be in the canoe… alive. I heard a loud SCREAM as I opened my eyes. And there I saw it, the killer and his knife stuck in the front of my sister’s heart. I turned away quickly to wipe away the tears streaming down from my eyes and then he was gone. I ran over to her and held her in my arms. Then as I brushed her long amber hair I felt something in her neck. It was a bumblebee pin. As I sat there, tears pouring out of my eyes I vowed that one day I would avenge my sister. As night fell, the ambulance arrived and took her from me. I then packed my stuff and fled to a new city for I knew that that cabin would only bring back bad memories.
Two years later, fate had brought me back to that same haunted cabin. My husband and I had to move there because he had lost his job and there was no where we could go. I dreaded every minute of that long car ride. The old memories I tried to escape from all came back and they felt as real as the day they had happened. When we reached the rickety old cabin, the familiar scents came back. The place looked rough, and we spent our first week there putting our belongings in our home, working on the yard, cutting fire wood, shopping for groceries, patching holes in the roof, and getting familiar with the neighborhood and house.
One night as we were lying in bed, a cold wind burst through the broken, blue shutters. We were so cold that my husband decided to make a fire in the fire place. It was so cozy and we watched old black and white movies on the antenna TV. I was finally happy. Soon we began to run out of logs for the fire and when the last one burned to ashes my husband decided that he would bring in some more… a lot more. So he put the dimmed porch light on and went to the back of the shed to grab more wood. Suddenly, I heard a shot from a gun and all went silent. I thought to myself, it’s probably a hunter hunting a deer, nothing to worry about; my husband will be in shortly. But twenty minutes went by and I started to panic. Right then and there I knew it was the killer, the one who killed my sister, and now he had come back to finish what he had started long ago. I went to the window at the back of my house to see what had happened but I couldn’t see a thing. So I foolishly turned on the brightest back light and there lying in a puddle of blood was my husband, but the killer was gone. What had I done? Now the killer knew I was in the house.
As I turned around I heard a SQUEAK from the screen door and someone came in. I had nowhere to run to, so I quietly fast walked and hid myself in the closet, piling mountains of clothes and boxes on top of me. Then something knocked on the door and slowly entered. I held my breath for I knew that if he heard me I would surely die. He kicked around at piles and carefully checked to see if there was someone in there hiding. Then he turned to where I was hiding, and was about to rip the pile apart when he heard a BARK. The loud, raspy, low pitched bark filled the room and there standing in an aggressive pose was my rottweiler, Wiggles. I totally forgot that I left him to live with the neighbors, across the street and now he had come to save me and rip the killer to shreds. Then the killer turned around, not looking the least bit frightened. As he pulled the trigger of his steel plated gun and released the golden bullet at him I switched piles. The killer kicked the last pile and left the room. I was so close to ending up like my sister, husband and dog. Now I knew more than ever that I had to kill the killer, for he had brought pain and sadness to too many lives. It was his turn to die.
So, I crept quietly to the old oak door and gently put my ear to its smooth finish, I listened in the silence and heard the soft CLOMPING of his size 13 black boots, going down the old carpeted stairs. He was heading to the basement. Then I realized that the basement had a door with a lock on the outside of it. So I formed a plan. When he sneaked passed the door and into the cellar, I would sprint down stairs with the shot gun hanging from the wall and shoot him. When I heard the door close, I sprinted quietly down the stairs. Just as I was locking the door, he turned around.
He ran to the door and stopped it with his foot. I couldn’t get it shut; he retrieved his knife and slit my hand. I let go of the door and but quickly grabbed the shot gun that was lying next to me and shot his lower, left thigh. He dropped to the ground writhing in pain. I then locked the door and ran up the stairs. I sprinted over to the phone to dial 911. It was then that I remembered that my husband hadn’t set up the phone service yet. I had no time. I had to get out of that house, so I ran over to my neighbors house. I rang the door bell about a million times, but no one answered. The next neighbor was about a quarter of a mile away. I ran with all my might to the house, and finally some one answered. I asked to borrow there phone. He asked if I was hurt or in any sort of trouble, and I told him everything right up to the part when I trapped the killer in the cellar. I dialed 911 and the dispatcher on the phone answered and said the fastest they could get down there is about 30- 45 minutes. I hung up the phone, thanked the kind stranger and headed back out the door. But the strange man said I could stay in his house while I waited for the police to arrive. Thirty minutes later we heard a small knock on the door. “Maybe it is the police” the neighbor said. And right as he opened the door, the killer fired his gun at the kind man’s head.
The killer limped inside. He searched every room and just as I peeked around the corner to see where he was, he spotted me. He burst towards me in a fast pace. I ran towards the sliding glass door and CRASH! I ran straight into the glass and was knocked out. Then I was woken up by a cold splash of water. When my emerald eyes opened, I realized that he had thrown me off the deck and into the lake. I was so cold and wet but I didn’t see him anywhere.
So I hopped out of the lake and ran up the steps inside the man’s house to the loft area, to see if I could spot him from a higher distance through all the windows. I still didn’t see him anywhere. So I stepped back and fell down because I had slipped on a loose foot board. He just wasn’t any where in sight. So pulled up a bench and waited for the police to come, when all of a sudden the killer crept behind me and pulled me off the ground by my throat. I knew that I was to die now. But then I remembered something quiet important. I had almost fallen through the loft last time, so maybe if I moved him far enough over, he would fall through. I wiggled and wobbled to get him to descend backwards. But he was a still and as heavy as a rock. He wouldn’t budge.
But I somehow maneuvered my foot and kicked the groin so hard he jolted backwards, landing on his butt and throwing me forward. Then I heard the snap of the wood beneath him and he was sent downward. There was no way he could survive the fall. But somehow I did survive the fall into the lake, so just to be safe I grabbed the shot gun of the man’s mantel and slowly crept down the stairs to see him. Right when I got down, I saw the killer hanging about eight feet off the ground. He had fallen on the deer antlers and they had pierced through his skin and yet he was still alive. So I went up to him placed the gun to his head and yelled, “This is for my sister!” and fired it. Then I moved to his other leg and screamed “This is for my husband!” and fired again. And then I placed it right on his heart and yelled, “This is for my dog!”
The police came two long hours later and took my husband, and the kind man, to their station to identify the victims. As I took the last peek at them before they put each body in a bag I saw something familiar. Stuck in their necks was a bumblebee pin, in the same exact place I had seen two years ago in my sisters. Then once the bodies were loaded into the ambulance, the inspector went to see the killer’s body. He left him on the antlers while he searched his pockets for identification. He searched for about thirty minutes, but all he could find was a small bumblebee pin in his front, left coat pocket. When the second set of police men came they ripped the killer down and took me to the station with them.
There they proceeded to tell me that for twenty years there has been a series of killings where all the victims had a small bumblebee pin jammed in their throats. Then they told me that the killer has been on the wanted list for some time and that there was a fifty thousand dollar reward for whoever catches him. Later that month, the police officer handed me a check for fifty-thousand dollars. I took it and made a new life for myself in the city. In the city, I became a secretary for Entertainment magazine and bought a nice apartment. I had nice neighbors and a puppy named Biggs. Each night as I went to bed, I dreamt of the killer. He had come back to kill me. It felt as real as the night as it had happened and one night I couldn’t escape. So I went to the top of my building and threw myself off the top.
The next day, they found my body in the bushes in front of the complex. When they inspected my body, all they found was a bumblebee pin in the palm of my hand and a note in my pajama pocket. It read, “The only way to escape reality is through the sting of death.”
Stranger at the Lake
By; Maggie Collins
Lying, quietly in an old wooden canoe I listen to the sounds of nature. Hearing the songs of the blue bird in the nearby redwood tree I finally relax from the long trip home. Then with a loud BANG, the peace was disturbed. All went silent and all I could hear was the sounds of faint footsteps in the distance. Still as a statue, my body lays, for the fear of those very same footsteps would creep closer. Then the canoe made a loud CREEK, the footsteps turned, and they got louder and louder as they came toward me. I felt the killer creep upon me. His every move sent tingles up my body. Then a hand grasped my delicate throat, so hard that hardly any air could escape. I knew it was over when the killer pulled out his bloody hunting knife and placed it next to my throat. And just as the killer was about to slit my throat the screen door slammed and there was my sister, May, staring at the killer and me. And in one instant everything went black.
Though something strange happened to me in the darkness for I still seemed to be in the canoe… alive. I heard a loud SCREAM as I opened my eyes. And there I saw it, the killer’s knife stuck in the front of my sister’s heart. I wanted so desperately to run over there and cry but I knew that I too might meet her same fate if I did. As I sat there, tears pouring out of my eyes I vowed that one day I would avenge my sister. As night fell the ambulance arrived and took her from me. I then packed my stuff and fled to a new city for I knew that that cabin would only bring back bad memories.
Two years later, fate had brought me back to that same haunted cabin. My husband and I had to move there because he had lost his job and there was no where we could go. I dreaded every minute of that long car ride. And the old memories I tried to escape from, all came back and they felt as real as the day they had happened. When we reached the rickety old cabin, the familiar scents came back. The place looked rough, and we spent our first week there putting our belongings in our room, working on the yard, cutting fire wood, shopping for groceries, and getting familiar with the neighborhood and house.
One night as we were lying in bed, a cold wind burst through the broken, blue shutters. We were so cold that my husband decided to make a fire in the fire place. It was so cozy and we watched old black and white movies on the antenna TV. I was finally happy. Soon we began to run out of logs for the fire and when the last one burned to ashes my husband decided that he would bring in some more… a lot more. So he put the dimmed porch light on and went to the back of the shed to grab more wood. Suddenly I heard a shot from a gun and all went silent. I thought to myself, it’s probably a hunter hunting a deer, nothing to worry about; my husband will be in shortly. But twenty minutes went by and I started to panic. Right then and there I knew it was the killer, the one who killed my sister, and now he had come back to finish what he had started long ago. I went to the window at the back of my house to see what had happened but I couldn’t see a thing. So I foolishly turned on the brightest back light and their lying in a puddle of blood was my husband but the killer was gone. What had I done? Now the killer knew I was in the house.
As I turned around I heard a SQUEAK from the screen door and someone came in. I had nowhere to run to, so I quietly fast walked and hid myself in the closet, piling mountains of clothes and boxes on top of me. Then something knocked on the door and slowly entered. I held my breath for I knew that if he heard me I would surely die. He kicked around at piles and carefully checked to see if there was someone in there hiding. Then he turned to where I was hiding, and was about to rip the pile apart when he heard a BARK. The loud, raspy, low pitched bark filled the room and there standing in an aggressive pose was my rottweiler, Wiggles. I totally forgot that I left him to live with the neighbors, across the street and now he had come to save me and rip the killer to shreds. Then the killer turned around, not looking the least bit frightened. As he pulled the trigger of his steel plated gun and released the golden bullet at him I switched piles. The killer kicked the last pile and left the room. I was so close to ending up like my sister, husband, and dog. Now I knew more than ever that I had to kill the killer for he had brought pain and sadness to too many lives. I was his turn to die.
So, I crept quietly to the old oak door and gently put my ear to its beautiful finish, I listened in the silence and heard the soft CLOMPING of his size 13 black boots, going down the old carpeted stairs. He was heading to the basement. Then I realized that the basement had a door with a lock on the outside of it. So I formed a plan. When he sneaked passed the door and into the cellar I will sprint down stairs with the shot gun off the wall and shoot him. When I heard the door close, I sprinted quietly down the stairs and just as I was locking the door he turned around.
He ran to the door and stopped it with his foot. I couldn’t get it shut; he retrieved his knife and slit my hand. I let go of the door and but quickly grabbed the shot gun that was lying next to me and shot his lower, left thigh. He dropped to the ground writhing in pain. I then locked the door and ran up the stairs. I sprinted over to the phone to dial 911 when I remembered that my husband hadn’t set it up yet. I had no time, I had to get out of that house, so I ran over to my neighbors house. I rang the door bell about a million times, but no one answered. The next neighbor was about a mile away. I ran with all my might to their house, and finally some one answered. I asked to borrow there phone. He asked if I was hurt or in any sort of trouble, and I told him everything right up to the part when I trapped him in the cellar. Then I dialed 911 and the lady on the phone answered and said the fastest they could get down there is about 2 hours. I hung up the phone, thanked the kind stranger and headed back out the door. But the strange man said I could stay in his house while I waited for the police to arrive. Thirty minutes later we heard a small knock on the door. “Maybe it is the police” the neighbor said. And right as he opened the door, the killer fired his gun at the kind man’s head.
The killer limped inside. He searched every room and just as I peeked around the corner to see where he was, he spotted me. He burst towards me in a fast pace. I ran towards the sliding glass door and CRASH! I ran straight into the glass and was knocked out. Then I was woken up by a cold splash of water. When my emerald eyes opened I realized that he had thrown me off the deck and into the lake. I was so cold and wet but I didn’t see him anywhere.
So I hopped out of the lake and ran up the steps inside the man’s house to the loft area, to see if I could spot him from a higher distance through all the windows. I still didn’t see him anywhere. So I stepped back and fell down because I had slipped on a loose foot board. He just wasn’t any where in sight. So pulled up a bench and waited for the police to come, when all of a sudden the killer crept behind me and pulled me off the ground by my throat. I knew that I was to die now. But then I remembered something quiet important. I had almost fallen through the loft last time, so maybe if I moved him far enough over, he would fall through. I wiggled and wobbled to get him to descend backwards. But he was a still and as heavy as a rock. He wouldn’t budge.
But I somehow maneuvered my foot and kicked his private part so hard he jolted backwards, landing on his butt and throwing me forward. Then I heard the snap of the wood beneath him and he was sent downward. There was no way he could survive the fall. But somehow I did survive the fall into the lake, so just to be safe I grabbed the shot gun of the man’s mantel and slowly crept down the stairs to see him. Right when I got down, I saw the killer hanging about eight feet off the ground. He had fallen on the deer antlers and they had pierced through his skin and yet he was still alive. So I went up to him placed the gun to his head and yelled “this is for my sister” and fired it. Then I moved to his other leg and screamed “this is for my husband” and fired it. And then I placed it right on his heart and “yelled this is for my dog!”
Lying, quietly in an old wooden canoe I listen to the sounds of nature. Hearing the songs of the blue bird in the nearby redwood tree I finally relax from the long trip home. Then with a loud BANG, the peace was disturbed. All went silent and all I could hear was the sounds of faint footsteps in the distance. Still as a statue, my body lays, for the fear of those very same footsteps would creep closer. Then the canoe made a loud CREEK, the footsteps turned, and they got louder and louder as they came toward me. I felt the killer creep up on me. A hand grasped my throat, so hardly any air could escape. I knew it was over when the killer pulled out his bloody hunting knife and placed it next to my throat. And just as the killer was about to slit my throat the screen door slammed and there was my sister, May, staring at the killer and me. And in one instant there was nothing left but darkness.
Though something strange happened to me in the darkness for I still seemed to be in the canoe… alive. I heard a loud SCREAM as I opened my eyes. And there I saw it, the killer and his knife was stuck in the front of my sister’s heart. I wanted so desperately to run over there and cry but I knew I would soon meet her same fate if I did. As I sat there, tears pouring out of my eyes I vowed that one day I would avenge my sister. As night fell the ambulance arrived and took her from me. I then packed my stuff and fled to a new city for I knew that that cabin would only bring back bad memories.
It has now been about two years from that accident and I have a husband and somehow fate had brought me back to that same haunted cabin. You see my husband is an engineer and the place that he works, had let him go. So with his job as the only money source we had to pack up and move out of our apartment and into the country side where he would work repairing old train carts. And since we had little money we moved into that dreaded cabin. Every night I would lie in bed and visualize the day she died. This was one nightmare that never went away.
One night as I was laying in bed a cold wind burst through the shutters. We were so cold that my husband decided to make a fire in the fire place. But after many logs had burned we had run out of them. So he put the porch light on and went to the back of the shed to grab more wood. Suddenly I heard a shot from a gun and I went silent. I thought to myself it’s probably a hunter hunting a deer, nothing to worry about, my husband will be in shortly. But twenty minutes went by and I started to panic. Right then and there I knew it was the killer, the one who killed my sister, and now he had come back to finish what he had started long ago. I went to the window at the back of my house to see what had happened and their lying in a puddle of blood was my husband.
But the killer wasn’t there. As I turned around I heard a SQUEAK from the screen door and someone came in. I had nowhere to hide so I ran and hid myself in the closet, piling mountains of clothes and boxes on top of me. Then something knocked on the door and entered. I he kicked around at piles and carefully checked to see if there was someone in there. Then he turned to where I was hiding, and was about to rip the pile apart when he heard a BARK. A loud bark filled the room and there I saw my dog wiggles. I totally forgot that I left him to live with the neighbors and now he had come to save me. Then the killer turned around and as he pulled the trigger of his gun and released the bullet at him I switched piles. The killer kicked the last pile and left the room. I was so close to ending up like my sister, husband, and dog. Now I knew more than ever that I had to kill the killer for he had brought pain and sadness to too many lives. I was his turn to die.
Confessions of a Teenage Misfit
By: Maggie Collins
“Hi, I’m Robin”. No, no maybe “Hello, I am Robin Stinson. I’m new here at Chaptmen High can you show around the campus” I say as I’m brushing my long blond hair in front of the mirror feeling not so confident. I needed to practice more, but as I was putting my silver brush down on the stool next to me, I noticed it, a big red pimple, the size of Pluto right on the tip of my chin. I raced to the bathroom to find my new cover girl cover up and to my surprise it wasn’t there, neither was the rest of my makeup I had brought with me from our old house in Iowa. “May,” I scream, “where is all my make up!!!!” When I got into her room I saw her. I saw her dumping out the expensive bottles of cover up and foundation over the toilet, breaking up all the eye shadow tablets, and worst of all, drawing on the walls with my fancy new, extra curl mascara. “That does it,” I say harshly. I couldn’t contain my anger one moment longer, so I yelled mean things, things I would have never wished on even my worst enemy. As I left the room with what was left of my makeup, all I could hear was the sobbing of May, but I didn’t turn back. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. The pain and suffering I was lucky to escape from, I had just casted on my sister.
Table Of contents:
1. You racist!!!
2. Our Good Samaritains
3. Freedom equals responsibility
For many centuries a problem has existed in this world – racism. Although many people believe racism is just making fun of others’ skin color, it is actually a deeper issue. Racism is a form of bullying against the frail hearts of others. It deals with things like race, religion, appearance, and gender. It is a variety of many factors and it is wrong.
Racism was here longer than we know, but it was made clear when the rich white folk determined that the blacks were outcasts and slaves. The African Americans had no say in the matter and did not get to live their lives as free persons. Their voices where finally heard when, Martin Luther King Jr. raised his voice above the cries of others and demanded equality and a change. Because of his efforts, there were more people who became aware and took action.
There were many hate stories outside of the United States, such as in Germany. Hitler was the dictator of Germany and was supposed to help the big country. But instead he tore it down with his hateful passion for the Jews. He would limit their possessions and their freedom by making unfair laws only against them. Because of the Jewish religion, Hitler made life hard for them and sent them to a fiery grave.
Still today, there is discrimination and racism all around us, especially at school. Many students feel that school is a place to single out individuals and label them. One way is by picking fun at them and call them mean names. Bullying is one of the most hurtful and common type of racism at school.
Racism is bad. It tears apart people and makes them feel unwanted. It is quite sad to know that the world is full of hate and cannot learn to accept others differences. What will the world be like if we didn’t have people like Martin Luther king Jr.? Would the world be consumed by this strong hate and cease to exist? At this point, alone knows is that the world has a growing problem that needs to be stopped.
My Best Essay:
Our Good Samaritans!
There are over 24.9 million military veterans serving in the United States. These men and women fight for us to be free, and they have been unappreciated for all that they have done for us, and our country. Thanks to President Eisenhower, Veterans Day became known as the holiday for honoring veterans. It’s the one day we get off so we can appreciate their fine work. We honor them because they give so much up for others.
Veterans are respected because the fight for a cause. They battle for those who cannot or will not. Through their battles they ensure the freedom of the whole country, for their families and perfect strangers. They do this so we remain safe in an undivided country, to be free from invaders.
This year more than 4,775 soldiers stationed in Iraq have died to keep us safe, including Pfc. Jeffrey R. Wallace, died at age twenty on March 24, 2005 from a suicide bombing. He was heroic and gave up his life, family, and friends so that the future children of America could be free. Soldiers like Pfc. Jeffrey R. Wallace gave up their lives for us and the world. They sacrifice everything they have because they are dedicated to their job.
Last of all, they are role models. They show what a “Good Samaritan” truly is. They put others before themselves and bring hope to our country, so that one day we won’t have any more wars. It is with their actions our faith grows strong as a community. And without their efforts to bring us to a peaceful world, our society would be weak, vulnerable and we would crumble like many other countries.
Veterans are amazing. They take their jobs seriously and fight to protect the world from terrors. They make huge sacrifices, so that they can ensure our freedom, and they are role models to the world. These are just a few of the many reasons why we honor our past soldiers’ on Veteran’s Day.
According to the American Webster Handy College Dictionary, freedom means the state of being free: personal liberty or national independence. Although this is the official definition, in my opinion freedom means much more. When I think of freedom I think of my life and how it affects me. I consider how my responsibility ensures me more freedom.
My maturity gives me more benefits as a teenager. It grants me extra hours added to my curfew and bedtime. Therefore I get more freedom from my parents by working hard and being responsible. It’s a win-win situation because my parents as well as myself get what we want. Through my continual responsibility, I learn lessons that develop my character.
Freedom is a gift. It’s priceless and something not to be taken for granted. The more freedom I am given, I realize that there is more expected of me. I strive to be respectful and work to represent my family and myself in a positive way.
Lastly freedom is a tool that helps aid my choices. Choices I make need to be thoughtfully and carefully reviewed. Sometimes that means not doing something I know is wrong. Freedom requires sacrifice and clarity of thought.
In conclusion, freedom is what our country is based on. Personal freedoms come with age and dependability. Being able to account for your actions and stand up for truth is the key to independence and liberty. Freedom is well worth the extra work and has made me what I am today.
