Sydney Smith (Blog #11)

Who is my neighbor? Chelsea Alexandra Southworth. She's one of my best friends, so I obviously knew her very well before we sat next to each other in English. She is an INSANELY AMAZING writer- like, you should read some of that chick's writing. She is so driven to excel in writing; she fills notebooks with ideas for novels and spends her days daydreaming about characters. One of my favorite things about her writing is that she says her characters control the story; she just writes it down. She doesn't see herself as the one coming up with the story; rather, as the one reporting it. She likes to say that "writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia", which I think is completely accurate. 

Her favorite color? It used to be blue. I don't really know anymore; I haven't asked in a while. I know it was blue in elementary school, and I bet that's still it.

In 5 years, I know that Chelsea will be at Duke University studying evolutionary anthropology. She is SUPER AWESOME at that stuff, and she loves it a whole lot. After she gets her masters degree (and probably her doctorate as well), she will go to Africa and study bonobos (her favorite animal). She really loves bonobos.

Chelsea's spirit animal is a cat. She probably wouldn't agree with me about that, but I can kinda see it. If cats were more sarcastic and awesome.

She is completely obsessed with Tom Hiddleson. She hopes that she can marry him someday, which is a little awkward, but I guess there are worse things in life. She fan-girls like nothing I've ever seen. It's hilarious! Chelsea is amazing overall; I'm honored to have known her for so long- 9 years, hooray!!

Sydney Smith (Blog #9)

War is a very complex and often divisive issue. People have radically different opinions on war; some people may believe that war is ALWAYS necessary, while others may believe that war is NEVER necessary. I, on the other hand, fall somewhere in between these two camps.

I believe that some wars are necessary- for independence, to rid an area of an oppressive dictator, to overthrow a corrupt government, etc. These wars can be good. However, many wars are caused by either a lack of communication or greed/ ambition. The leaders of a country want to have as much land as possible, so they just attack everyone until they get what they want. I don't think that kind of war is acceptable.

Lots of people die in wars, so we need to be ABSOLUTELY sure that war is the necessary next step before we begin to engage in it. We need to make sure that we have pure intentions, that there is no other option, and that we are willing to make the sacrifice. Then we can start fighting.

Sydney Smith (Blog #8)

Fears: Failure

Annoyances: Elitist braggy people, homework

Accomplishments: school stuff- good grades, etc.

Confusion: lots of classes at school confuse me

Sorrows: other people suffering

Dreams: to help lots of people

Idiosyncrasies: read the newspaper every morning, listen to music almost every minute of the day

Risks: putting off assignments for so long that they might end up not getting done

Beloved Possessions: my Bible and my friends/ family (now), my stuffed animals (then)

Problems: procrastination, being too sarcastic

EXPANSION ON PROBLEMS: PROCRASTINATION

I intend to get all of my work done on time, but sometimes it just doesn't work out. Sometimes I get home at 9:00 pm after a long day, and all I want to do is take a shower and go to bed; but no, I have a couple of hours of homework to do first. Sometimes I give in and jut go to bed, and my homework doesn't end up getting done. I just procrastinate and put it off until the next day, and then the next day, and then the next day. And so on. It's not a very good way to live life, but hey, it's what I do.

Karl Werner Assignment 13- Changes!

I truly pity some of the Middle Eastern nations we're at war with. Over there, religion dominates government. Sharia Law is the actual law. Us Americans have had to intercede on behalf of these palaces' citizens to attempt to balance these nations out. The governments of these foreign bodies are in shambles; overrun by corruption, disorganization, hostility, and personal/religious views. Thank God for our great USA, and our system that is free of these plagues. We are absolutely the right country to help others in these regards, and its at no risk to ourselves, since we're so stable here back home.
There are so many positive things to say about our functional government, especially in comparison to these warring foreign states. The governments of the Middle Eastern areas are overrun with corruption and bribery. Can you imagine what that would be like here? Imagine politicians taking money from, I don't know, say big companies or something, and in return, pushing political action that benefits these platforms at the suffering of their constituencies. That would be an outrage. Luckily, here, our leaders are focused on making a difference, not winning a reelection, or pleasing those with money in order to secure campaign funds, or other corrupt transactions like those.
And don't even get me started on religion. These pitiful other nations allow religious beliefs to dictate their laws. How embarrassing. We over here in civilized America have separation of church and state, and we follow it to a T. You'll never see radical groups harassing others about how certain laws don't conform with their religious stances. Our streets are clean of people demanding laws be passed be "their god says it is so". I am so proud of my fellow citizens that all clearly interpret their religion is completely separate from our government and cannot be used as a reason for laws to be passed. Its things like these that truly set us apart from those mongrels in those backward, war-filled lands over in that non-Asiany area.
The thing I am most thankful for about living in America as opposed to the Middle East, is, well, the unwavering stability. Here, every day, I wake up not worrying about whether the government is going to collapse, if there's going to be a hostile takeover, or wondering were the next bomb will go off. In America, we rise and shine knowing we have a stable, functional government that's going to do its job and let me do mine. Can you imagine if we lived in such an awful place that our government stopped working? Like, it just shut down or something? Gosh. I give thanks that our political leaders are more levelheaded and intelligent than that. They know that sometimes you have to compromise and listen, instead of just shout, demand, and, attack, with weapons or words.
These are all reasons I am truly proud to be an American. Anywhere I go in the world, my country's sterling reputation will follow me. Its no wonder so many foreign nations love us for interceding in their affairs. I mean, ours run so smoothly and justly, we simply must share our tactics and bountiful knowledge. What would life be like if our politicians were all corrupt, incompetent hotheads who did everything but their jobs? Or if we ignored our base principles like separation of church and state (like, what if we put religious statements on our dollar bills? Can you imagine the hypocrisy of something like that?)? I thank God, Allah, Buddha, and the rest of the Skyfathers that I live in the Good Ol' USA, where laws are laws, personal beliefs are personal beliefs, everyone lets everyone else be themselves, and where we all are truly free.

Assignment 13: Changes!

Think of all of the things and ideas that exist in the world.

Which one bothers you the most?

Think on Jonathan Swift's "Proposal" and write your own satiric solution to your troublesome issue.

First I would spend some time watching and or reading a great deal of satire to get into in the mental mode satire requires.

Minimum of 150 words - due Sunday, November 17th at 11:59 pm

Brave Little Toaster - Jasa Harris

My life is a constant cycle, I get filled with hot coffee and two sugars, I get slurped on for about thirty minutes, and then later on I get refilled, and then finally at the end of the night I get washed. But today was different, the cycle changed. I was sitting on the edge of the counter when my owner accidently knocked me off when reaching for the coffee pot. I hit the ground hard, and broke into 5 little pieces. I hear my owner shout “shoot”, as he goes to the other room and returns to the kitchen with my good friends broom and dustpan. He bends over me and begins to sweep me into dustpan and then he dumps me in the trash. I had heard awful stories about that smelly thing, and so I was terrified laying in the filth. I stayed in the darkness for about three days when finally my owner came back. He lifted the bag out of the can and then I saw him- my replacement. It was a new, shiny mug filled with coffee sitting in my spot on the counter. I couldn’t believe it. And as my owner dumped me into the dumpster and the garbage truck came to collect me I could feel myself become sad. And that was the moment I realized that it was broken, not my body, but my heart.   

Brave Little Toasters- Lucy Wan

She used to call me her escape.

I knew from the moment she walked in the store that she was my destiny. The quaint little stationary shop on main street was closing down, bought out by a new chain of computer stores. The day we first met was bright and warm, nothing that reflected my inner turmoil at the prospect of remaining unsold. My price tag reflected my loneliness; it had been slashed through again and again, yet I still remained in that dusty corner untouched.

She was the first to notice me. Her face dipping down, she wiped off the months of neglect. Her eyes examined me carefully. I sat as still as possible, hoping that she found no faults in the black metal casing or the round letter keys. My heart stilled as her hands rested on me; it was a weight that gave me comfort. Ever so delicately, she began to press the keys. A 'ding' rang out as she said her first words to me.

"Will you be my escape?"

(the typewriter)

Brave Little Toaster - Hans Stromberg

I am a pure white srixon 1 with blue markings on me made by my player Hans. I have a good feling about today as Hans tees me up on the left side of the tee box on top of my good friend the cocoa-cola tee. We make casual conversation while Hans makes his practice swings. Finally, my time to shine is almost here, Hans starts waggling his Cleveland driver behind and makes his back swing. I see the downswing coming and start to revolve at one milisecond I see blue sky, the next I see green grass below. This repeats for another couple thousand revolutions intil I hit the ground. It was pure contact, but I start out a little bit too far right, I am nearing the top of my arc when I hear Hans yell to draw, having some side spin, I decide to draw gently and get a kind kick from the rough and roll into the fairway. I received a great strike from the driver and am perfect position for a shot onto the green. As I wait for Hans to walk towards me (which takes forever) I chat with the bug that landed on me. Once Hans gets up and shoots the pin he pulls out 9 iron, I must be about 155 yards away from the pin. Hans goes through his routine and strikes downward on me creating backspin, so this time, the first milisecond I see green grass and the next blue sky, after a couple of seconds I am nearing the green and can see the pin a couple feet behind me. I hear people saying "get in the hole, Tiger!" As I am wondering who Tiger is, I make contact with the ground and start spinning backward towards the hole. i have a chance to go to my home and "clang!" I hit the flagstick. Just your everyday eagle for me, srixon 1. (I'd like to see a Titleist do that.)

Blog 12: Erin Holbrook

Here is another minimally edited excerpt from my NaNoWriMo Novel. 

Ch 1

“3…2…1” Sal whispered in Jenine’s ear. She stepped back smiled, and then dropped all pretense of stealth.

“BOOM” She yelled recklessly. The sound of her scream was echoed by the sound of an actual explosion. Jenine looked down at her sweaty hands,still holding down a big red button. She lifted them slowly, and dried them on the front of her jeans.

“Oh my god, we actually did it.” Jenine mumbled. She looked up at her sister and grinned, then put on her latex gloves and wiped the button clean with a moist toilette. No evidence could remain once they had fled. Her eyes ran over the very un-clever label: Big Red Button, her sister’s idea of course. Jenine stood up, steadied herself, then made her way over to the edge of the roof. She could just see the flames a mile away. Sal watched her sister, worried that she might be having second thoughts. But then she spotted Jenine’s slight grin, and knew that they weren’t that unalike after all.

“Well, sister, it really has been fun, but I’m afraid it’s time to run.” Sal said carelessly, as she strolled languidly towards the door. A laugh bubbled from Jenine’s throat, and she followed. Sal pulled the door open in a sweeping motion “Apres vous.” She said, grinning widely. Jenine mimed a curtsy and then sprinted down the stairs.

In seconds Sal was passing her, sliding down the steps via the railing. “There are thirty-seven floors, little sister! Be a bit more creative.” Jenine huffed and slid down after her sister. Sal had the brains, though she didn’t act like it, and she always one upped Jenine.

“Go ahead and gloat. You may be clever but at least I got the looks.” Even that was a lie. Jenine was pretty, sure, but she spent half an hour doing her make-up each day. She wore heavy eyeliner and dark red lipstick, which brought out her green-blue eyes and clear complexion. Sal, on the other hand, hardly owned a hairbrush. She didn’t need it. Her skin was naturally clear, and her cheekbones stood out strikingly through her tan skin. Her hair was dark black and perfectly straight, while Jenine’s was a mess of curls. Sal was more than pretty, she was gorgeous, and just a little bit terrifying.

The sound of sirens broke the air as they ran out into the streets. Underneath it were delicate murmurs of fear and confusion.

“Race you” Jenine challenged, and she ran off before Sal could protest. She could hear her sister mumble “no fair” behind her, and then the sound of her footsteps thudding against the concrete. If there was one thing Jenine could do better than Sal, it was run. Jenine sprinted, faster and faster, letting the wild wind tangle her hair. She stuck to the shadows, and no one saw her face. Her heart lifted as the streets became less occupied. She was almost out.  

As the tree-line approached, Jenine noticed how heavily she breathed. Her side hurt: she must have been running longer than she realized. Sal would still be a bit behind her. She began to make her way more slowly through the trees, careful not to leave a trail that might be followed. Sal caught up with her a few minutes later, and they stalked the forest in silence until they reached base camp: just before dark.

Now that it was definitely safe to talk, Jenine punched her sister playfully on the arm.

“I cannot believe we did that!” She said, laughing. “That was beyond insane. We ought to be institutionalized.” She was nearly giddy with the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. “do you think it worked?” She asked, collapsing onto her sleeping bag and looking up at the stars.

“Of course it worked. All my plans do.” Sal said, sitting down on a log and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “They will find no evidence, but they will know it’s us. They won’t be able to catch us. And as soon as we go home, it’s a one way ticket to Taurus.” Jenine smiled, thinking for the first time that she really would be on Taurus, fighting side by side with the most brilliant soldiers.

“The soldiers of Taurus are the bravest, the strongest, and the smartest. Do you really think they’ll take us?”

“You forgot best endowed.” Sal said, smirking. She pulled out a granola bar and tossed a second to Jenine “The army of Taurus is or misfits and freaks trained to perfection. And besides, we are the bravest, strongest, and smartest. They take what they can get, and once they have a look at the technology of that bomb, they’ll be begging us to fight for them.” Jenine rolled her eyes. She hoped her sister was right. She had grown up with stories of the great and fierce army of Taurus, and how it would protect humanity against itself. The army would finally be needed soon enough. War with Ambros seemed inevitable. Ambros was the only planet equipped to save the people of planet Earth, and Ambros was going to abandon a civilization to die. Jenine became furious just thinking it. She would murder every last Utopian with her bare hands if she had to. They were monsters.

“You remembered to use a chain of three people to buy the supplies right? And the third saw only a mask and a disguised voice, yeah?” Jenine asked.

Sal sighed. “Yes. And I wiped all the prints on every part of the bomb, even the batteries. I went so far as to sell the tools I used to make it in a second hand shop. They got picked up by some boy looking for work for less than a dollar. None of that can be tracked to us. There were no security cameras on our trail today, so far as anyone knows, we've been gone since morning. Have a bit of faith.” Jenine nodded solemnly.

“What do you think it’s like, on another planet?” Sal asked “different air, different ground, different people, different sky…”

“Dad took me to Earth once. It was the same on the surface. It looked the same, except it felt wrong. And when we went outside, everything was dead or dying. It was awful. Even the sky was dying, strangled by waste. The worst part was the smell. It smelled horrible everywhere we went. There was no escaping it: a strangled, mechanic smell. I couldn’t believe people lived there until I saw them. They smelled too, and they were dead by their eyes.” Jenine shivered.

“You never told me that.” Sal said, unnerved herself.

“I didn't want to think too hard about it. It’s supposed to be even worse now, Though I can’t imagine how.”

“Yeah? Well it doesn't matter, because we are going to fix it.” Jenine smiled. They most definitely were. 

Brave Little Toaster-Rachel Hart

I am the stuffed beaver you gave your dog. Most days I am hidden in the toy box, but today was very different. He came over and searched through all of the toys until he found me. Then he took such care as he pulled me across the living room floor. While I was happy to be out of the crowded, dark box I knew my time was short. He took me to the rug and began to gnaw on my lovely tail until it was just hanging by a few threads. Soon he grew bored and pulled me to your feet. You picked me and I thought that I was safe, but then you flung me across the room. He pranced over to me, picked me up in his slobbery mouth and shook me wildly. He returned me to your feet and the same thing happened once again. Five minutes in to your sad game, he was done. At last I was able to rest in peace because he had gone and found another toy to torture.

Assignment 8 Hannah Pauley

Fears: Career decisions

Annoyances: iratability, petulance

Accomplishments: decent grades, good friendships

Confusions: physics, social media

Sorrows: family dissonance 

Dreams: different art projects, independence, travel, reading more

Idiosyncrasies: drifting off mid-sentence, detesting all grape flavored candies

Risks: driving

Beloved Possessions: stuff that I stole from my sister (then); ideas&sketches, friends (now)

Problems: lack of time/energy

What I really can't stand is your average, every-day whiner. I'm not so familiar with the "7 deadly sins," but if complaining isn't one of them, I'd say they should tack on an 8th. 

There are few situations in which complaining is ever warranted--when it helps someone obtain something, or when it helps one person bond with another. In these situations, something can be gained, but just a fair warning: those two things are poor character and terrible small talk. 

Working for something improves your character, why ruin it with petulance and immediate gratification? Wasting your breath to mutter, "this is so lame," to the person next to you in the computer lab can make you seem like a nice guy, but it also preludes a conversation with that person about how terrible everything is. Next thing you know, you've invited yourself into a whole other conversation about how that kid's cat died and he failed his math test and now this too?

When I was young and I would screech about some toy or another at the supermarket, my mother would say to me, "Hannah, what happens when you whine?" and I would obediently reply, "I don't get anything that I want." 

To this day, I believe that's the way it should be.

Assignment 9 Hannah Pauley

To say there is "never" a time for war couldn't be appropriate. What about WW2? Should we all have just taken a chill pill? Surely there is a well-known stereotyped hatred of the Jews by Christians, but would the Mennonites really sit idly by if it were happening now? Would that be moral? I think not.
War in recent years seems to boil down to a shaky question-- is it our business, our job as a successful democratic country, to defend the people elsewhere against what we see as dangerous or unfit? I think to say yes is a noble thought, but it's hard to judge whether this is effective or ethical in the long run.War is costly; it taxes our budgets, our hearts, and our minds, and I believe it should only happen when absolutely necessary.
It is not a country's responsibility to worry about other countries while in the midst of its own problems, but  it is our responsibility as humans to care about other humans, to negotiate with our best efforts, and to fight against cruelty (not Communism, or any other "ism") and oppression when help is wanted and needed. We would be wise to remember that not all "fighting" has to be done with guns, or has to result in someone's death.

Assignment 10 Hannah Pauley

Respective to the week, Tuesday it is neither the first day, nor the last day--and definitely not "hump" day. I don't recall why they keep it on the calendar at all, except that it helps people like my mother and my schoolmates grind my spirits down to fine powder--one which is too thin even for me to blow into someones eyes. If I did, they would suffer no irritation, and I would be awarded no joy.
Tuesday is a day like no other: it is a day in which you don't have to knock over your coffee and stain your blouse. On Tuesday, the cup simply does all the work for you, and leaps joyously out of your hand all by itself. Glorious.
On Tuesdays, don't bother accidentally putting bleach into washer with your dark clothes--they'll simply waltz out of the dryer with splotches whether you asked for it or not.
Indeed, Tuesday is a day of no required efforts.

Assignment 11 Hannah Pauley

My seat partner is a pretty cool guy. He is both sporty and sociable (he plays soccer), and though most of time I am neither of those, I can admire that about him. If we've spoken much before this year, I'm sorry to say I don't remember it. (Actually I hardly remember the last two years at all--high school? When did that happen?)
From what I can tell, Kyle is fairly carefree, and I think he likes to be lazy when he can get away with it (but then again, so does everyone). He has a good sense of humor, and from our conversations in class he seems really nice. I'd say he's bluish, not because he's sad, but because he seems pretty calm most of the time. He's kind of like a jungle cat, because I think he just likes to sleep until he's provoked, and then he can be pretty alert and talkative.
I'm sure in five years he'll be living it up on a college campus or elsewhere, partying like the rest of us. I just hope he doesn't get too crazy--I don't want to be hearing about him in any newspapers anytime soon.

Assignment 12 Hannah Pauley

The V5 is by far the most superior pen. It has all the strength and integrity of the V7 while providing its user with the most elegant and thin pen strokes known to man. Cheaper and more casual than a true calligraphy pen, it is completely utilitarian in the best of ways, strong both in efficiency and character. Its smooth, cylindrical body is easy to hold, and requires none of the silly, bulky eyesores they call "grippers."
Today would be like any other day, and the V5 would ride alongside a young girl, his head just barely peeking from the top of the purse to which he was so handily attached by his metal clip. Hopefully the day would be quiet and peaceful, and he could ink out some fluid message of meaning. He imagined the air would be cool against his tip, and the paper smooth and inviting.
But alas! it was not so. He soon came to understand that this outing allowed no such state of ease.
At one point, the plucking of strings and the emission of voices became so loud that he thought he might lose his cap. He thought to recall a sweet dream he scribbled a few days ago--how delightful it was--yes; that would make it all better.
But suddenly came a greater disturbance and a crushing noise. With a thump and stumble, his home jolted around him and he became dislodged. He was now on the cold, dark, crowded floor of the purse. He knew he was helpless, and soon became despondent. As the image of the sacred dream drifted from him, the hole in his felt tip leaked out his final drops.

Blog 12 -Chelsea Southworth

Another novel excerpt! Yay! No context needed for this one.

Jahylal started when he came into his office and saw a woman lounging on the couch. “How did you get in here?” he asked sternly, setting his books down on his desk and walking over to her. “This is private property.”

She raised an arched brow and looked up at him from the piece of parchment she was scratching on with a quill. “If you truly want it to be private, you should make it harder to get in.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pressed, not used to being denied a response. “Who are you?” As head of the city’s Council, he had guards posted outside of every one of his doors; it would be no easy feat to get into his personal office, yet here she was, without the slightest of disturbances having been created.

“A friend.”

“Give me a straight answer, or I will call in the guards and have you shackled into slavery for conspiracy against the city,” Jahylal said, his voice firm. He had not gotten to where he was in the government by buckling for every mysterious woman who would not tell him what he needed to know.

“That would not be wise,” she said with a trace of wry amusement. “But since I am a friend, and I admire your work, I’ll ignore that empty threat and tell you this: there is a threat to the peace of the city and the peace of the entire realm just outside of these city walls.”

That piqued his interest. “And what threat is this?”

“The Artists.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “The Artists? I know they are very gifted at what they do, but what, are they training their painters to fight with brushes? Are their actors going to make us laugh into submission? If this is all that you have to say to me, you can leave now.”

The woman sat up and looked him dead in the eyes. “The Artists can do more than that. Their musicians hypnotize, their dancers move people with only the force of their minds and their bodies’ movements, their actors change their faces and make you believe every word they say...and their writers change the very thread of reality.”

Jahylal laughed again, though this time it was a little more unsettled. “What proof do you have of this? The words of one woman cannot condemn the entire Academy.”

“No,” she murmured. “The words of one woman will condemn the entire Academy.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she dotted the parchment she was writing on - and that was when things changed.

“Oh-oh my!” Jahylal said, his voice suddenly an octave higher. He looked down at his body, now naked and completely female, in shock. “Wh-what is this sorcerer's trick? You witch!”

The woman ignored him, serenely continuing to write. As the words poured from her quill, Jahylal’s body began to change. Hips narrowed, shoulders widened, clothing materialized out of thin air. She looked up when she was done and he was back to normal. “Tell me again that the Artists are no threat.”

“I-I-it is you who are the threat,” he said with heavy breathing.

“If I was truly the threat, would I come to you and reveal my existence?” the woman asked him. “I left their order because these actions-changing another’s will to fit your own-are against everything we as /City-ans/, as Allahaleans stand for. We let them walk among us, yet no one knows their true power; they could be controlling you at this very moment and none would be the wiser.”

He ran his fingers through his short-again hair. “The people adore the Artists; they would never stand for me to lead an attack on them.”

“Let the people lead the attack,” she suggested. “Let it be known what Artists are truly capable of, and the rest will follow.”

“And what will this do for me?” he asked, still unsure.

She rose in a cascade of silk and walked slowly over to him. “You will be a hero. History will name you the man who saved us from tyranny. Every mother will name their child Jahylal or Jahyla.” Her lips barely brushed his ear as she whispered, “You will sit as Head of the Council for the rest of your years, never needing to fear for reelection.”

Jahylal swallowed, and gave a slow nod. “I will see it done, then. Will you do as you did to me to others, so the people know I speak the truth?”

She laughed scornfully, like she thought he was a fool. “And expose myself as a convenient scapegoat? No; I don’t have a death wish. There are, however, plenty of Artists out in the city right now. One of them might be…persuaded to show what they do publicly. Unless that doesn’t sound appealing to you, in which case it will be your word alone against the Academy’s.”

“I am not weak; I will do it.” He had done worse in his rise to political power and economic prosperity, and would do it all again if he had to.

The woman stepped away, a smile playing on her lips. “I knew I could count on you.”

Brave Little Toaster- Jack Humphries

I am the Christmas tree. Right now I am locked in the dark downstairs closet that is my home for 11 months out of the year. The 12^th month though, is when I really shine. I can feel the weather changing; growing colder every day, and I know that it is almost time for my hibernation to end. As the ground becomes blanketed with snow, my assemble process is begun. Piece after piece is fit snug into one another until I stand tall above the room. From this vantage point I watch as the other decorations are put up all around me; the three wise men statues, a manger scene, and jolly Santa doll populate the house. Finally the box marked tree decorations is found and people start to dress me with intricate ornaments. Candy canes, shiny colored balls, and tinsel adorn my branches as the quite tunes of silent night fill the air. Finally as December 25th draws near brightly wrapped boxes hide below me, and excited children buzz about like bees in a hive. Their high-pitched voices display their excitement as they rush about picking up and putting down my boxes until an adult comes in to stop them. Finally after all my boxes have been taken and opened, all the family has left, and the sun gone down, I watch the decorations come down. I say goodbye to the Santa, The wise men, and the manger as they disappear into brown square boxes. I feel my ornaments being remorsefully lifted from my branches. Finally a tired hand reaches for me, undoing its labor from less than a month ago. Piece by piece I am placed into my box, and heaved down the stairs back to my closet. I need the rest though it’s been a busy past few weeks, and I think I should sleep for a while. Even though the fun is over, Ill always have next year to look forward to.

Brave Little Toaster-Zac Byrd

Going to the grocery, which happens to be about a million times as big as me was an adventure.  I first had to cross the bridge of terror and continued my journey through the forest.  A forest infested with dinosaurs and little green men wielding large guns.  I only received a couple scrapes from barreling through ongoing foliage.  But once I reached the end I was warmed inside and out by the sun.  I can only see miles and miles of the brown tundra ahead of me.  And at the end, I see a glimmer of hope, the grocery store.  I feel like a speeding bullet going across that tundra but I just seem to tire out too quickly.  I take a quick break to get re-energized by taking a nap and cooling off.  Once awake I take off again for the grocery when suddenly a hand reaches down from the sky and picks me up.  I try to go faster and roar loudly to draw attention but nobody is around.   Suddenly the hand seems to listen hear my thoughts and puts me down right in front of the grocery.  I park all 480 horsepower of my shiny, red self into my weekly parking spot.  The route to arrive at the grocery is always rough, but it’s nothing a tough, hot wheels Ferrari like myself can’t handle.

Do you know your neighbor? -Cassie Adams

At the beginning of each school year, there are always two things about which I can be reasonably certain. First, I can usually rely on the fact that I will be the first name on the roster in almost every single one of my classes, and therefore I am likely to be the first person in the first chair of every seating chart. Second, I can predict with reasonable accuracy that Will Atkins will be the person sitting next to me. Ever since middle school, I have been blessed (or cursed, depending how you look at it) with the gift of having a permanent residence in the seat next to Will's

But really, I'm only joking about the curse part. In all sincerity, I don't mind sitting next to Will at all. If anything, I can be sure that each day will be an interesting experience. He is the type of person that isn't afraid to speak his mind. He always has a handful of witty and sarcastic remarks up his sleeve. But I can also say that he is a genuinely nice person. And though he may occasionally come off as lazy or carefree, don't let it fool you. As far as I know, he is intelligent and gets good grades.    

But even after sitting next to Will for all these years, I can't say that I know much else about him. It's crazy to think how long you can know someone without really getting to know them. 

Assignment 12- Brave Little Toasters Karl Werner

My favorite inanimate object is a toy soldier. I loved the toy soldiers in Toy Story. Some of my favorite video games were the ones from the toy soldiers' point of views. And then, I had some little toy soldiers of my own. By some, I mean a large amount. From stores, presents, and Gatti Town, I accumulated a large collection of the little warriors. I would set them up and act out epic pretend battles. I always wished for a day in the life of one. And now I can pretend that wish came true.
I woke up at 6 am sharp. The sergeant was holding his binoculars in the same position as always. He used to be a terror on the battlefield with them, clobbering enemies left and right, but then his foot stand was melted by a napalm strike. He commands from the back lines these days. I am an artillery trooper. I carry a devastating artillery launcher. The only problem is I can't aim it. luckily for me, all our enemies share the same issue. Those d**ned grey troopers. Us greenies have been at war with those scum for as long as our people can remember. I think the war started last Monday when Billy unpacked us all. Anyways, the alarms sounding, our Lord Billy has awoken, and it looks like the battle is starting. Its hard to remember why we're even at war. Actually, now that I think of it....I've never known why we fight those grey guys. This is starting to seem a lot like--------------
The Unnamed Corporal was KIA by a grey grenade at 7:27 am as Billy's mom made him eggs. He lies in an unmarked grave under Billy's bed. He is just another lost casualty in the endless war of toy soldiers.