European Folktale Variance/ The Lion King

Monique Ahmad

Professor Cooper

Intro. To Creative Writing

27 February 2014

Left To Run

I remember thinking that she thought she was better than us because she kept telling us not to go. All we talked about was us going. We were the only seniors that had never been to a party. Everyday for 3 and half years we were on the top of our class. We ruled our kingdom, our school. Everyone knew our futures were secured. We were the definition of losers. I was tired of being seen as a loser. I wanted to know what made them cool.

Spencer Thomas, the school miscreant or in my eyes, the big mystery. He invited us to “The Party.” How could we deny such an offer (we may never get such a chance again).  He walked up to me, with his regular black jeans and intimidating moon shaped scar on his right eye. “You all wanna come out for a party on Friday?” I wanted to be as confident and put together as he was, but all that came out was “Umm...sure...” My eyes met the other 5 girls sitting with me. They looked just as confused and excited as me, except for Megan. “He’s a druggie! Are you nuts!!! We are NOT going to that party!” The rest of us exchanged looks of  understanding. We were going to this party. No matter what she said.

On Friday we told our parents we were going to Megan’s house and told Megan we had various obligations. 15 miles, 20 minutes and a highway away was 158 Glenville Drive. It looked nothing like a house. It was the vacant parking lot of an abandoned warehouse. “What the hell!” I say under my breath. None of us were expecting this. No backing out now.

Laughter erupted from the distance, but it wasn't gleeful laughter. The horror traveled through me instantly. We followed the laughter. “Hey” whispered an unseen voice. The four of us jumped in unison. We turned to see a smirking Spencer. He started to step towards the laughter, we followed in silence. Within the darkness was a light, yet the light brought no hope. Before we even got close enough to see faces we could see alcohol, blood and….guns. My head scanned the premise in panic. I tried to back away, but it was too late. We were spotted and challenged.

Next thing I knew I was standing with a gun in hand, facing my opponent. A husky voice said “Go!” Before it registered in my head, a gun shoot spiraled toward me. Silent screams erupted from within me…..My head crashes tar.

I awaken in an empty parking lot. I sit up to find Megan…..covered in blood. She was dead. I jumped in terror. Body shaking, I didn't know what to do. I searched for help, but I realized I was running….Far away…..

I wish I had listen.    

 

Natural Anguish

Rebecca Moore

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

2/27/14

Natural Anguish

Two weeks out my mood changes. Yes, I’m fine, stop asking. Just a slight mood change, nothing much. Slight crabbiness and lack of patience. One week out and it’s worse. Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t breathe around me. I will snap. You can bribe me with drugs and red meat and chocolate though. I’ll be friendly. Promise. 2 days out and I want my cat. Not for love or comfort. Purely selfish. Cuddle me, on my abdomen, be my living heating pad. I will love you forever. During, fetal position. It’s over and I’m all sunshine. Two weeks later, it starts again.

Tell me Something Please

Tell me Something Please
By Lexie Johnson

Momma momma tell me something please.
Does the sun really shine brighter on the other side?
Does time heal everything, even the brokest heart?
Will people ever care about anything other than themselves?
Will one day society stop being such a dick?

Momma momma tell me something please.
Did the heartless man once have a heart?
Do angels really help us when we're stuck in the dark?
Will starvation one day never be a problem in someone's home?
Will the monsters under my bed ever come to light?

Momma momma tell me something please.
Why is it so hard to achieve happiness?
Why can't I fall asleep when I'm hurt?
Why is the color of my skin such a big deal?
Why do people always judge?

Momma momma tell me something please.
Tell me that you'll always be here,
To help and guide me through the way.
Tell me that life is easier than the way everyone makes it seem.

Momma momma just tell me please. 

Invisible Man

Denise Bateman

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212 Y

February 27, 2014

Invisible Man

He plants himself on the iron park bench, corner of Fourth and Cherry, and waits for his invisibility shield to evaporate. Some days is does, most often it does not. Unshaven, unfed, unknown, but worst of all, unseen, he watches in silence as a myriad of passer-byers parade past. He is anonymous and undefined, lest the fading Semper Fi tattoo on his right arm. Battle of Mekong Delta, 12/04/67. Hundreds of stories hidden in him behind those lost eyes. The curiosity of his hand-me-down shelter shoes, hand-buffed to a bright black shine that betrays his remaining sense of self-pride. Honorably discharged. Dishonorably forgotten. Time ticks slowly by. Three more hours until the soup kitchen opens for lunch. Oorah!

Music Major, Minor Problem

Keisha Strickland
Mr. Cooper
CRWR 212- Y
2/27/2014

Music Major, Minor Problem

The notes dance 

Around her.

She sings them from

Her shower.

The music beats

From her room,

Her doom?

Why a music major

Why, do you want to starve?

She laughs with the notes,

Makes silly music puns.

The disapproval she can’t hear

Over the melodic hum

Of the chorus.

Their voices rising high

Above the raucous 

Noise of life. 

Her music brings 

Light to every 

Soul who hears.

Let the bells ring

Ding,

Sing. 

Cosmetics and Shame

Hi Gals and Guys!
I'm posting my second attempt at a prose poem this week. Enjoy!

Crystal Fulp

Cooper

CRWR 212Y

2/27/14

Cosmetics and Shame

Looking into the mirror I see my reflection. I see a round, plain face painted with makeup and powders. It’s sort of like those cute, miniature dogs that people put in costumes or even how overbearing mothers paint their toddlers like Barbie dolls in hopes of winning pageants. It’s just a costume. It’s just an attempt at being “normal” or even attempting to be “pretty”.

            At the end of the day what remains is a poor substitution for the real thing. As I wipe away layer after layer of chemically enhanced cosmetics, I feel like a raging volcano getting ready to explode. Why? Why have I chosen to buy into the hype? Why do I believe that these products will ever make me anything other than what I am? Why is how I look not acceptable? Why are all women expected to enjoy covering our true identities? Why are we not enough as God made us? Why am I not good enough for myself? These questions swirl around and around in my head. It feeds my anger until it’s a blazing inferno threatening to break free and destroy me.

            After all the muck and gunk has been removed what remains is the truth. It’s the truth in its purest form. However, as much as it pains me, tomorrow I will trudge back into the bathroom and reapply my “costume.” Shame envelops me as I apologize to myself in the mirror. My reflection nods as if she can understand, but I know she doesn’t. As I leave the bathroom I ask, “Mirror, Mirror on the wall who is the fakest one of all?”

Carefree

Deyanira Bustos

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

02/27/14

Carefree

One moment the sun rises

and then it sets

The moon comes up

and we sleep the night away

Then there goes another day

wasted and not enjoyed

Life goes by and

we continue to grow

We don’t know how to appreciate the

time we have until it’s gone

Like many things in life

we just don’t care

We continue to mistreat the things

we can’t afford to lose

Things are not given to us

we have to gain them

We have to learn to be spontaneous

and fearless like children

Enjoy the day with fun activities

and let our imagination run free

Get along with everyone

and not have to deal with problems

Be able to speak and be yourself

without being judged by others

Look forward to enjoying

the day and having fun

Being contempt for ourselves

and no one else

That is how life should be,

carefree.

European Folk Tale Variant: Red

Anna Boyer

Cooper

CRW212

February 27, 2013

European Folk Tale Variant: Red

In a bizarre turn of events, a young girl, roughly thirteen years of age, has come forth with an otherworldly tale. The girl, hereafter known as “Red” to protect her youthful identity, claims to have been approached by a wolf in the dark, mysterious Black Forest who later followed her to her Grandmother’s charming woodland cottage. In a disturbing twist, the creature devoured the Grandmother in a fit of animal instinct. As if living out a twisted fantasy, the wolf donned the woman’s lacy, floor length nightgown after consuming her flesh and promptly hopped in the bed to await the arrival of another treat.

 Red revealed to this reporter that the woods are full of dark things and that she feels as though her personhood was compromised. Uninvited advances will do that to a person. That dastardly forest dweller is not currently available to comment on the meaty meal that turned Red’s world upside down.

Yes, Red has hair the color of a carrot basking in the glow of the setting sun, which must have provoked that poor wolf something fierce. But she was simply delivering nourishment to her sick Grandmother. The sickness could not have been any worse than getting eaten by a thing as repugnant as a wolf. Was there something about the sensuality of food combined with the red hair that stimulated some kind of perverse sexual desire in that furry monster? This is the kind of society we are living in, folks. More details as they come in.

European Folktale Variant: Two Children Escape Mass Murderer and Possible Pedophile

Claire Smithers

Joseph Cooper

CRWR 212

2/27/14

European Folktale Variant: Two Children Escape Mass Murderer and Possible Pedophile

            It’s the kind of story that mothers have nightmares about. Two young children, both siblings, wandered off into the forest alone and unaccompanied by their parents or any guardians. Where the parents were during this time and why the children were alone are still being investigated. The two unsuspecting children walked into an alleged murderer/pedophile’s home who lured them in with candy. In fact, there was candy all over the yard and stuck to the building. This twisted pedophile is an old woman who has been accused of luring children in, possibly molesting and/or raping the young children, and murdering them. These claims are still under investigation, though the police have strong evidence to support these claims.

The old woman would allegedly then convince the children to eat so much candy that the children would become obese and, in some cases, cause diabetes. The leading psychologist in the investigation says that the old woman could have had some fetish involving fat children. After all of these details, the story only becomes more and more twisted and disturbing. The woman then attempts to murder the children by cooking them and eating them. The leading psychologist in the investigation also notes that the woman had possible schizophrenia and possible dementia since the woman claimed that eating the children would somehow “make her younger” and that the woman had “special powers.”

Police investigators also suspect drug use, possibly methamphetamine. The two children ended up outwitting the old woman and escaping the dangerous situation, leaving only mental scars. The children will likely be following up with intensive therapy sessions.

Addiction By Kaitlin Dixon

Kaitlin Dixon

Prof. Cooper

CRWR 212

2/27/2014

Addiction

Never sleeping

Only wishing

To conquer this.

Here is where

I make my

Next move to

Get over this.

I can finally

See the truth.

We never were

Ourselves together.

Reversed roles

Sent us spiraling

Eternally.

Tell me that

Helping me was

Anything but

Nicety.

Bring to light

Every truth

In this.

Never say

Good bye.

Again I fall

Down this well.

Drop me

If you won’t

Catch me.

Tell me

Everything you

Didn’t tell me.

Talk about all

Our feelings.

Yes, I feel insane

Over this friendship.

Unfortunately I want more.

.