Exhaust(ion)

Exhaust(ion)

Ben grasped the wheel with firm hands, focused on the road ahead. He squinted his eyes and tightened his wrists on the wheel as his veins popped out, shaking with every twitch. His foot dared to press even further on the trigger, pushing me back even further in my seat. Exhaust seemed to be carried away into the disappearing distance behind us, but still followed us like a ghost. The smell of oil prickled our noses and overpowered our airways. We zipped through through the hills at an impenetrable speed. Collected, he jerked his elbow back as he turns the wheel to the right, just slipping away.

The car chose its own path, steering over a curb, soaring into the air, and tumbling into unknown scenery. We all flew back into our seats, straight up, holding on for our dear lives on this rollercoaster. The car froze. My head circled my body with nausea as an inevitable liquid sack in my throat was about to come out. Through the windows I could recognize trees and crushed branches with the sheer sound of crackling twigs and smell of the creek bombarding my senses. Water filled our shoes and soaked our socks, my first physical feeling. Smoke consumed the air, surrounding us, and with eyes barely open I could hardly make out what I was looking at.

Ju’s eyes widened and his forehead straightened. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, “Get out of the car!”

An explosion of blood dribbled from my face. The substance streaked down from my left eyebrow and nostrils. We ducked out of the car and started the treacherous hike back up the hill. “Hurry up...Let’s go!” Ju quickly strided with determination.

“Why are we leaving? I have to stay. We need to finish.” I responded tentatively. My ears were ringing and a powerful pounding began throughout my ear canals. As the faint whisper of his response tickled my ears, my blank expression stared back at him. He began a light jog at the top of the hill waiting for us to follow. I treaded this path lightly, for I didn’t know what to do but follow him. My legs, unaffected by the constant pressure of running barefoot, allowed me to glide behind him. My body ached from impact and fear as I held myself with care and ran with the crowd. I entered into a trance as if I were a deer in front of headlights, frazzled, wide-eyed, and clueless.

How do I get out? Do I just keep going? Do I keep running? Who do I follow? Who do I listen to?

I crouched down behind the bush of the unknown house, and watched flashes of blue and red before me, holding my legs in as my heavy breathing overcame me. I could hear my heartbeat, fast and loud, my throat aching with each breath... Breathe Rachel. Just Breathe. Water started to pour down harder and harder. The pitter patter sound of rain hitting the ground had yet masked the sound of my breathing. I brushed my mouth with my fingers, across my lip and back again. My teeth tingled with every touch, as my whole body shivered with every move. Red and blue flashed before me again.

I stared up at the sky, fading red. My vision seemed distant as my body and mind shut down. My eyes pulled from the sides as I tried to creak them back open.

“Wake up Rachel! We are almost there,” my dad informed me. I woke up bewildered before I realized it was all my imagination. I pushed my papers off my chest, and wiped my spilled water. Before I could relax, I felt the car slipping away from the road. The whole world seemed to be coming down on our car as my dad tightened his wrists and squinted his eyes in fear, bracing himself for treachery to come...

So Much Writing!!!

Booker Martin

World Lit Honors P2

Ms. Tompkins

4/24/15

Virtual Reality

Rays of light escaped through the wall of trees and scattered onto Alyssa’s face, inducing a series of rapid blinks. As she walked, her hand reached out to grasp the cool metal beneath the peeling blue paint of a pole under one of many school hallways.

She brushed aside her blend of gold and red hair resembling ocean waves reflecting the setting sun, and sat down on a wooden bench that groaned under her weight. The breath she had been holding escaped through her lips.

Her eyes dropped like pebbles cast off a cliff, falling onto the faded texture of her shoes that lay over cracked cement. Shoes no one had complimented her on, even though they were new and she wore them with hopeful pride.

Hopeful someone would notice.

There wasn’t much left of that hope. She felt invisible like a ghost that was constantly walked through; her presence causing strange shivers of discomfort as if the others knew something was nearby, but couldn’t quite bring themselves to identify it.

Her eyes closed as she became enveloped in silence. Finally, some time to myself, she thought. The solitude was bliss; she didn’t need to mold her clay into a sculpture meant to please someone else. Slumping, she let that clay droop over the wooden slats of the bench.

Her eyelids fluttered in response to the sound of footsteps. Who has come to disturb my meditation? Her precious seconds were dwindling, threatening to bring about an afternoon of work and stress.

Footsteps, and then a shadow growing closer! She was starting to panic, her hand plunging into her bag in search for her one escape. Determined, her fingers danced across the interior fabric until they rested on the smooth surface of glass.

Just in time to block her face from the stranger, Alyssa slid the phone in front of her eyes. Focusing above the illuminated shield, she fended off the boy’s glance that flickered in her direction. Her mouth remained close, but her eyes glared, “Move along.”

Intimidated by the obvious sign of repulsion, the boy quickened his pace and locked his gaze straight ahead. She lowered her phone, a feeling of regret settling upon her as she felt a familiar sense of nonexistence.

Seemingly against Alyssa’s will, her thumb slid across the screen and pressed upon a rounded square. Suddenly, the glass became a vacuum that sucked her attention into a virtual society of supermodels, alliances, shares, likes, comments, tags, friends, cliques, jealousy. Her being shrank as she compared herself with the glamorous faces. A sickly feeling spread through her veins, a desire to have her own pictures adorned with the same praise found under photos of her schoolmates. Just once, she yearned for her popularity to surge and for likes and hearts to overflow from the digital buttons beneath her pictures and to seep into her soul.

How she would consume them, like Valentine’s Day chocolates on which she would indulge until they lost their taste, until the praise melted and spiraled into a whirlpool that sucked her away into a world of fantasy.

A world of lies.

Her phone slipped from her hand, tumbled across the woven threads of her bag and skidded to a stop on the concrete below. Alyssa felt tears in her eyes. What have I done? How could I damage my self-worth in response to photos that are nothing but lies, the tinted corner of a life, the revised, staged, and approved for release fraction of a human who in reality is nothing but imperfect?

Reality. Alyssa had fallen alongside her phone, crashing into reality as her trembles faded and her breathing slowed down to an echo of her relief. Reality was the warm rays of sun in her face, the cool breeze wiping away her tears, and the colorful trees swaying to a rhythm of their own, trees she never even noticed until now. Reality was the few friends she did have whose opinions, compliments, and company meant more than a million likes. Reality was the boy buried beneath the shadows of a distant hallway, briskly walking away due to her cold disregard for him. Reality was now.

She picked up her phone, but instead of tapping on the rounded square she lowered her finger slowly until it forcefully pressed against the glass. The square seemed to quiver with the fearful anticipation of losing control over someone. Alyssa was shaking as well, her dignity overcoming her hesitation as a cross appeared in the corner of the square. Could this truly be my escape?

She took a deep breath of reality and tapped, deleting the app that had haunted her for so long.

I’m more than the reflection of myself on the screen of a phone, hidden behind layers of false masks and identities forged on social media. Maybe instead of looking into my eyes the same way I look at passing strangers, I can start looking out of them.

The girl with fire dancing in her hair got up and walked away, and the millions of tiny screens spreading the vile plague of lies were outshone by her light.

Hourglass

Letting go

is like saying good-bye

to yourself

and watching the shell of your body walk out the door

The soul of your being

slink through the windows at night

like sand sifting through an hourglass

that was your life

measured in grains instead of hours

because enough seconds would pass to form beaches

without you reaching out

to let the dust brush your fingers

and rest in your palm

You let the sand fall without grabbing hold of those hours

those seconds that could have been an eternity had you

only chosen

to take them

Scars

In the mirror

only the scars show

The skin that was an ocean

Rising and falling to the force

of fidgeting fingers

Forever forging new faces into the population

of prisoners etched onto the parchment

that was once pure unblemished skin

A canvas placed in a wooden wagon

Dragged over dusty hills

so that it became encased in brown

Drenched in the evening rain

till the dirt tainted the once perfect paper

Wheel hits rock and the canvas falls on the ground

So worthless it isn’t recovered

It lies there

Waiting for someone to overturn

the opportunity buried beneath layers

of mud

and dirt

and grime

caked onto the canvas

that is torn

tangled

twisted

tortured

transformed

into a masterpiece of red and rotten

patterns punctured into

my perfectly pure skin

Remember

Remember the sunsets we painted

Across the sky

Orange meeting red

Purple sweeping across the clouds

Gold showering down upon us

Dusting the leaves of trees

Dotted along the hills we moulded

The earth our clay we pulled

Into mountains and pushed into caverns

The rain our tears when

They tried to tell us

We could do nothing

This world we built around us

An illusion laid on the sheets of paper

Crumpled so the hills crashed into each other

The trees collided and the sunsets set the world on fire

Tossed amongst other worlds

And galaxies

And universes

In a basket of memories I can no longer remember

Flash fiction sim chahal

Sim Chahal

Ms.Tompkins

World literature P.2

4/21/15

The nature of Success

I was frustrated I worked so hard that my mind and body mentally and physically took the form of a football. It was June 10th 2013 the heat was intense trapping us and contained us everywhere we went. The Egan vikings were scheduled to compete against the best team in the nation for a spot to compete in state tournament. The game was scheduled at 5:00 p.m. at Foothill colleges football field. Tickets were sold out this the biggest game of my life. In no sport ever have I ever made it to county.

Its 5:29 pm the game is quite the scene.  We are losing by two touchdowns and there are only 15 minutes left in the game. Number 29 just scored, the crowd screams and shouts and swarm him like an intruder entering their nest. The Vikings are now only down only by 1 touchdown and coach dan calls a timeout. He huddles us in for a pep talk,

“We have to play harder. You number 39 need to make more catches, oh and good job number 29 good catch! We need this win, you Sim you will be subbing number 29 out.” Surprised I shakily stuttered

“O O..O.Ok” Then I nervously walked back to the bench. Coach dan gives me a look and then and nods his head. His eagle like eyes are then quickly focused back on my teammates.

He then shouts “We have 5 minutes till we play”. Astonished I frantically walk back to my teammates who are all lost in their own world. I eyed the clock it was frozen at 9:59. We then entered the field. The sheer strenght of the field stipped down of my dignity within seconds and drowned me in a sea filled with nervousness. Just like that I was nothing. repelled by this mixed emotion the quarterback suddenly calls us in and yells”huddle up!!

Everyone goes towards him not a smile to be seen. Everyone marching single field like they were young soldiers ready for battle. He huddles us up sweat dripping from his brow, He eyes at his wrist and says “Number 29, 46, 68 and 72” will be wide receivers we will be running a hail mary. Wait what did he say “72” there must have been a mistake I wasn’t ready. But no there was no mistake confused I unsteadily walk to the ball right next to my teammates. Who give me a death glare and disgustedly addresses me by

“You better catch it”. At this point I knew I was near by impending doom. I turn my head to coach dan one last time and he just nods his head. Thoughts of past games come rushing through my head of when I failed. The quarterback readies up and shouts loud enough for people in the East coast to hear it “Down”

I ready up, flashbacks penetrate my mind bringing back those All those memories penetrating  into by brain I can visualize the scenery. Those scorching days when I invested hours of my time just to improve myself and come home drenched in sweat and as stiff as a stuffed turkey on Thanksgiving. The quarterback then yells “Set” I bend my knees and set my hands up down I was ready to shoot into the endzone. Another memory flows into my mind  the last time I was on the field. We were up by one playing our rival team Blach.I remember I bolted into the end zone the ball had perfect aerodynamics and settled right into my hands but I dropped it. The quarterback then screams “hike” everyone on my team acts as if they were part of a clock and of the gears worked in unison. I bolted towards the end zone the other team trying hard to catch up to me the ball is thrown spinning through the air like a bullet about to hit the target.

I look back and wonder “did he actually throw it to me? Mystified I throw my hands up and the ball has hit its target. I caught It! An explosion of  emotions conquer my body I was clueless. I dumbondely think to myself

“this is my first catch of the season”. The relief of all those back breaking and several hours I spent finally paid off. The excitement reaches my mind as I run closer to the touchdown I can almost hear someone narrating the game and counting down

“10, 9, 8,7, 6, 5”. 5 years  left I slow down by pace I was a foot away from the touchdown when I felt a iron like grip on my right shoulder. I was thrown on the ground like a ragdoll. At the end I didn’t make a touchdown we lost the county game. We could have made record but I didn’t score. But at the end my teammates inform me that number 38 is getting disqualified from the team because he illegally pulled my flag. My teammates and coach dan gave me a reassuring look and he calmly says

“you might always receive the results you were looking for, but success will come in some way” and he walks off. I had made it, I proved every doubter on the team wrong, success did come in one way.

Satirical Slam #86; Lint

Satirical Slam #86; Lint

here there everywhere over the carpet and under the floor between closed doors and locked away in the cellar.

The forty three yard line the back of a sticker a slowly emptying ink cartridge where does lint come from?

Powerpoint slides and water bottles floating on vulgar chimney smoke.

Air ducts,

Fingernails on the whiteboard cleaned by photosynthesis,

The barren desert that will be as the blossoms are pumped out and the undertaker bicycles through,

fire hydrants and the marble in churches,

worn away from where people have knelt.

The barren desert that is, as the flag is burned and the line of people stands before the firing squad.

The blue balloon flies far above where does lint come from?

Gum on the street standing in a queue metal factories and thick window glass Speed it up.

Train of thought the little idea that could be derailed where does lint come from?

fire alarms adjust the thermostat welcome to Cairo rosemary cactus chair cushion.

cracked floor large wooden pillar light switch table cloth clap turn it down where does lint come from?

The majestic concrete stands tall, profound, unassailable.

Mirrors and lamps with tiny purple tassels.

Sometimes the cat purrs and it is blue.

Rugby and chapstick *pause* candles,  

unlit and nickels the large computer screen says I am here corkboard standardized testing.

where does lint come from?

Lost In Budapest

Chris Dadok

Period 2

Tompkins Word Lit Honors

Lost In Budapest

Tick tock tick tock. The weblike shadows clung to me  as I sprinted through the streets. My shoes clicked and clacked across the pristine cobbled streets. I weaved my way through what seemed to be a primeval castle. I retraced my steps to the coffee shop whose aromas had long since vanished into the inky night. As I sprinted around unfamiliar corners, hopelessness began to fill the air.   Here I found myself in a country where barely anyone speaks English, and the people who do are likely to be extremely intoxicated. Jeez, here I was thinking I could make my way back to the hotel on my own to find myself now stranded on a bridge, the dark waters ebbing beneath me. I force my gaze away from the mesmerizing site, and force myself to continue my ill fated journey.

The longer I meander through the city, the more my panic grows and my breath now slows into scattered gasps. As I round a bend, my eyes set upon a staunch young man who seems respectable enough to ask for directions. As I drew near I explained politely, “ Erm excuse me I was wondering if…?” my words were cut short. I had failed to realize that he was holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and a glass in the other. His breath was repugnant even from five feet away, maybe this was not the best idea. Half way through my sentence the man interjected in fervent Hungarian that was inaudible to say the least. I bowed my head slightly and made a swift exit away from the man.

I reflected on my tumultuous night with a grin, I mean what was the worst that could happen? Well my parents might call the police to look for me but hopefully they had a little more faith in me that I could make it back in time.

I start to run of again, weaving through the streets like a mad man trying to find something he lost twenty years ago. Time was blurring and condensing together like a dark fog that masked everything into a great facade. I checked my watch which glowed in the pervading darkness, I got five minutes to make it back to that hotel or else I might just be hunted down by police anyway. The thought of someone having to get me sharpened my mind to a keen edge.

I was a machine, whirring and buzzing never stopping. The pain in my left side was a distant memory as I pounded down the sidewalk. Then I saw it the crisp and glowing sign of the hotel, and my heart fills with emotion. I stopped. Two miles away I stand up from a lotus position and emerge from the deep thought, I hear a voice near. My mom inquires “ Do you remember how to get back to the hotel?” I look back at her with a sly smile, “ Ya I think I do”

Hero

Adrian Rodriguez

WLH Period 2

Ms. Tompkins

Hero

It was 10 minutes before the start of class, so I sat down in the grass and looked around me while I waited. To my left, I saw some kids were running towards the bench, with quite the frantic expression on their faces. I wondered why they were running, school hadn’t started yet. And then I remembered, we weren’t supposed to be here. I stood up, hurrying to get away from the soccer field as well. To my right, there was someone who was too slow. They were already next to him, and it looked like they weren’t going to let him get away. There were three of them, tall, big, and scary, like a giant right out of a children’s book. They were the people who made the rules around here: if they were hungry, you gave them your lunch; if they were short of money, you gave them whatever you had in your wallet; if they had been sick, you gave them your homework. If not, they would beat you up and take it anyway. They had been doing this for quite some time, and a few kids had already complained to the school. The problem was, their parents were very rich, and often made sizeable donations. As such, the school did nothing. The principal always said he would look into it, but he never acted. It was also their soccer field; so no one else was allowed to be there. The unlucky kid was already on the floor, his back pack open and its former contents haphazardly sprawled across the grass. One of them was counting the money he had just stolen.

The other two were still not satisfied. So they started calling out other kids that they had seen in the field before and had gotten away. Unfortunately, that also included me, and I had no other choice but to go. My heart was beating furiously, sweat running across my face: I was scared shitless. I wasn’t the first one to get there, or the last. In the end there were about five of us there, and in no time had been reduced to our knees. I looked at the other kids around me, their faces a mirror image of my own, fear taking hold of their hearts. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to them, but unlike what one might think, it doesn’t get better with each time, but worse. The hardest part about the whole deal was the fear, and not just the fear while you were on the spot, but outside as well: every minute it made you wonder, when and what they would do. It was unbearable, and it grew worse with each time.

When they had finished with the other kids in front, I was next. They grabbed me by my hair, and looked at me in the eyes. They noticed the sweat in my face, and they commented on it between themselves and laughed. The urge to cry swelled inside me. “Why, why did they do this? I hadn’t done anything to them at all; nobody had, everyone in my grade besides them was a nice person. I couldn’t understand,” I looked at eyes of the one who was grabbing me, and faced an expression that terrified me to my very core. His eyes were shining, gleaming with excitement. He was having fun; he was liking every second. The other kids were crying, terrified, barely getting up from the floor, or picking up their stuff. And they were laughing, they were enjoying it. And then, another feeling appeared within me: rage. It was overpowering, surpassing even the fear. I wanted to punish them; I wanted them to know, I wanted them to feel everything they had ever done to me or the others. I stood up, and noticed that the other kids had done so as well. I looked at them in the eyes, and once again saw my face reflected in theirs.

We were angry; we wanted them to know.

I looked around me, noticing that a crowd had formed around us, no, around them. I walked back with the others: we were now a barrier. They saw this too, and grew irritated. They said something to the kid in front of them, and pushed him away to pass. However, something happened that had never happened before: the kids around the one they had pushed, pushed them back.

Nobody knew what to do. We were surprised about what had just happened, and they were as surprised as us too. For a moment we just stood there, standing in awe, looking at their faces. Nobody knew what to do, but I did. My feelings burst, and my anger, my suffering, my oppression, all poured out into my words. I started softly, so that only a few people around me could hear. I continued louder, talking; now everyone could hear me. And then louder, shouting, shocking myself in the process, but didn’t stop, I continued, didn’t stop. All I wanted to say, all I wanted them to understand, why they did this, if they realized how much it hurt us, if they realized how much it affected us. All of this I said, and with me, all the other kids did too. Everyone was shouting, everyone was screaming to the top of their lungs. We were an angry chorus of a thousand voices, crying out the crimes that had been perpetrated against us. They were scared now, they retreated towards the center, and they themselves fell down on their knees.  We wanted an answer, we demanded an answer. But they didn’t answer, and this made us even angrier. Though I guess they couldn’t answer, they were too scared. We stopped shouting. They were on the floor crying, wallowing in fear. Once again we were at a loss at what to do, and once again I knew what to do. I stepped towards them, raising my arm. The other’s realized what I was about to do. They knew, they were like me, the oppressed, the ignored, they were my comrades. A group lunged themselves at them, pinning them down. I clenched my fist. My feelings, my friend’s feelings, everyone’s feelings: I carried all of them. I prepared myself to do to them what they had done countless times to us. I was going to pay them back with their own medicine, but I was different. They enjoyed it, they did it for fun, but I didn’t. I was justice; I was standing up for me, and for people like me. They were the villains, and I was a hero.

The Confrontation

By Marisa Berner

Period 2

Tompkins

4/24/15

The Confrontation

It went like this.

“What’s this?”  My history teacher asked, pointing to the bruise on my face.

“This?  It’s nothing.”

Like I would tell you.  I barely even know you- I don’t even know your first name.  Besides, how do I know that you won’t go running with the details to a person of higher authority?  And if they take me away, where would I go?  What would I do?  I’d have no idea how to go about that.  I decide then that I need to be careful about how I proceed.

“Oh yeah?  Then you wouldn’t mind telling me how you got it, now would you?”  She raised her platinum blonde recently plucked eyebrow, issuing me a silent challenge.

Of course I would, and you know it.  “I fell down.”

She sighs and puts her hand to her forehead, exasperated with my excuse.  “This again?  You couldn’t even be bothered to choose a different excuse?”

“This one’s reliable.  It has history behind it.”  I shrug, trying to play it cool.  And it’s true.  I remember the first time this happened, and how this was my excuse, the only thought that came to my head that seemed logical.  It was the one that I had read about in the books, or seen in movies or TV shows, that the main character would say each time someone questioned the bruise.  And I so wanted to be one of those people -- the protagonist that, despite the sob story, always managed to defeat their antagonists and move on with their stereotypical, yet relatively happy, ending.

Without warning, she lifts her well-lotioned hand up to my face and I flinch and take a step back, only a few seconds later realizing the error in my actions.

“Relax.  I just want to see how bad it is.”  She tries again, and it goes against every principle, every well-trained instinct in my body to not back away as she reaches out and touches my face, pressing it gently to see where it hurts.

“It should be fine in a couple of days.”  Putting her hand down, she turns and reaches for an ice pack, the kind where you shake it and hit it until you hear a popping sound and it becomes cold.

I know.  This isn’t my first rodeo.  “Alright.  Thanks.”

“No problem.  You know...you can tell me anything, you know that right?”  She leans in close, so close her ombréd hair hanging inches away from my face.

“Yes.”  I’m not going to though, and that’s not ever going to change.  That’s one variable you can count on not changing.

“Why don’t you then?”  She leans back onto the cheap blue chairs the school only bought because they were the cheapest, not because they had the children’s comfort in mind, her annoyance giving her the strength she needs to make the ice pack cold.

“Why don’t I what?”  You want me to tell you something that will probably ruin my life forever?  That’s very illogical, and not helpful for defeating my antagonist.

“Why don’t you tell me about your home life?  We both know your dad--”

“We both know my dad what?”  I cut her off, hoping to stop her right then and there.  Quivering,  with fear and rage, I continue, hoping to stop this right now.  “There’s no problem.  He’s fine.  I’m fine.  We’re all fine.  The only thing that’s not fine is you and your meddling in my life, trying to tell me what is and isn’t okay.  I got these bruises for a reason, and even if he did give them to me, it was valid.  It was called for.  I deserved them.”

She stood still, shocked.  I could see the shine growing in her eyes, as though she might start to weep.  This is the most I’ve said all year to her - my dad made sure I kept quiet about such things.  Then, just as my fury  at her starts to join the bouts of butterflies in my stomach, she retaliates, her tinted lips spewing out the words coming out quickly s, her cheeks flushed nearly as dark as her knee-length red print dress.

“You’re fine, huh?  So fine.  It’s clear that you’re afraid of what he’ll do if you talk about it.  And obeying him because you’re physically afraid of him is understandable; he’s much bigger than you.  But you need to understand that I can help protect you.  And let me tell you this:  Nobody deserves bruises.  Nobody deserves cuts and burns, and to not be fed for days on end.  We learned about the gulags and the concentration camps in World War II.  Do you think those people deserved them?”

“N-no,” I stammer.  But those people were also worked to death.  Not to mention that they were put in there by others.  Nobody put me with my dad.  I mean, for Christ’s sake, he’s my dad.” .   My phones blares, but I just silence it.  I already know what it is.

He’s the person who’s supposed to raise me, and support and instruct me.  He’s the one who’s supposed to take me driving, and be stereotypical and stoic until I leave for college, which is when he breaks down.  I remember all the times we took a day, just the two of us, the rare ones where I didn’t have school.  The ones where I hadn’t messed up recently. The days where we would just drive down the coast or up into the hills, and how accepted I felt, even though no words were ever said.

The alarm goes off again.  I now need to leave in two minutes if I want to get home in time.

And in a blink of an eye, a snap of the fingers, I decide whether or not I should tell Miss Hutt anything.

I stand up, stuff my laptop in my bag, and head for the door, this conversation and my teacher already being shoved to the borders of my memory.