Sierra Ehrman's Story/ Staci Wilson

Inching forward, Anna cautiously stepped further out into the cold ocean waters. Every slap of the waves against her legs was a shock that was slowly numbing her senses, but not fast enough for her tastes. As the tide pulled her out she began to go forward faster, holding her breath to brace herself for the freeze of the waves. Every step she took she was consious of the water rising, and she stopped, a little afraid of the water lapping at her face. She thought she should turn back, head for shore again. But before she could act, a larger than usual wave came up and overtop of her head, scaring her, and then the resounding tide that pulled back into the vast unending ocean pulled her with it. She couldn't keep her feet, the sand fell out from under her and she fell, letting the waves twist her as if she was some seaweed floating on the top of the tide.
Not knowing which was up and which was down, she scrambled franticly for the open air, her panic making her air escaping faster. She couldn't find any break to the slow lucid cage that surrounded her entire body. She couldn't breath, she opened her eyes to the sting of the salt water, and closed them again. 'I knew it was a bad idea to go swimming today.' was all she could think as she drifted down deeper and deeper.
Suddenly she felt slick arms reach around her, wrapping firmly around her waist and pulling her quickly upward. Before she could comprehend, it was over. She was breathing deeply and inhaling air, and a little bit of water, choking and coughing up salt water with it's bitter taste. Turning, she saw her rescuer, a beautiful woman with long brown hair, a little like seaweed, smiling at her. It was then she saw the fins.

Dave's blog with added twist/ Collette Charles

so it's not finished yet...but it's a start and i think it's 200 words
The door opens and the night begins. It’s the smell of smoke, the blast of stereo, the holler of frat boys, that makes her uncomfortable for the first time tonight. She was comfortable with wearing a short, jean skirt. Comfortable with teasing up her dark hair, comfortable with catcalls and a little flirting. But flirting is the last thing on this boy’s mind, the one who has cozied up to her just now. His hand parks on her thigh, higher than she’s known, his other arm snakes around her neck, holding a drink close to her face. She’s never smelled liquor before. Her girlfriend smiles at her and gives a lusty wink, thumbs up. How do you say no?
When her roommate offered to hook her up with a friend, she didn’t know this would happen. Didn’t realize he would have other plans, the kind she’s never had. He offers her a drink, and she doesn’t even know what she’s agreeing to ingest. But she holds the cup and takes a sip, burning down all the way. It’s not the way her other dates have gone; mini golfing, football games, burgers and milkshakes. No other boy has taken her upstairs before.
This is the part where she gets scared. She’s not sure if it’s the wild stare he gives her, or his hand on her waist, but either way, she’s not ready for this. She knew she looked good before she left the safety of her dorm, but now she’d rather take off the makeup and dress in sweats. He still hasn’t asked her anything about herself, other than her name and where she was living. And to push drink after drink on her. It doesn’t even burn anymore; the numbness in her throat is spreading to her mind. She doesn’t push him away, doesn’t show her fear as he kisses her. No boy has kissed her this hard, with this intensity before.
It’s almost like she’s left her body and is watching the scene from the shelves above the bed. Almost like she can’t feel what’s happening to her; not that she wants to. The word “no” has bubbled up close to the surface a few times, but can’t seem to break through her lips. It’s hard to get a word in edgewise when you can barely breathe.

Katie Hill story | Krystle Whitney

Looking back I don’t rightly know why I did what I did. I guess you could say it was something I just had to do. Some action that, I thought, would prove once and for all that I was an adult and that I took adult action against adult issues. Of course this is what I told myself over and over before the big moment…before my life changed.

Michel had promised that what we were about to do would go down in history. That we were about to accomplish so much in such a little action. I didn’t quite know what to think and so I didn’t…I didn’t think.

“Hurry up!” Michel screamed as we ran to see the crowd.
I sighed, trying hard to show my reluctance for the situation.
She ignored my obvious gesture and stopped before the crowd. There they were. All of the 132 college students holding up signs and screaming to the crowd. Michel smiled. She seemed to be drawing in their strength and enthusiasm with every breath. I really didn’t know how she could understand what those college students where doing. Sure, they wanted the war to end. Sure, they wanted their brothers and friends to come back from Vietnam, but then again so did everyone in America and yet they still supported what our leaders had chosen.
She grabbed my arm and nodded. She was ready. My heart started beating while my faced turned red. I wanted to turn back and run, but it was too late. We were already joining the college students. I turned and watched as Michel started unbuttoning her shirt. My eyes widened. I couldn’t hear anything. Hundreds of shirts, coats, pants and other articles of clothing covered the sky as each students striped down to only their skin.
I don’t remember taking off my clothes…I just remember what happened after we stopped running around the college campus. There were so many guards and so many students looking around at all of us, trying hard to cover their eyes and hide the distain they had for our actions. Then I remember seeing my friend and the hundreds of others trying to dodge the police. I remember seeing their faces….the look of accomplishment spreading from every corner; and it was then when I realized what I had really taken part in.

Collette Charles's Story Plot | Dave Mazzettia

“I love pizza! Thanks mom” said Rhett. In preparation for the big b-ball game tomorrow, mommy decided to buy Pizza. “The cashier tried to void my coupon discount so I threw a fit and the manager got involved. Now we have free pizza!” “Mommy sure has a mouth on her doesn’t she Rhett? –oaf!” Dad said walking toward the kitchen when he once again banged his head on a hanging lamp. “Hunny I’m raising the lamp again”. “Seven feet from the ground is plenty far enough for my satisfaction?” she replied. “The way I keep banging my head into it there will soon be no light to be satisfied at all.” The conversation stopped there.
“Let’s go, Rhett old pal!” Dad picked up Rhett with both hands and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of refried beans, ran outside into the back yard. He threw him onto the trampoline, and quickly ran into the shed, appearing seconds later holding a basketball and wearing a smile so big that it would be surprising to see that one could not fit the ball into his mouth. Rhett jumped down off the trampoline and plowed into Dad, knocking him over on the grass and laughing. “Hey now kiddo you’re confused – football season ended last month, hehe”. Rhett grabbed the ball and made a run for the basket.
Meanwhile mom finished baking the pizza and gave the “DINNER’S READY” call. “I’ll be out in a minute, honey” dad said as he escaped to his office. “You should stay here with us…don’t be too long”. Mom looked somewhat worried. Rhett didn’t notice; not with the anticipation of pepperoni. After the pizza was blessed (and believe me with that much cheese I hope it was an extra long blessing), Rhett immediately began to dig in and mom soon found an empty plate. Dad still hadn’t come and it was getting late, so mom took Rhett up to his room, tucked him in and said goodnight. “Don’t stay up and play with Guardo hun, you’re gunna need all the sleep you could get for tomorrow’s big game!” Guardo is a horned dragon lizard Rhett got for his last birthday party. “Mom I might as well be sleep talking right now”
Rhett suddenly wakes up! It’s the middle of the night and he hears mom and dad downstairs yelling. “I told you to stay away from the internet when you’re alone, nothing will go wrong if it doesn’t have a change to go wrong” mom said quietly, not wanting to wake little Rhett. “I’m up to here—oww” throwing his arm above his head, dad hit the top of the ceiling “—with you being in control of me” he bellowed. They heard a noise and stopped talking, then spotted Rhett sneaking his way to the bottom of the stairs. “Are you guys okay? Please stop fighting…waaaa” Tears began to swell within Rhett’s eyes, and he sat down at the bottom of the stairs and began to bawl. “It’s alright honey we’re fine honest” mom said as she came toward him, attempting to cheer him up. Dad looked somewhat nervous and it there was an obvious hand mark across his face. “Cheer up kiddo you’re a big boy now – twelve year olds aren’t supposed to cry what would all you’re girly friends say?” “Eww…girls have worms” Rhett said, sniffling. “I hate it when you fight, because I love you and I don’t want you to”. Mom tried to comfort Rhett, but he had already grown to her height (although it may be awhile before they both turned up even on a scale) and it just wasn’t the same as when Rhett was little and mom would pick him up, hold him in her arms, and throw him around. You know she once threw him up toward the ceiling like many loving parents do only she missed him and he hit the ground. It’s a good thing that babies are made out of rubber! Now back to our story!! Mom and dad took Rhett back up to his room but he couldn’t sleep, thinking back on all the times his parents have fought. Finally, a different image came to his mind – dad taking him outside to play. “How many dads play sports with their kids?” Rhett thought, and he felt privileged. This thought gave him the needed comfort to drift asleep.
The next morning Rhett awoke to mom’s cry “Rhett get you’re fanny moving boy – you’re gunna be late…come on sweety!” “It’s the big game day!” Rhett whispered to himself, as he groggily struggled to get out of bed. “I’m so tired”. “Hey kiddo none of that talk..uggg” Dad came into the room, bumping his head on the door frame. “It’s you’re big day!
They traveled to the outdoor court in the town park. The closest parking lot they could find was a block away. Because they lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody, nearly half of the eleven hundred town citizens were attending the first game of the season. The game began and ended pretty quickly, and the town citizens returned to their homes. Rhett and his team “The Nose Pickers” lost miserably, with Rhett as the star player returning home with mom and dad in shame. On his way to the car he couldn’t help but overhear some of the townsfolk “that tall one looked like he would fall asleep right there in the middle of the court”. It must have been an outsider, since he didn’t know Rhett’s name.
“I suppose there will always be one more game” mom said, attempting to break the silence. Rhett, of course, could not be so easily comforted. After a couple minutes there appeared a look of determination on dad’s face, covering the previous look of nervousness, and he spoke “Okay I need to say something. The reason why mom and I fought last night is my fault and has been for the last couple of years. I thought I could conquer this problem on my own but I haven’t” he paused for a few seconds. Gathering his thoughts and wanting to say the right thing, he continued “this will change, and I promise that I will no longer raise my voice or fight with mom”. Rhett wanted to say something, ask what dad was talking about, but looking at the look of hopeful confidence on mom’s face stopped him. After a couple minutes Rhett spoke up “Well, I suppose there will always be one more game”. And with that, they drove to the nearest store to pick up pizza and headed back home.

Tina's story | Alyssa Sanders

Lucy and her best friend Chelsey were constantly together. They were so much alike, they loved the same clothes, the same music and I am sorry to say, the same man. They faught over Cody like cats and dogs. He came between their friendship until they despised one another. Cody ended up falling madly in love with Chelsey. So on their wedding night, in a jealous rage Lucy snuck into their hotel suite and brutally killed her former best friend. She had planned the murder out to a "T" beforehand, and executed it in a way that Cody was framed and punished for a crime he didn't commit. After many horrible paronoid months of contemplation Lucy couldn't take it any more, she over dosed on her perscribed anxiety pills; instead of waking up in the afterworld, she woke up in her same world one year ago. She frantically races through time trying to undo her many mistakes, and the murder she commited prior. To her dismay, the only way she could erase the horrors of her past is to kill herself as some sort of penance. Will she choose to give up the life she's leading to save her enemy or console with living a half-life, knowing that she couldn't force herself to do the right thing?

Alyssa's story | Tina Coleman

The young girl took one last glance in the mirror before she nervously shut her bedroom door and left her house for school. She made one last check on her way to her car to make sure that her “Abercrombie” logo was not being hidden by her belt. As she got into her car she put in her latest C.D. that she had bought the night before, after she had heard some girls the day before talking about how cool it was. She spent the whole night memorizing all of the words, as well as the names of each of the band members. She turned up the music and cracked the windows, so the melodies could be heard from her car as she pulled into school. As she walked into the front doors of the school she started to sweat heavily and went straight to the restroom—just to make sure she looked okay. She waited until the bell rang before she pulled out her TommyGirl perfume and misted herself. As she walked into her homeroom class, she made sure to cross from one side of the classroom to the other, so that her smell was noticed. As she sat in class reviewing all her morning details in her head she still wondered if she looked cool enough. Just as she checked her “Abercrombie” tag one more time, her thoughts were interrupted by the instructors voice. He was asking for her opinion. She panicked. She had talked with him in the beginning of the semester and made sure he understood that she did not like to be called on. As she tried to think of an answer that would make the class laugh her mind froze. Her body began shaking. Her hands became clammy and the room started spinning in circles. In her head she heard the children’s taunts from Elementary school. She was scared. She felt worthless. She tried so desperately to focus on her current surroundings, but everything quickly turned black.

Anthony Luciani's Story | As told by Colin Maynes

They stood in disbelief, who would have thought that such atrocities would ever exist after the holocaust. The air was heavey with angst and humidity. A palpable hint of blood and fried flesh hung in their nostrils the way a cat clings to curtains.

Did this really happen, suppose I should start at the begining.

Dwight, Novak, and Harvey stood next to the small mounds of dirt and enormous concrete slab which, as the sun rose on the plains, gave an strange shimmer to the prarie dogs. Who, now that the winds had kicked up stood out of their little mounds and faced the concrete slab.

"Really makes you wonder. Why do they look like they are praying to the sun as it rises every morning?" said Dwight

"Dunno, maybe they escaped from the traveling circus that came through here and caused all this bad weather we've had lately. Lightning and such I mean." replied Novak in his usual morning stupor before he has had has coffee for the day, all six cups of it. "Wonder what they's worth?" he said loud enough that it sounded like he may have farted.

"Yous two is always seein' things where they's ain't" retorted Harvey, "Tha's why I ordered two bulldozers here to push this slab of concrete over onto this praire dog home, that way I can keep riding my ol' horsey here off into the sunset without worryn' about twistin' her ankle.

And with that almost like a cue in a bad TV show or a bodly written story two enormous bulldozers pulled up. The drivers got out spoke to Harvey and got back into the cabs of their enormous death machines.

Then the clouds that had been hanging over the flat prarie lands erupted in a hailstorm of rain, torrents of wind, and more electricity than Manhattan uses in year.

The air crackled like a thousand whips and hissed louder than a broken gas main. The other men had left fearing for their lives now Dwight and Novak were the only ones left to witness the terrible events that were to follow.

The rain continued to pour down out of the heavens. "I sure hope them prarie dogs have got some place safe to go" said Dwight, when like an angel striking the earth with its terrible fist, lightning struck in the center of the prarie dog complex, twice, obliterating the once fertile earth leaving only the crater and concrete in memory of these faithful creatures.

Dwight straighted up and without a sniffle or batting an eye lash, he got into his truck and drove home where he cried for the poor creatures that had for sometime noe been his only source of amusment in his depressing life.
Dwight fell asleep with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey stowed safely between his legs.

They stood in disbelief, who would have thought that such atrocities would ever exist after the holocaust. The air was heavey with angst and humidity. A palpable hint of blood and fried flesh hung in their nostrils the way a cat clings to curtains.

Dwight walked over to the slab of concrete and with his leathery, hung-over hands. He carefully wrote "In Memoriam" on that enormous slab of concrete.
"Wish I could bury them but twernt no bodies to be found of them little creatures" sniffled Dwight as he turned to walk back to his truck.

Neither of the other men said a word, both regretting their jaded remarks from yesterday. They waited as the sun rose over the slab of concrete.

Cyane's Story | Dana Bell

Rebecca didn't think it could be possible for the war to go on any longer. It had been five years since the war started and her father had been fighting in it for three.

Before he left he left her a box. He told her not to open it until he got home and she never understood why. Rebecca thought this box was beautiful. It was wooden with a craving of a sunrise on the top. On the sides were the Latin words of Hope, Faith, Peace and Light. She couldn't imagine what could be inside; Rebecca just figured it would be a present for her to open when her father came home.

One night she couldn't take it. Rebecca was certain was never going to come home and she wanted to know what he gave her. Rebecca sprung for the box and flipped it open. She was flabbergasted when she looked inside; there was nothing inside.

Rebecca had never felt so discouraged and she couldn't understand why her father wouldn't let her open it. She went to bed that night feel absolutley hopeless.

The next morning something phemonal happened. Rebecca heard on the news the war was over and soilders were coming home. She was even more shocked when in just a day her father finally returned home.

After much tears and embracing Rebecca finally asked her father about the box. He then began to explain that the box contained hope, faith, peace, and light. When Rebecca opened the box it sent forth all these powers which ended the war.

"I don't understand. Why couldn't I open it sooner, maybe you would have never had to go."

"Because I wanted to fight for it," her father replied, "I wanted to prove that it should never be that simple."

Cora's Story | Dany Owens

Groaning, the nurse reluctantly moved to room 309, her least favorite stop on her entire route. Pushing aside the frustration and impatience, she hitched her smile on and stepped into the darkened room.
"Meredith, you need to wake up. I need to give your bath." Her voice echoed softly through the room, awakening her elderly charge.
As always, she reacted with shock, outrage and fear. "Who are you? Where is my husband? Why am I not at home?" Her eyes, always so lost and confused, were probably the reason that the nurse hated this so much. Instead of dignifying those she cared about in their old age, this job had become nothing more than daycare for old confused children.
And, as usual, the nurse responded in the monotone she reserved for this very situation with "Meredith, you're at a tropical resort. You came here when your husband went on his business trip. I'm your personal travel agent." It was, of course, not true. Her husband had been dead for almost a year and her Alzheimers had been coming on for almost as long.

Liz's Story | Yolanda Cowan

The Broken Vase

Morris woke up from his nap and went to get his keys for his truck. When they weren't in the key drawer he went outside to see if he had left them in his truck. His truck was gone. He glanced around and saw George's car.

"If George's car is here then he must be the one who took my truck. If he can take my truck then I will take his car," though Morris.

He climbed in the 1969 Ford Mustang and took it for a joy ride. He experimented to see how well he could maneuver the car around the corners up the canyon road.

He hurried back to the house knowing that if George got home before him there would be trouble. As he pulled up to the house he noticed that George had already returned home with the truck. Morris glanced down long enough to unbuckle his seat belt when the door to the Mustang flew open. George grabbed ahold of Morris by the shirt and jerked him out of the car and onto the ground. He jumped on top of Morris and threw his hands around his neck. He yelled at Morris telling him he had no right to take his car. Morris coutnered with his truck and broke away running into the house. George was in hot persuit. The wind and vibrations by both of the boys running into the house caused their mother's antique vase to crash to the floor into many pieces.

They both immediately ceased fighting and began trying to piece together the boken vase. After 30 minutes they gave up their efforts and decided to hide the vase. They hid the vase in the storage closet on the floor hoping that their mother would think that she had placed the vase on the shelf and it had then fallen to the floor.

Their mother found the pieces a couple days after the crashing event and inquired of the boys what had happened. They both plead innocent and acted as though they knew nothing.

Jackie knew they had broken the vase and was very disappointed in them for lying to her. She could always get a new vase, but she didn't want to lose her trust in the boys because of them lying to her.

Krystle's Story | S. Katie Hill

"Sorry Jacob. I have to cancel our date for next Saturday. It's Meagan's wedding, and I guess I ought to go. Call me when you get the chance.

I left the message on my boyfriend's voicemail. A part of me was glad that he hadn't answered, as I hated canceling dates, but a part of me really wanted to talk to him and apologize. Perhaps he would have convinced me to stay for our movie night and forget all about my family. Against my better judgment, I knew I had to attend Meagan's wedding.

Meagan is my little sister, and we've never gotten along. I honestly haven't talked to her for over a year. I didn't get a formal invitation to her wedding, and I swore I wouldn't go, but she called last night and now I know that the rest of the family will hate me if I don't go. I ordered a plane ticket this morning, and I fly to Oakland in three days.

Our current relationship is based on a lifetime of fights, heartache, and torment. I will admit that I am to blame for this predicament; I was the mean older sister. We started out with a great relationship, sisterly, playing with dolls, dressing up, and giggling. I don't remember exactly when it happened, or what went wrong, but we just stopped being friends. For a while, we stopped being sisters.

Lauren's story | Stephani Walker

Chuck was an ordinary guy with webbed toes who liked cheese and singing in the rain. His dear sick mother needed bread, so he trotted on down to the grocery store with glee after much deliberation on finding the money he needed in the couch crevices and stairway. On the way there he noticed a rather good looking young girl and thought, "I ought to get me one of those!" as most guys do. The thought vanished as his destination came to sight and noticed that she was, in fact, a troll. His seemingly endless two minute walk is abruptly ended when he is shot right in the chest by a dirty thief leaving the store with a bag of money and sweat dripping down his face and onto his overly hairy chest, causing the hairs to poke up fiendishly like the hairs do with static electricity attached.

The look on his face said it all as he felt the cold, piercing bullet enter his body...and then as he gazed rather blankly up and saw strange faces staring down at him with an oxygen mask aiding his breath. One thing was for sure, the vehicle he was in was not pleasant, and he was NEVER going to the grocery store again! How could someone do this to him?! This, my friend, will always be a mystery that will perhaps someday be solved, but for now, his recovery in the hospital is what matters most as the ambulance pummels its way down the barren street.

Jan's Story | Samantha Leming

It was the sixties; a time when the fifties' old world values were finally being thrown into the creek and the new idea of peace and love, and war were just beginning with a flower in every soldier's rifle.

Gabe, however, was a college student in the sixties. He was intelligent, fairly wealthy, and he maintained the required GPA to maintain his student deferment. The end was near in sight for Gabe, and he was nearly salivating at the sweet release from his tedious classes, and the promise of the kind of money his economics major would make him in his new internship.
As the time gained upon him to graduate, the chatter began among the seniors, and Gabe realized fro the first time what graduating really meant. Graduation meant that Gabe was now eligible for the Vietnam Draft, and no deferment could prevent it now.

It was only a matter of weeks after his graduation that the draft board contacted him. The letter came as a shock to him, even thought it was expected. He tried to file for an occupational deferment, but his request was denied, and Gabe was scheduled to arrive at the fort the next day.

Ashleigh's Story | Laura Funk

It was the end of August the end of summer before my junior year of high school. The family vacation that year was to Vancouver Island off the coast of British Columbia, Canada. I met him on one of the boats that ferry to the island. The "vacation" had been hurried, cramped, and irritated...with only enough time to spend one day on the island we tried to pack all the sightseeing in then make the last boat back to the mainland. The day had been long and hot and we were all becoming tired and grumpy; then it didn't help that the boat was delayed. Finally the boat came and we were on our way across the deep water. Feeling the need for fresh air, space and the desire to explore the darkness, I wandered from the cabin onto the deck. Leaning on the railing and gazing out into the misty night, an eerie feeling that I was not alone came over me. Before I could turn around I heard a deep, masculine voice close behind me.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I turned toward the owner of this intriguing voice and found that it belonged to a young man around 18 years of age.

"Y-yes, it is." I finally stuttered, trying to suppress the sudden fluttering in my stomach as I gazed dreamily into the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen.

“It’s amazing how bright the stars are out here, you can see everything.” He pointed to the sky and I grasped the rail and leaned back to watch as he pointed out all the visible constellations. “Those three stars are Orion’s belt and over there is Cassiopeia, the Big Dipper is there…” I lost track of his voice as I became aware of how close he was standing to me. I could feel his left hand brushing against mine on the railing, his chest close to by back and his voice low and as it whispered close to my ear. His right hand moved down my arm and grasped my right hand so he could use my fingers to trace the shapes made by the stars.

I stood, lost in the enchanted tension for a moment as my imagination flashed with all the sappy, romantic stories of strangers in the night falling in love after sharing such a moment. The stranger finished pointing out the stars but didn’t let go of my hand, instead he wrapped his arm around me and with the other hand, swept my hair back and leaned down to kiss my neck. I turned in his arms and touched his clean shaven face gently with my fingertips. He leaned down and I closed my eyes as my head began to swim, feeling the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. His lips no more than brushed against mine when my very first kiss was brought to a sudden end.

“Emily! Emily, where are you?” I jumped and my head snapped back as my little brother’s voice broke the magic of the moment and brought me rudely back to reality. Embarrassed by the interruption the stranger was gone as quickly as he’d arrived. I glared at my little brother and angrily asked what he wanted. He told me the fairy was about to dock so our parents had sent him to find me. As pushed through the crowd of weary travelers my eyes frantically searched for the enchanting stranger who had taken the virginity of my young lips, but he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t even know his name.

Yolanda's story| Liz Sorensen

A popular girl in highschool keeps denying a boy in her school because he isn't as popular as her. She dates all the jerks because they help her image. He doesn't give up and he keeps asking her out until finally she gives him a chance. After about one year of dating, he asks her to marry him. She denys him twice but finally says yes the third time because she has nothing else going on in her life. She basically marries him for practical reasons. She becomes bored with the marriage and they begin to fight. They seperate, and agree to date other people. She dates all different kinds of men and realizes no other man on the earth will ever treat her as well as he did. She realizes she truely is in love with the man she married. She thinks he will just be waiting for her to take him back, but when she tries to get back with him, he isn't sure he wants to. He's met another girl who was good to him from the beginning. He still loves the woman he married but he doesn't know if she deserves a second chance. He gives her one and they have a family and raise it together and live happily ever after.

Laura's Story | Ashleigh Word

Perfection shouldn’t make someone feel like this. Michael couldn’t help the fact his palms were sweaty, and that his stomach got a nauseated feeling every time he saw Allie. He just didn’t understand why his body reacted the way it did. He had been in love with Allie since the sixth grade - ever since the day she had given him a black eye when she pitched a fast ball during PE. She had been his best friend just as long, so he couldn’t comprehend why being near her caused him to sweat profusely and want to vomit. It had taken them so long to get to this point – to agree dating was what they should do - and everything was perfect. Or, at least, it should have been. But if it was, why was his body reacting so poorly?

I’ve wanted to go out with her forever! Why is this happening? We’ve been through so much together, I shouldn’t feel like this. I should be happy, not queasy! I mean, I suffered through her rejecting me for Brett and Todd and even Carl – and who would go out with Carl? I mean, come on, he smells like fish! And who was there every time her heart was broken? Me. And when I couldn’t take it anymore and finally decided to date around like her - and was even happy doing so - she decided to reciprocate feelings that I had discarded. Then, we finally end up on the same page, happy to date each other, to be more than best friends, and what am I doing? I’m having a mental breakdown! I’m not ready for this. What if it all goes wrong? What if I end up hating her, or worse – what if she ends up hating me? I could lose the best friend I ever had. Maybe I’m so nervous because I don’t want a commitment? No, that can’t be it. It’s because I do, but not at the risk of losing her. I have to end this now before it goes any further. There she is. Oh but she’s with Cami. DAMN IT! Oh, Cami’s leaving! Yes! Ok, here I go.

“Allie?”

“Oh, hey Mike! Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

This is never going to work if she is so nice. Why does she have to be so nice?!

“Actually? No. I have something to say.”

“Okay, but I need to tell you first, I don’t think this whole thing, with us dating, is going to work out. I mean, I care about you, but I don’t want to risk losing you in the event we break up. You’ve been my best friend forever, and I don’t want to ruin that because we dated and it didn’t work out.”

I can’t believe it! I didn’t have to do it because she did it for me. Well, I’m a coward, but a coward who still has his best friend! Woo Hoo!

“Mike, are you okay? I really didn’t mean to hurt you now. Please tell me how to fix it.”

But Mike couldn’t tell her how to fix it because nothing was wrong. All he could do was hug her, and let her know everything was okay. In fact, everything was perfect.

Dana's Story | Cyane C. Kramer

Laugharne Castle was an ideal place for a young boy to lose himself. There were twists, turns, and a sufficient amount of decay to delight any impressionable male mentality. Here, in Timothy's mind, was the stable for the horses. There was the kennel for the dogs. This side room by the tower? That, of course, was for the soldiers. Naturally, they were all preparing for war.

Timothy stood on the tip of a stone that jutted from the earth, and he closed his eyes for a few minutes. This was the place where they burned the witches, but there wouldn’t be any burnings today. They would need all the witches to help fight against the invaders.

He breathed deeply and imagined the smell of the stables, kennels, smithies… was that really what a smithy smelled like?

He opened his puzzled eyes, and tumbled from his perch. All around him bustled courtiers, workmen, soldiers, and a broad range of other characters. It was noisy, smoky, and animals were almost as common as people in the crowd. He dodged the feet, stood up, and gazed with wonder at a world that seemed better than he imagined it.

Mother would never believe this story.

Alex Winder's Story | Olivia Creps

This wasn't the first time that I had sat in this waiting room. The nurses knew me by name, and I was beginning to recognize them. My mom sat next to me wringing her old woman hands. I wasn't worried about anything, there was no reason to worry so long as my mom was doing that for me. It was her fault anyway. She was the one that was always saying something to the effect of, "A size eight! Goodness! I never wore anything about a size six!" Yup, I am anorexic. That's why I had become a frequent patient for the last two years at St. Augustine's Medical Center.

"Chill mom," I said re-crossing my legs in the other direction.

She didn't say anything, but that was becoming the norm. When I was younger, my mom and I shared a great mother-daughter relationship, but now I could tell that my mom had a difficult time talking to me.

My mom was really pretty. She always had been, and she always told me how I took more after my father. That always bothered me, and in the end that was the reason why I didn't idolize my mom. I felt as if I was totally different from her. Instead I looked towards the movie stars and rock stars. People laugh at how someone can idolize someone they will never meet or don't know anything about, but it happened to me. That was another reason why I stopped eating.

The doctor walked into the room as I regretted not eating a bite for dinner the night before and told us the news. My mom burst into tears turning her face away from me. It didn't matter though. Suddenly I didn't care much about life anymore. My whole life I would have given anything to be just like the beautiful movie stars I would watch... and that's what I did. I gave up my healthy body to date the football captain! I gave up a healthy mind to be a senseless twit that guys would goggle at... I gave up my only chance to have my own family to be thin.

Kendall's Story | Jessica Pierce

"I can't breathe." I whispered. Immediately I felt stupid for making such a remark because, as you see, I just got shot through my left lung. As I lay on the ground, struggling for air and bleeding to death, the irony of my situation struck me.

This all started when my parent's refused to pay the tax on air. They said it was stupid, we were all living breathing animals so we shouldn't pay for air like it was a commodity. That was the exact same thing I said when the government officials broke into my house. Their reply to me was two options: the door, or the Colt .45. Live and kill others, or die right there. As I look back on it now, I wish I had chosen to die then. I killed four innocent people who had only one sin, breathing.
"I should be dead by now." I mumbled. My head rolled to the side and I stared at my own blood staining the carpet, staining my hands. No, my hands had been stained with blood long before this. It felt like my body was turning to ice, it was numb and unresponsive. Death should come for me now, I thought to myself. I faced the ceiling again and Death loomed over me. Not exactly, Death doesn't carry a revolver. The man pointed the gun at my forehead, and without hesitation pulled the trigger.

Colin Maynes' story | Anthony Luciani

Bullets were flying at me through the trees. I couldn't see any of the other people in my brigade. Further out into the jungles there were noises of machine guns and tanks going off. Their rattles through the air sent shivers down my spine as I ran through the underbrush.

Suddenly, there was an explosion behind me. I flew into the air fourty or fifty feet. Before I knew it I was on the ground in pain. The last thing I remembered was looking up at my brigade's faces standing all around me. My eyes slowly closed as conciousness left my body.

"It's every man for himself," was what I heard the general say.

That was thirty five years ago. Now the war was over. As I understood from one of my companions, John, who told me what transpired after blacked out, they were all courtmarshaled for disobeying a superior officer. He said that they carried me to a nearby medic against the general's orders. When we came home, he said, the general punnished them by discharging us all.

Last night I recieved a phonecall from John. He always held a grudge against the general for kicking us out of the army and I wouldn't blame him.

"What the general did to us was terribly unfair," he said, "You could have died out there and he did nothing. He was going to leave you in that jungle. Well I happen to be the guy who recently installed a security system in the bank he owns. I can easily shut it off and we can make off with all his money. So are you in?"

Oliva Crep's Story | Alexandra Winder

Dear Mom,
Today I write with a heavy heart. I thought it was just a phase he was going through, but it’s not. He hit me again. The first time I thought it was because he was stressed at work, and he acted truly repentant, he made it up to me in so many ways, I had almost wished he’d hit me all the time so he’d do that much to help around the house, but the second time it happened it took two days for him to bring flowers and say sorry, but that was all. Today I have a black eye, split cheekbone, and I think I have a few broken ribs.
I never thought I’d fall into that "abusive relationship" category. I’m not the type of woman that would let her husband get away with beating, but I’m letting him. It’s tearing me apart. I love him so much, still! Then there’s Maggie… He hasn’t done anything to her, and I couldn’t leave him and still get custody of her. I have no skills. I regret every moment now that I dropped out of high school! I’ve talked to Stephen repeatedly about getting my GED and taking college classes at night, but he won’t let me. He swears he’ll always be around to take care of me and our children. What would people think of me if I left?
I need to go, I think he’s home…

Samatha's Story| Jan Wilbur

I am as lucky as any girl could be. I met Jerod my sophomore year in high school, we started dating immediately and have been together ever since. He is so much fun to be with, he really cares about me and we belong to the same church. He was called to go on his mission when he was nineteen and was being sent to Argentina. I did not know how I was going to manage without him. I know I am going to be so lonely.
I decided I would go back to school and keep busy to keep my mind off of being by myself. I met some really nice people and made some good friends, one that maybe I shouldn"t have met. His name is Michael and I met him at a church dance. He is eight years older than me, more like a man than a boy and I have never known anyone like him. He treats me like no one ever has and makes me feel like a queen.
Now I am going to have to break it off with Jerod and I know it will be a lot easier if I send him a letter instead of having to look him in the eyes. It may not be fair, but I won't be seeing him for another year and that leaves open the possibility that one of his friends might tell him what I am up to and I think that would even be worse than getting a letter from me.

What were we suppose to call this? | Cora Bryan

She touched the swollen eye with her hand to confirm its reality. She could barely see her reflection through the throbbing, purple, tissue. She took a long decisive breath and turned the car on. She looked at her three boys in the back seat. The oldest was about three and the youngest still just a baby. No more. Her children were going to be safe this time. She put her hand up to readjust the rearview mirror and hesitated. There hung her mother’s Rosary. Memories of her mother began to intervene. To leave him would mean excommunication from the church.
But it was too late. He lay there, passed out; drunk, and the police would be there soon. She looked back at the kids. The toddler had bruises up and down his arms. Boiling water left burn scars on the three-year-old’s leg. It was either him or them.
She put the car into gear and left, not knowing where to go. Three days later, away and safe, there would be a knock on the door. The police came to deliver the news of her husband’s death; how he hung himself in jail. She would try to think of the days when he was a good husband, before he fought in the war. Yet she could not forget the beatings, the weeks of not knowing where he was… the alcohol. And yet, in his sin he would give her freedom and withdraw impending purgatory.

Punchline | Morgan Haynes

Nindians & Pilmans

It was Thanksgiving time, the leaves were turning, the air was crisp and my little niece Savannah was full of excitement. There were pictures of pilgrims and turkeys all around her classroom. That day the preschool students had drawn their very own personal turkey using their hand as the blueprint. The teacher had read them a story about the pilgrims and the Indians and their first Thanksgiving Feast.

Savannah came home all excited, sharing her grand turkey picture, oh so proud that she knew all about thanksgiving. She was telling me about the thanksgiving story in great detail, all the while her eyes big with excitement and awh. What a story she could tell about how the “Nindians” and “Pilmans” joined together in friendship. She animatedly told of how they shared the corn that they grew and about all of the resources they had to create this first thanksgiving feast.

We too had been planning our Thanksgiving dinner and I was telling Savannah who we had invited to share that special thanksgiving and what we were planning for our family meal. All of the sudden that happy excited face turned very serious, those big round eyes narrowed, and a furrowed brow appeared. Rather concerned she said "Auntie how are we going to get a turkey? My daddy doesn't even have a gun."

Punchline | Krystle Whitney

I have always been told that I have a way with words. In silent games I am often the first to loose, having a hard time keeping my mouth shut. In life I have always dreamed about being a great writer. So, you can guess that it is no surprise that even at the young age of two, my mother often found me repeating words I heard from all around me.
One evening, while my father was away in one of his university classes, my mother heard me exclaim in quite a loud voice, “Oh damnit!!”.
Her eyes widened in shock!
“Krystle!!” she said. “We don’t say that!!”
Having no idea why I had upset her, I looked up with the most innocent, big eyes and said; “Only daddy can?!”

Punchline | S. Katie Hill

My first family trip to Disneyland was when I was only eight months old. Although I am unable to remember any of my experiences there, I'll never be able to forget what I've been told.

I sat on my dad's lap as we rode the train through the park. A little boy, about four-years-old came and sat down next to us. My dad, being the talkative, friendly man that he is said to me, "Katie, say hello to this nice little boy."

The child, disgusted at his idea, replied: "She's just a baby. Babies can only say goo-goo and ga-ga."

At that moment, I turned to face him and uttered my first compound word, "A--hole."

punchline| Tina Coleman

The other day I got a call from an unknown number. "hello?" I said. "hello! How are you?!" Came the male voice. "great!" I said, still trying to figure out who this young man was. His next response brought a smile to my face. "I was just thinking about you, as usual, and thought I would give you a call" I must admit, I was quite flattered. I had quite a few prospects of guys I would love to date and was trying to figure out which on it was. Knowing I would probably lessen my chances with him by not knowing who it was I finally asked "um...who is this?" He jubilantly responded with: "What?! This is Wilson!" That's when my mind started racing. Crap. I forgot him. Then he asked for my name and replied "oops. I got the wrong number." I Should've known it was too good to be true.

Punchline|Lauren Perry

So, this past weekend, I decided to be brave and tell the love of my life what I thought about him. The love of my life was actually my recently ex-boyfriend of three years and the person I swore I was going to marry. The only reason we broke up was to "be young". But, I was tired of it and wanted my Sunflower back. So, I gathered up my bravery as I am not a very mushy person, and I dialed the phone, and in my bravest voice before it broke into a reckless sob, I told him of how he was my only true love and how he meant the world to me, that there was no one lese, and how I missed washing his laundry. And his reply after a big pause was, "I don't want to date you". And thus I have learned fairytales are a load of crap.

punchline/ Liz Sorensen

One of my best friends has a younger brother that was planning to be in the elementary school talent show. He'd been practicing his cute little poem for weeks and his parents and grandparents were all going to be at the talent show to hear him recite his poem. The poem was something about a little boy who kept trading things like one dollar for two pennies because two is better than one. It was a poem a cute a little elementary school student would say.
His parents were in the audience with the video camera recording and his grandparents were right by their sides. The little boy walked up on to the stage, cleared his throat and recited "A mexican and a black person are riding in a car. Who's driving?"
The audience went silent and heads turned toward his parents. Then he went on to finish his joke "Neither of them are, the cop is!"

Punchline | Laura Funk

Last year I lived in a house in West Valley City, Utah with a bunch of girls. There were five of us who paid rent, then a few more who regularly took up "residence." I knew all the girls before we moved in together, we'd been friends for around 3 years. One day during the summer we were in our back yard having a small barbeque. The neighbors were noisy, always in their back yard, which adjoined ours, with loud music playing. I was standing at the barbeque with my roommate Melissa. We'd known each other for years but had never really bonded into close friends. Suddenly she turned to me and with a somber face questioned, "Laura, why can't we be friends?" I was stunned and confused.
"But Melissa, I thought we were friends!" I answered. A huge smile came over her face and she began to laugh. I stood there, dumbfounded for a moment, searching the yard for an explanation. Suddenly the words of the song coming from our neighbor's sound system filtered into our conversation. "Why can't we be friends? Why can't we be friends?" I turned back to my roommate who was still consumed in a fit of laughter. "Ok, Melissa, I guess we can be friends!"

Punchline | Yolanda Cowan

We had experienced a down-pour of a rainstorm one day. The following day the ground was left wet and muddy. My four-year-old insisted on going outside to play in his dirt pile. After some debating comversation, I agreed to let him play outside. I was in the house folding laundry when my son came in. He stopped at the edge of the tile entry way and proclaimed he had to get something. When I questioned him and what he needed, he stated he needed to get that black "axe-hammer" thing. It's one of his dad's hammers that has a black head and wooden handle. It is square at one end and tapered to a point at the opposite end. (I don't know the name for it) My son calls it an axe-hammer. I began to explain to him that he couldn't take daddy's tools out and get them wet and dirty. They could rust and get ruined. I kindly advised him to get one of his plastic hammers instead. He thought for a quick second, looked towards his room then back at me with a disgruntled expression and stated, "But my plastic hammer will get all muddy and ruined too. The paint will come off."

There was no arguing at that point.

Punchline | Colin Maynes

Well, to completely honest I was relatively innocent until about my sophmore year of high school until then I basically just winged it. Whatever cool movies, songs, stories floated around high school I justs stayed on the sidelines and at the appropriate time I would say, "Yeah, that was awesome!!" Since then, I have learned to keep my mouth shut until I actually have something to contribute rather than white noise. One such occasion occured as such.
I was one of my A.P. classes and someone had mentioned how my friend Neil had basically been accosted at a urinal by some girl over spring break. Naturally I opened my mouth and my catch phrase spewed out "Yeah, that was awesome!!" and of course, I was called on my lie. "Dude you weren't there this happened in Mexico and we spent the entire time skiing and chilling." I turned as red as Tabasco sauce and said that I had heard the story from some kid in the hall before class. And after that an embarrassing silence setteled in the room and everyone started talking with their neighbor about whatever had they had done over the weekend.
That was embarrassing...

Punchline | Dany Owens

Once upon a time, in a faraway land called Seventh grade Sleepover, there lived three girls, all long time friends. Long considered the "three musketeers," we would always spend our Friday nights together, the only variation being the location and the latest crush du jour.
During the course of one giggly late night discussion, somehow the concept of artificial insemination came to the forefront. Don't ask me how, or why, it just did.
My friend and I blushed and laughed uproariously for upwards of thirty seconds, enjoying a good laugh on an embarrassing topic.
More laughs ensued when the third girl, looking a little puzzled, asked us to explain it to her. We resisted for all of two minutes, enjoying the feeling of "I know something you don't know."
Finally, when she prevailed upon us and the basic idea was set forth, all she had to say was "What's the fun in that?"

Punchline | Ashleigh Word

Most of the time my family is continuously on-the-go and never has the time to stop and have dinner together. The night in question was an exception. Instead of the usual "fin-for-yourself" meal, my father had made Chinese and the entire family had gathered around the table to eat and enjoy each other's company.

At the end of the meal, my mother saw an advantage and seized it. Sending my little brother off to get her scriptures, we were told none of us could leave the table. Pinned to our seats by Mom's stubborn wish to read together right then, and Dad's fear of consequence if he didn't back her up, we all calmly read through that night's chapter, most of us distracted by thoughts of other engagements and assignments we needed to be doing.

When we finished, my father, being the joking soul that he is, decides he's going to tease his daughters, most specifically my younger sister Kaity. Although she is a brunette and quite intelligent, Kaity often has so-called "blonde moments," where she spaces entirely and says or does something completely out of character. On the particular evening, Kaity was relaying a blonde moment from earlier in the day in which she had used a word incorrectly in a conversation, and completely humiliated herself, and thus earned the loving torment of my father and the family. Despite our constant teasing, she continually tried to defend herself by backing up her story, telling us she really is smart and that she doesn't appreciate being called a blonde, yet we couldn't help but tease her. Her reaction was classic - red cheeks, stubborn denial - it was strictly textbook embarrassment! Finally Kaity was fed up! Instead of trying to argue with us any longer and change our minds, she slammed her hands on the table and said, "Can we just read scriptures now?!"

Punchline | Cyane Kramer

There we were: four roommates, one boyfriend (not mine), and me. We were waiting in line for the Haunted Hospital here in Cedar, and it was taking longer than usual to get started due to a bad generator that stopped supplying power every so often.

I’m not big about ‘haunted experiences.’ I feel that they’re superficial, and I would much rather laugh at it than listen to everyone else scream. However, I had been dragged along anyway, and I was resolved to have a good time, even if I were the only one laughing.

Sure enough, once we entered the building of self-inflicted fear, everyone zipped together into a tight pod of protection.

There was no danger. Just a lot of fake blood and glow-in-the-dark goo. I would occasionally wave to the actors and compliment a random aspect about them, simply because I found it all to be mildly boring. Especially the mandatory chainsaw man; he didn’t know how to react to someone who waved and smiled.

One character, however, got on my nerves. I said hello, and she followed me, repeating ‘hello, hello, hello’ until I was almost convinced it was a grown-up version of my niece. Any attempt I made at holding a conversation resulted in a new soundtrack for the broken record; a record which sometimes couldn’t repeat what I said accurately.

“How are you?” “How are you, how are you, how are you, how are you…” “What’s your name?” “What’s your name, what’s your name?” “C.C.” This is where it got interesting. “Stacy, Stacy… oh, shoot. The power is out again. Hey, guys, hold around for a minute."

Punchline / Sierra Ehrman

When I was in high school, my family and I lived in Monticello, Utah, and we lived about 15 miles out of town. Because my oldest sister was already moved out and away to college, I was the next oldest and had my license, so I drove my other two sisters to school every morning. Our rule in our family is whoever is driving picks the station that we listen to, unless that person doesn't care.
"They play this song so many times!" My sister said as we were listening to the radio and driving to school one morning.
"I know, but I like it so much!" I replied. "I love the way Garth Brook's voice sounds in it, and I can't believe that him and Usher actually sang a song together, they are so different." I explained to her, matter-of-factly.
"Um, Sierra, this is Tim McGraw and Nelly."

Punchline | Dana Bell

It was Friday afternoon and I was helping my friend Ashlee babysit before we had to go to the Drama One Acts. (One Acts is basically when you perform a mini play that is only about 20 minutes.) The phone rang and Ashlee went and answered, it was a fellow drama student, Matt, and he needed a ride to the One Acts, but he had to be there soon. Now, there was no one left to watch the baby so Ashlee had to watch the baby until someone came home. I told her that I would pick up Matt, drop him off, and then pick her up and we were hoping someone would be there to wacth the baby by then.

Now, this was very nerve-racking and I was defintley feeling rushed. So after I picked up my friend Matt we sped (literally) to the high school. About 10 feet away from the high school we heard the dreadful siren. Yes, there was a police car right behind me. When the cop came up I asked if it was okay if my friend could leave and I would wait while he wrote the ticket out. He said it was okay and after Matt left the cop told me I was going 46 in a 25 zone (oops!). After I got my ticket and a lecture I swung around to pick up Ashlee (being more mindful of my speed).

Ashlee and I got to the One Acts a little late, but were still able to see them all. After I was going to a cast party, for a show I stage manage, and the whole time I was driving I was thinking about how I was going to tell my Dad. When I got home that night I showed my Dad my ticket; trust me my Dad's lecture was about 10 times worse than the Cop's. I felt so bad and I just truged up to my room after feeling like crud. The next day my Dad and I didn't really talk about the ticket, but I knew it still had to be paid for by me going to traffic school.

The next day was Sunday and I was sitting and eating breakfast when my Dad came in. He had just gotten back from picking up my Grandma from the airport. The first thing my Grandma said to me was, "I hope you are a better driver than your father! He just got a speeding ticket!"

Punchline | Stephani Walker

So there I was, sitting in the grand killer class of the day…Seminary. Doing the usual, trying to ignore one of the most annoying human beings on planet earth in front of me and trying to pay attention (a very tough job). Then, out of nowhere, the quiet, sweaty room gets robbed of its silence. A blond cheerleader, (might I say more) out of nowhere, says something that I will never forget as long as there is humor and stupidity on the earth.

She perks her tiny frame up in front of me, looks directly at the annoyance (they are friends, go figure) and says “Yes, he was on a de ja vu”, or something to that appeal. I then start laughing hysterically, because even the stupid kid (his name is Josh) is like “uh…de ja vu?” And she’s like “yeah!” “De-ja-vu” like we are all numb skulls and tries to explain herself.

So she starts “you know when someone takes a trip…to somewhere?” The teacher’s attention has been caught by this time and he just starts cracking up. Then Br. Williams, being the awesome retarded Seminary teacher that he was, says slylyl, “So, he went on a de ja vu eh?” with a curious look of meaning on his face. Chelsea, then ecstatic that someone finally gets what she is saying, says “Yes!”

Br. Williams then gaps the loopiest grin I have ever seen, and looks into her eyes and says “Dear, I think you mean rendezvous”.

Punchline | Olivia Creps

Visiting, one of the rare occasions to grace my family with. Of course the visit was for a funeral, so that wasn't too exciting, but at least I would get to see my family. I had only been there for six hours and my mother, Val, had already lost her glasses twice. That's not including the other times that she had lost her glasses the last time I had visited. They were usually discovered right where she thought she had placed them too.

The day of the funeral arrived and we all woke early so that we could have time to get ready. We were there on time. The only thing amiss was that my mom had left her glasses somewhere again and couldn't find them.

The funeral was for my mother's, mother's mother. So being the daughter, my grandmother stood to speak. She looked solemn as did the rest, but to start off her speech she said, "I have so many pairs of glasses in my purse that I just grabbed one out. I hope you don't mind that I am going to use yours Val."

Punchline | Jessica Pierce

One day at lunch it was me, my little brother Jeremy and my mother and we got talking about TV shows we liked. I teased my little brother about a shirt he was wearing and he called me "MOpra" for Martha Stewart and Opra. Naturally I was upset, those just happened to be two of my least favorite female celebrities. I returned with "50 MMs" for 50 cent and Eminem. That made my little brother infuriated. He started ranting, "Y'all are racist!! I'm the original white rapper, ya might of heard of me. My name was Skittles." My mother who had been silent this entire time burned him with, "Are you sure it wasn't Keebler you Cracker."

Here's another:

My family and I were watching TV together and a commercial came on. It's one that I'm sure everyone's seen countless times. It's where a lady drives-thru and picks up her dry cleaning and the man in the car behind her is attractive. She tells the laundry lady that she'll pay for some of his shirts and leaves her card for him.
My dad loves to analyze everything and he said with a little disgust in his voice. "How does she know he's not married?" My mom without missing a beat replies, "Because he's picking up his own laundry."

Punchline | Teresa Poast

My whole family was at my grandmother's house for dinner, and she was busy cooking. She doesn't really like steak and potatoes, she's more of a gourmet type of person, but she was cooking it for my dad, mom, grandfather and I because we all love it. Dinner was finally ready, and we all sat down to eat. Every few seconds, she kept asking, "is everything alright?" or "how's your food everybody?". Finally, my dad looked at her and said, "mom, the food is wonderful, why do you keep asking?"

"Well," said my grandmother, "it's really hard to cook for people you don't like."

Punchline/Collette Charles

The kitchen was a mess. Yes, a huge portion of it was mine, but since I cleaned the entire apartment last friday, I just didn't feel much shame for a few dirty pots and pans. And besides, everyone else who lives with me is sloppy, too, moreso even. And I planned to clean it just as soon as my homework situation was under control.
So with all these thoughts in my overwhelmed mind, I walked into the wreck-of-a-kitchen, set on a drinking a glass of orange juice, not expecting to be ambushed. Boy, was I wrong. Melissa, one of my roommates, has developed a recent fondness for the "F-word", and she found now to be the time to use it.

"Collette! Are you ever going to get around to cleaning your f***ing dishes? This kitchen is disgusting!"

This was yelled in full Melissa volume, which to say the least, is earsplitting. Hands on hips, high ponytail shaking in anger, she points her finger at me, (no, not the middle one). "This mess has been here for two days now. Don't you think it's about time you gave the rest of us some kitchen room?"

With this I snapped. My day had been hard, classes taxing, my workout at the gym tiring, and on top of that, I'd gained four pounds. I was homesick, emotional, and fat. This was not the time to mess with me. I let her have it. Yelling, waving my hands around, the whole deal. The surprise on her face would have made me laugh, had I not been screaming at the top of my lungs already. I told her she could clean it for all I cared, that I was going to mess up the whole house, and I didn't really care. With this, I picked up a paper off the counter, ripped it up, and scattered the pieces all over the house. By this time, the entire apartment and neighbors next door are watching me, mouths hanging open in disbelief. My normally calm dispostion had been forgotten, destroyed. And it felt so good.

Melissa and I stared at each other, and suddenly both started crying. And laughing. As I walked toward her for a hug, she covered her face with her hands and ducked. "I thought you were going to hit me." She choked out, as we held each other, somehow feeling that everything was ok.

Punchline/Staci Wilson

"Let's make like a zit and head!" Brandon said, walking towards and then out the door. I loved all his dumb little mannerisms and sayings. Someday I would be as smart and witty as my brother. At least, that's what I thought when I was 13. But when I actually tried to make my own little joke, it went horribly wrong.

I tried for about an hour to come up with a fun little saying that I could reiterate when I would leave the house, like my big brother, but when I finally came up with one I had no one to practice on except my mother. So, being the confident young soul that I was, I charged into my mother's room and told her I had a fun joke to tell her, like Brandon.

Being the attentive mother she was, she turned off the TV and put her full attention on me and I said, very very carefully,

"Let's make like a split and pea!"

...Laughter was all I could hear the next while.

Punchline | Alexandra Winder

In my hometown there isn’t a lot to do during the summer. Most kids go to the swimming pool everyday, which we did a lot as kids, but we also went to one of the four reservoirs we have around Blanding.

When you have a boat, or just a little extra time, it was always a treat to get to go swimming at the reservoir. For some reason it’s better than the filtered pool that’s highly chlorinated to disguise the fact that people pee in it. No, instead we’d rather go to a place with no filter, lots of fish, their guts, and who knows what else. It just seemed more adventurous. There were no crawdads in the swimming pool we could catch and torture.

One day, when I was about three or four, my dad decided he was going to take my older brothers and I to the reservoir to get us out of my mom’s hair for awhile, so he told each of us to go get our swimming suits, towels and some shoes on. Well, I was excited to be going, so I ran up to my room, threw on my suit, grabbed a towel, and put on my cowboy boots. When I came marching down the stairs, my dad looked up and sighed, then said, “Honey, those aren’t reservoir shoes.”

I looked at him defiantly and said, “But Daddy, I can’t find my dam shoes!”

Punchline | Samantha Leming

Everyday, immediately after class, I head off to work at Lins Bakery, a place where I have worked, quite happily, for the past five months. I work nights, but that hasn't prevented me from becoming fairly good friends with my manager, Shauna. Shauna reminds me a lot of my mother; they're both white, middle-aged, stubborn managers. In my time there, I've also come to know some regulars, and that takes time. Especially when it comes to Shauna's children. This fact became especially poignant one day a few weeks ago, when I was working with one of our newer employees, Corinn.

Shivonne, Shauna's daughter, came into the store that day, and sure enough, made a bee line for the bakery to see her mother. The young, quite pretty, black woman was nine months pregnant (due this week), and had her two children in tow. Both the children went running into the bakery shouting for Grandma, and were eagerly scooped up by Shauna. Corinn was introduced before long, and then the visit was shortly over.

Not long afterward, Corinn looked at me and said, "Wow! Shauna's daughter-in-law is really pretty." Everyone started snickering, and so I felt the need to tell the truth, that Shivonne was actually Shauna's daughter, not her daughter-in-law. Well, as I explained this, Shauna approached, having heard the laughter of my coworkers and I.

"What's so funny?" She asked, and I told her what had happened. Shauna reiterated the fact that Shivonne was her daughter, and was about to elaborate when Corinn spoke up again, asking, "Well, how did that happen?" Shauna looked at her, a smile on her face.

"You're eighteen Corinn, do I need to explain that?"

Punchline | Alyssa Sanders

I have a friend named Brandon Ellot, he witnessed this and then told it to me. He was taking an exam in his Biology 1010 class which has about 160 students in it. It was a timed exam and when the period was over the professor told the students to put their pencils down. This one kid in the class kept writing away as everyone else started filtering out of the classroom. When the student finally finished and went to turn in his test the professor said that he would be forced to give him a zero on the exam. The boy just looked at the teacher, cut the pile of tests and placed his in the middle. He then walked away while replying, " It's a shame you don't know my name."

Punchline | Anthony Luciani

I used to live in an apartment complex in Nevada. I was the only guy in my family since my father and mother were separated. Accross the street from the complex we had an Albertsons which was very convenient.

One day while my family and I were coming home my mother said to my sister that they needed 'napkins'. Thinking that I would do something nice, I decided to walk to the store and pick some up. I came back and told them what I had done and showed the 'napkins' I had bought. My mother started laughing. After she was finnished my mother explained to me that she was talking about femanine napkins not table napkins.

Punchline | Cora Bryan

I was scheduled to work in the Alzheimer’s unit. The scrubs hid my pregnant belly rather well, and I wore pigtails because at the time, it was the easiest way to keep my short hair back.

We had one more person to get up. She was Hispanic and could understand English, but could only speak Spanish, thinking that she was speaking the same language. I tried to take her to the bathroom were I would help get her dressed, but for some reason, she wouldn’t let me. She just rambled on and on about niña and something I couldn’t understand. I tried to guide her and pull her up but “oh, no, no, no.” She would say. Then she’d start to ramble again. I tried to show her cloths and explain what I would do. She just laughed and said something I could not comprehend. I even said “Porfivor…” Still nothing.

Finally I came up with the brilliant plan of getting an interpreter on the phone. Turned out, the women thought I was too little to do this sort of stuff, and she didn’t want a girl to see her like that. Realizing it was a mistake to wear pigtails, I tried to explain to her that I was really an adult. She would not believe me. So, I showed her my belly. She looked confused. I pulled my scrubs tight against my belly so she could see I was pregnant, than I pointed at it. “Bambino” I said, not realizing that was an Italian word. I could see the wheels turning in her head though. Then her eyes started to grow and I thought, good, she finally gets it. But those eyes got real big and I it was then I could tell that this wasn’t good. She took a deep breath while I held mine and shaking her finger she said:

“OOO! HOOCHIE MAMA!”

Needless to say, the other aid had gotten her up. And I will always remember never to wear pigtails in the Alzheimer’s unit again.

The Punchline | Kendall Pack

"Do you want a comedy?" I asked this question quite liberally throughout the conversation.

This particular exchange was for the purpose of creating a plot for a short film that my Comrade, Brad(Hey, that rhymes), had to write and direct for a multimedia class. Bradley, being the artistic chap that he is, wanted a poignant ten-minute film that would stand out.

"No, no comedy, I want horror or suspense or just creepy drama." The voice he used to get his point across was one of the more nauseating you might hear.

But we must obey the director. We began to brainstorm. The first plan was a suspenseful film in which the protagonist is pursued through the forest. The first problem arose. There was to be no violence in the film. Therefore, the implied previous murders, the mention of death, and the overall air of the horribly inevitable maiming could not be used.

Then what about a drama? Three friends disappear. It is a chilling tale of their remaining friend as he slowly forgets them. At the end, a sequence where they are all sitting at a table. The three friends leave, behind them, their final compadre lost forever. Brilliant! The turn of events, the use of color, themes!

"No," Spake the Bradley, "I don't like it."

We sifted through another fifteen half-hearted ideas, then gave up. I was forlorn, broken, and Bradley the same. Could we not think of one film? But then Bradley spoke, and ten minutes later we had the basis for our film. What did he say to change the tides of our failure?

"Hey," said he, "How about we do a comedy?"

An Occasion | Kendall Pack

The murder of a fly is not the simple task it used to be. That is, not for me, at least. The particular homicide of which I write occurred at the home of a friend. But it began about ten minutes earlier when I left my house. I was on my way over to the home of my compatriot to eat dinner. As I stepped out onto the front porch, a cold gust of wind blew along the apartment's side. I buttoned my jacket up to my neck and began to walk.

I have often heard of the difficulty of catching a fly. There is a humorous anectdote of a man who, while trying to catch a fly, cut himself up very badly by breaking the windows, trying to slap the demon. He bled to death while the fly exited through the window. But it has been my blessing to be patient in the catch. I wait for a long while and I let the fly land on my hand. Then, while the plague-bearer searches my palm, I snatch it. This applies to the story because on this particular day, a fly landed on my hand.

As I walked down the steps of the apartment complex, a relatively slow fly landed on my hand. I let it strut onto my awaiting palm and then the trap slammed shut. I stood for a moment, feeling the fly buzz in my fist. I began to wonder what I should do with the winged fiend. Then I began to walk. I knew exactly what to do. I made my way to my colleague's home very slowly, contemplating the fly.

In my past, the plan was to get the fly swatter, open the back door, and kill every fly that entered. But that was the days when all I wanted was to kill without any thought other than hitting a target. Now my mindset has changed. I have learned that we must find a more lasting enjoyment.

I entered my destination. Two of my friends were on the stairs. They asked why I was in such a hurry(for I was)and I answered, "..." nothing. I arrived at their front door and entered. They followed me into the bathroom where I filled the sink with cold water. When the sink was full, I plunged my hand into it. "Oh my!" They wondered, "Has he been in a fight?" I held my hand under the water for a long while to make sure my little friend was waterlogged. Then I glided to the kitchen where I disposed of the creature in a trash can.

"What was it, Kendall?" They asked. "Nothing but a harmless little fly, my dears." I answered. Perhaps I shall be more discreet in the future, for I was severely reprimanded for my actions. I don't understand the female gender at all. One moment they want the insect dead and the next, I am the insect. Well then, smash me.

Punchline Assignment | Dr. Petersen

You remember my story about my friend Ben, the one that ended, "Dad, that's a threesome? Your next assignment, as I mentioned in class, is to write a short tale that works on the same model. It has to be true.

See you in class. It looks like we're going to have a great workshop for the next two weeks.

Ocassion | Dana Bell

Hospitals creep me out. I always hated going to visit people because I was afraid to see people suffering. Luckily, I had never been checked into a hospital and I was hoping I never would be till I gave birth. Unfortunatley, for me, on October 1st, 2006 I was checked into a hospital.

All day Saturday I was feeling sick with a sharp pain in my right side. At about 1 in the morning I started to throw up and I was constantly throwing up for the next two hours. I knew that this wasn't normal, so I woke up my friend Charly to take me to the hospital. It took a few hours till a doctor came in because there were other patients before me, including someone who was shot in the face. While I was waiting I was lying on a cold bed and still throwing up. I was living in a nightmare.

When the doctor finally came to see me it took him about a minute to diagonse me with appendicitis. I called my parents immediatly and told them I needed to surgery and I wanted them to come down. After I called them they gave me morphin. After that I was out! I would wake up sometimes feel really dizzy and go back to sleep. After it wore off I woke up to find my parents eating Wendy's in front of me. I wanted to cry because I was so hungry.

They finally rolled me into the surgery room. All I remember was screaming when they put in the medicine to make me fall asleep (it felt like being stung by 20 bees). I then remember waking up back in my room and them adjusting me. I didn't like this and I swiped my hand at the nurse, but then I went back to bed. The rest of the night was awful. I basically laid in my bed watching Disney Channel all night, because I couldn't sleep. Also every hour my nurse would come in take my blood pressure and my tempature. It was night from Hell.

The next day I traveled three hours back home with my Dad. I spent all week lying on my couch, eating J-ello, watching movies, and accepting visitors. It was probably the worst thing that could happen at college my freshman year, at midterm, and when I also had to post this blog a week earlier than I did.

Punchline| Jan Wilbur

Maybe it's just me but it seems like people move through stores without paying any attention to the people coming towards them or the things going on around them. They are going to stay on path regardless of who or what is coming their way. I work in a retail store and we have to drive forklifts and other equipment through the store aisles while people are shopping. The lifts horn is beeping and lights are flashing and it is being led by a flag person. One time on a crowded day I was driving and another associate was flagging me. We came up to an aisle and let the people through. We started to proceed when one lady, dragging her husband along, walked in front of us and stopped to look at something at the end of the aisle (horn still beeping) then she proceeded to the next end of aisle to look at something else. Four aisles later she noticed us, gave her husband a bump, squinted up her chubby little face and screeched in her screechy little voice to her husband, "get out of their way".

An Occasion | Colin Maynes, First Kiss

Have you ever heard the joke "Every ten seconds someone thinks about Abraham Lincoln? Well now you will." I had heard this joke while I was on the date where I recieved my first kiss.

The date started like most other during that time of my life, as a joke. I had subscribed to the Fight Club mentality for women that being "We are a generation of men raised by women, we have no war no great depression, I don't think another woman is really going to solve our problems" Simply put, I didn't want to complicate my life.

I had asked out the head cheerleader out on a dare and she had actually accepted my invitation to -- The Junior Prom. I though she would have thought of some creative way to say no and insult me(as I had done to her once or twice). But, she said yes and we had wonderful date: dressing eachother at the D.I., going to the Hogal Zoo in our transexual outfits, and dinner at Cafe Madrid. And, finally the dance, pictures, and after party.

Prior to this I had never kissed a girl, it had never even been anything I wanted. I drove to her house with a mix of Atreyu, Goldfinger, and Bush serenading us. I said good night from the driver seat, she asked me if I would walk her to the door. I didn't want to get cold outside but what could I do, she had afterall said yes to me. I walked her to the door and wished her well, promising to call her soon. She said good night in a sultry voice that makes your heart crunch into a tiny ball and jump into your throat. Her eyes looked into mine and I could see the reflection of my dyed and punked out hair in her light green pupils. I couldn't move. I couldn't run, breath, or think. Have you ever seen 2001 Space Odyssey? This was like that moment when Kubrick made all the lights and colors move past you in the first person. That's what this was like except I couldn't fast forward to the good part. Our lips touched and stereotyes were destroyed and only her sweet lips existed.

I got back into my car and turned down the music, I wanted to lock this moment away forever. When all of a sudden a joke I had heard earlier that day jumped into my head and I couldn't stop thinking about Abraham Lincoln.

Occasion | Morgan Haynes

Hallways have never felt so long, my heart never so desperate. As he pressed his sweet hand across his hardened plastic mask, and whispered the word "Off", the unforgiving reality struck. Our entire family gathered around him, each placing their loving hands against his deteriorating body as the nurse removed his mask. The moment that I had dreaded my entire life lay seconds away and directly in front of me. My spirit ached deeper than I could have ever imagined possible and my heart pained immeasurably.

A million thoughts rushed to my mind. Have I told you how wonderful you are? Do you know how much joy you have brought into my life? Did I show you how much you mean to me? Was it enough? Do you know how much I love you?

I begged over and over, "God please just let me trade places" “I don’t want him to go!” All I wanted to do was scream out in desperation, but it was a though no one could here me.

I remember knowing that the right thing to do was to let him go to a place where he would no longer suffer. But my selfish heart kept pleading "Just one more second Shawn, Please don't go!"

I stood there watching our mother's hand rub gently down his face as she softly whispered "It's ok my baby, go home now, you have fought a good fight...." It was in this very moment I witnessed the truest extent of a mother's love. She held him and loved him right in, all the way through, and out of this world.

As he took his last breath a part of my life was lost forever. My brother, my friend, my hero was no longer going to be there across the hall. Who was going to tease me? What about helping me with my homework? Who was going to sing "Friends in Low Places" in oversized cow boy boots with me? Who is going to tell me I look beautiful when I wake up with crazy hair and smeared make up?

My entire life I had dreaded this moment, but as I stood there with our family surrounding him, I realized that watching him struggle to breathe, to walk, to eat, to suffer day in and day out was the worst thing.

I knew the moment he drew his last breath was the moment he was truly set free. While this was the hardest thing I have ever experienced being there as my brother passed was truly the greatest gift I could have ever asked for. It wiped away my fear of death.

Finally losing his battle with Cystic Fibrosis on November 19 of 2004 my brother was able to breathe for the first time in thirty six years.

Occasion | S. Katie Hill

At one point in my life, I couldn't understand why any one person would need to dedicate an entire room to scrapbooking. That stage ended when I filled my second Tupperware of scissors, punches, stamps, and adhesives. To scrapbook well, it is necessary to have 10,000 different pieces of patterned paper all with coordinating embellishements, but I didn't realize this until scrapbooking became my obsession.

A few weeks before I moved, I dedicated every spare moment to preserving moments. I compiled photographs of my closest friends and made each one a personalized page. In some instances, I found myself spending more time on the pages than I actually did with the people. Yet, as each page came together I realized the bond I had created with my friends may have been loosened, but similar to Zig 2-Way Glue, the "stickiness" would never disappear. I especially felt this way when I started scrapping for Holly.

I've known Holly since we were little girls in Primary together. We've grown up together-- three houses away. I didn't realize the impact that my moving away would have on our relationship, I'd never even thought about it until I started my journaling about our friendship. Together we've invented silly games, stayed up all night giggling, cried over crushes, and healed broken hearts. Not having her right up the street would be one of the hardest adjustments for my college life.

As I completed her page, I looked closely at my journaling; the introduction was strong, the supporting paragraphs were heartfelt, yet there was no conclusion. Despite my better judgment about writing, I left the journal as is. Like our relationship, it is still in the middle. I know that the story of our friendship will only progress, I'll eventually make more pages of us and our lives to add to this page. Yet, I hope that like this one, there is never a conclusion.

The process of cutting paper, cropping photos, and writing emotional blurbs of life is a part of me. I can't explain why I'm a scrapper, I only know that I am. Scrapbookers are born to preserve memories; they are writers, lovers, dreamers, and historians all tied into one. Preserving memories through the carefully planned organization of photographs, mementos, and journal entries, we discover ourselves and our friends. Scrapbooking, like life, is a journey-- we don't always know where we are going, and even if we do, we most often don't end up where we planned.

Occasion | Cyane Kramer

Last week I bought a kite; a silk, hand-painted, eagle kite. However, that doesn’t alter the childlike thrill I felt at the prospect of flying it. That’s all I wanted, and that’s all I bought it for. The other facts about it were just frills on the edges.

Immediately I set out to find an empty field, which was unusually difficult considering it was a Wednesday afternoon. I finally discovered a small corner plot of grass, upon which resided a sparse community of petite trees that could easily be avoided. Ignoring the fact that the wind had died a little, I stubbornly set at tying the strings and raising the eagle. I ran, I jumped, and I received compliments on the kite from passerby. Despite all these factors, I couldn’t get the wings to take to the air. Disappointed, I finally admitted defeat for the day; after all, even as a child I was never the one to get the kite into the air. That was the job of my brothers or father, who occasionally would let me hold the string, but who would retrieve it from my grasp at the slightest falter in flight.

My family isn’t with me down here. They’re two hundred or more miles away, busy with keeping their own business in the air. I’ll have to learn to tie my own strings, and heave that kite into the air if I want to fly. That’s my business. I’m not perfect at it, but I’ll keep running and jumping. I’ll find the available plot with the least impediments where I can work best and hope that, someday, I can learn to fly that eagle on my own.

The Occasion | Dany Owens

I have a vivid mental image of the first time, or at least one of the first times that I saw a dead animal on the side of the road. I don't recall dwelling on the actual corpse very long, and upon intense thought, the type of animal that it was still eludes me. We had to be on a roadtrip of some kind, in the old minivan, because I don't remember the location. I can, however, remember the drying blood, the tufts of fur still moving in the wind, and my disgusted fascination with it. Small details like that now seem like they're the majority of the memory. The macabre sight made it difficult to take in the whole picture. I remember being amazed that it was really, truly, irrevocably dead.

All the rest of that fateful day, and in the days that followed, my mind kept coming back to that pitiful sight. The strangest thing to me was that I wasn't sad, or emotionally scarred as one might expect. I didn't have horrible nightmares or develop gruesome interests as a result. The only problem was that I felt guilty for not being sad or terrified at the idea of death in general. In my still childish mind, the concept was that death equaled sadness and tears. People cried in the movies when someone died. It was an awful, yucky thing that should be avoided at all costs, wasn't it? So why wasn't I grieving for this deceased animal? It's what anyone normally would have done, after all, even if it was momentary or slight.

It wasn't really that I was surprised by the sight of a dead animal, although it would have made sense for me, as a youngish pre-teen of maybe eleven, to be. My experience with death was very limited and was always very sanitary and vague. I wasn't yet jaded by graphic violence or the sheer volume of death around me. It was more the realization that one day, this very phenomenon would happen to me. I too would stop breathing, possibly bleed, and expire. To this day, that amazing revelation has never hit me with the force it did then. Seeing my old relatives and parents' friends in coffins, hearing of far off deaths in countries I only had heard about...nothing made a difference, until that moment. That little dead body changed my views about the end of my life, for the rest of my life.

It seems hyperbole to say that the broken body of anonymous roadkill would have brought so much of a mental shift in my attitudes and perceptions, but I can think of nothing else I can point a finger at. I've realized, hopefully to my benefit, that life is temporary, and does end. However, this shift in paradigms isn't the awful menace that most imagine it to be. We only fear the unknown. And though I realize that an experience with a dead creature on the side of a freeway isn't an experience with the great beyond, it afforded me some knowledge and peace regarding this stage of life.

Only recently have I realized that while unusual, my lack of fear, sadness or anxiety over death wasn't and isn't weird. Since this moment in my life, I've often had the feeling that death is often a comfort, if not a blessing. Lives aren't perfect, but it seems, to me at least, that death should be. Once the trauma's over, it's peaceful. While, yes, I'll admit that not all deaths and their respective circumstances fall under this umbrella of thought, logically, in my mind at least, death isn't called "the big sleep" for nothing. Subconsciously my brain was reassuring me of a concept that my mind wouldn't realize for a few more years.

An Occasion | Alyssa Sanders

I am a complete and total packrat, my bedroom screams this fact from every crevice. This past Saturday I visited home and my mother immediately set Austin (my twelve year-old brother) and I on the unruly task of de-cluttering my chaos. I have an unbelievable amount of clothes, and going through my two full-to-capacity dressers and my large walk-in closet seemed to be the most important to dejunk.

Though I struggled throwing out many articles, we made massive progress. We were finally nearing the finish of this draining chore, when Austin chucked a pair of old blue sneakers into the D.I. box. I immediately retrieved them and asked Austin what in the world he thought he was doing. He replied saying,"Why would you want ugly, scarred shoes Alyssa?" At that moment I didn't realize the magnitude of the question Austin had just asked, so I jumped into the hurried explanation of "because I like them." Upon reflection I understand just why my pair of dirty, used sketchers mean so much to me.

Those sneakers have had a long enduring history with me. I remember when I purchased them in seventh grade. I liked them because they looked like bowling shoes, and everybody knows that bowling shoes are cool. They are one of those guilty pleasures that everyone criticizes, but secretly they know they want to wear them out of the alley. So, with that mentality I have worn them proudly for the past seven years, and boy have they seen a lot. They have walked through the Sydney Opera House, hiked the Uintah mountains, heard numorous amazing rock concerts, endured a family crisis, and even witnessed my first pathetic attempt at a kiss. These shoes though squeaky and tight when new, have molded to me and are now my most cherished and comfortable pair.

"Ugly and scarred" as my brother so elequently pointed out, is the most beautiful state of all. When you consider your life, the people whom you love the most, the people whom you are truly comfortable around are indeed "ugly and scarred". You have seen them in their glory days, right through to their lowliest hours. The scars, some intiresting, some sad, and some ugly that you have endured together are priceless.

Though Austin can't appreciate their value, my old sneakers mean the world. They are my transport trigger to a million memories. By me they could never be so curtly tossed into the D.I. bin. They are beautifully ugly, and delicately scarred into my heart.

An occasion lizsorensen

I was reading one of my text books and came across a word I didn't know. I don't remember what the word was but I remember that everytime i came across the word, it made me think of an elementary school field trip. Not the entire field trip, just a specific place we went to during the field trip. I couldn't figure out why on earth this vision kept popping into me head. Finally after about five times i thought about it. I tried to remember the field trip and i remember the field trip director teaching me what that word meant. I still don't remeber what it meant, but i remember learning it. Just a ramdom word brought me back ten years and caused me to remeber a specific time and place.

An Occasion | Anthony Luciani

A few months ago I was in a driving class for a while. We had already gone through the written part of the class and were going through the driving part. I was terrified to drive with all the rules I had to remember, watching for other people on the road and many other things. My coworkers told me that it would be all right and that I'll do finebut that didn't seem to help.

Eventually, after a couple of days my mother decided to have me practice driving to work in the morning. On one of the mornings I was doing particularly bad. I didn't stay on my lane and I was getting terribly frustrated with myself and the mistakes I made. By that time I had only one session left with Mr. Corry in the Driver's Ed car. I never really wanted to drive in the first place and was thinking about quiting the class. I pulled into the parking lot of Cacique, the place I used to work, and stopped the car to park. My mom and I walked out of the car. I was feeling pretty dissapointed in myself at that point. My mom was probably dissapointed in me too. Before she and I went our seperate ways she looked me straight in the eyes asked a question.

"Do you want to drive?" she asked, "Seriously, do you want to drive?"

I looked at her and thought for a moment.

"No," I replied as I always said, "I do not want to drive, but I know that I'm eventually going to have to."

As I worked the rest of that day I debated with myself on whether I should give up driving and learn on my own time later or continue to finnish. I came to a decision by the end of the day as I walked home. I was determined to finnish that course. There were so many other things that I quit in the past, Karate, some art classes, riding bikes, even sports. I did not want this to be one of those things I would quit.


Finally the last session with Mr. Corry came and I was very nervous. I was the first one to drive. I did everything I was supposed to and drove much smoother than the first couple of times. After the session Mr. Corry came out to talk to my mom and he handed a certificate of completion over and told us that whenever I was ready I could hand it in to the DMV to take the driving test. I haven't gone to the DMV yet but I am glad knowing that I stuck through the driving course and that I didn't quit.

An Occasion | Tina Coleman

About a week and half ago, I experienced a pretty average day; until I checked my voicemail. It was my sister-in-law. “She’s here! She arrived at 5:30 this morning weighing 6 pounds.” Suddenly everything else I was thinking about had faded away. "My niece entered the world today." The first thing I wanted to do was talk to her 3-year old sister. I wondered what’s it’s like to be an only child at the age of three and then one day have it all change as your first sibling enters your little family. As I talked to her on the phone I couldn’t help but chuckle because of her excited voice. “Look at my sister Tina! Isn’t she cute? Watch! I’m gonna wash my hands and mommy’s gonna let me hold her, look Tina!” As I listened on the phone I wondered how I could explain to my niece that I couldn’t see what she was showing me, that I was over 200 miles away and could only hear her. Then I realized she would figure it out on her own time and I played along. “Wow…she IS cute isn’t she?”

Two days ago--a week after my niece’s birth, I finally made it home to see her. As I sat there holding her in my arms and comparing her hands with mine, my thoughts were racing. What will she look like in three years? What about ten? What will her personality be like? I sat there wishing, at that moment, that I could be a mom. Then I started thinking of all the responsibilities. Would I know how to correctly teach my children? How could I discipline my children to be responsible adults and remain their best friend at the same time? How much of who they become depends on how I raise them? When do I back off and let them learn on their own? Would I be strong enough? I suddenly wanted to better myself and prepare a little more. My choices aren’t all mine anymore, suddenly I want to live for more than just one person.