This is actually a “response paper” to “The Scarlet Letter” that I had to write for School….

Title:  Hearts Bleed

Hearts bleed.

More than any other object
that can be hurt,
that can be cut,
that can be broken,

hearts are the most easily shattered.

I know this
because I’ve seen it happen.

I know
because I’ve stabbed quite a few.

But, perhaps more than these,

I know
because my heart is bleeding profusely;

spilling over my chest,

pouring down my stomach,

dripping down my legs,

leaving a sticky trail

wherever I go.

It doesn’t stop;
the bleeding,
the aching,
the agony,
the tears.

The pain will persist

no matter the time that passes.

Sometimes, I wish it’d just stop,

but it keeps on beating,

keeps on living,

keeps on making itself

vulnerable to the world.

There is no relief

for my misery.

Yet, sometimes

when the snow is falling,

when there’s children laughing;

a balm is pressed tightly against my chest.

Then, for just a moment,

I feel hope.

Hope in the impossible,

hope in healing,

and hope in God.

In that moment

I know
that there will always be a scar,

that the past will be reopened,

that it will hurt again.

But I also know,

somewhere,

somehow,

my heart,

though scarlet,

will go on.

Hester Pyrnne
Friday, May 28th 2010

by PD

First I was okay
When I started the day
But it all went downhill from there
Around noon I
Gave a huge sigh
Wished that life were more fair
I didn’t finish my homework last night
So I couldn’t hand it in
I forgot to correct my quiz yesterday
Is there more than one thing I did?
At lunch time my friend
Called me a bitch
And I got really mad
I passed by my ex
In the hallway
And made sure I didn’t say hi
I didn’t have the packet for science class
So I had to ask for a new one
At least I was prepared for Spanish
Where we took a quiz on past-tense
Then we got grades
I gazed into the envelope
And my head hung low in shame
I failed two classes
I wonder if they thought
That I think school is a game
I don’t know how to tell my parents
Their anger will probably unfurl
Then I signed onto Facebook
You’re courting a new girl.

Hellllloooo… sry I haven’t been on in 444evveerrr.. but I”m crazily busy right now.. eww…things will bounce back to normal after June 12th-the last day of the play I’m in –i’m a main character…. lallalla…………after that HOPEFULLY i’ll actually have time to come on!! Read your stuff and INCREDIBLE;askdj;flkajsdl;kfj You guys are really amazing.. Good job Jules at keepin this site up!! And Kira-loved the de-ghostifying poem…

NEWSFLASH:

Mir is grounded-don’t know when she’s gonna be ungrounded.. so she won’t be on here for awhile!! Just so you guys know-she’s not ignoring you

I’m really loopy right now.. lol

cya’ll in less than a month!!!!

POeticlli Disturbed-Areya Sunshine-Hannah-lilybet-Hannie

because the substitute handed out papers that said we had to write either a speech or a poem about our experience at the middle school, for graduation, to submit as a maybe-I-can-say-this-in-front-of-a-bunch-of-people thing. And I wrote a really good poem. But she made me hand it in.
But she read it as soon as I handed it in and said, “This is really good,” and so I said, “Thanks. I’m a secret poet, kinda…” and she said, “Never stop.”

So I felt special. And I wanted to post it on here. But I don’t have it.

Hearts!
Jules

When I was a child
They asked what I wanted to be
I think I sort of smiled
Before I answered “free”.

They said I answered wrong
Concept I didn’t get
So I told them I’d sing songs
They said to be a vet.

But I couldn’t see it
And it didn’t take a while
For the teachers to regret
The slowness of a child,

I knew I wouldn’t be
A lawyer or a vet
I wanted to be loved, see
But that they didn’t get.

I knew I wouldn’t be
A lawyer or a vet
I wanted to be loved, see
But that they didn’t get.

When I was a child
They asked what I wanted to be
I think I sort of smiled
Before I answered “free”.

by kiiira
not my normal style, but hey, i’m putting a tune to this, should be a song. just trying to de-ghostify this site.

Eight
Kira Klemmer

Part One:

introduction to the ordinary

~

One. Eight

8. I traced the number repeatedly on the palm of my hand in sharpie. The ink seeped into the lines of my hands, and I stared, absorbed, at each curve and dip across my palm, as they stained purple. There was something rhythmic and hypnotizing about forming the number’s shape. My eyes drifted out of focus and I continued the pattern lazily. The window slammed shut in the room next door. The noise snapped me into focus, and I let the sharpie fall to the floor.

8. My arm dropped with the sharpie. My fingers relaxed and curled naturally into loose fists. Turning my hand towards my gaze, the eight met my glance. Tilting it to the side, I saw infinite. I dug my nails into my palm, trying to keep hold on the sign, trying to grasp it’s meaning. It slipped through my fingers.

8. I stood up and carefully pushed my weight onto the tips of my toes, rocking back and forth. I couldn’t put my emotions into words. I heard my heart throbbing in my ears. I looked up from my distraction, and focused my attention towards my surroundings, my bedroom. Made entirely of tepid wood, the chamber warmed my heart. The mahogany browns blurred together, absorbing with them the two guitars that lay on the floor.

8. My toes dug into the maroon rug beneath my feet. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. A sigh caught in my throat. And I laughed. My cat jumped off my bed and, with indecision, gave me a reproachful glare while rubbing against my leg. I followed him to the door, and walked through it with him.

8. Closing the door behind me I timed my steps. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Eight. I timed my thoughts with my footsteps, songwriting in my mind. One, I wrote a letter yesterday. Two, I’ll never send it. Three, I’ve had many broken bones. Four, and one broken heart. Five, the bones have mended and healed. Five, my heart has not. Six, it was broken unknowingly. Seven, why is it bones mend so easily? Eight, and hearts do not?

8. I tripped and fell. I got back up. I opened the back door.

8. I walked outside.

8. I closed the door behind me.

-

It looks a lot shorter without the double spacing…
But anyway, I want the first chapter to be short.

In case this wasn’t clear, the book is called Eight, and this is chapter one of part one.

Woohooo.
And no I’m not as miserable and dull as the character, it’s just a story.

Hi, all! If you haven’t yet read the INTRODUCTION, please do read it, because it’ll make things make more sense, in my opinion. Yay!

Hearts!
Jules

–

The cold air blows on my back, seeping through my dark green shirt and making me shiver. They told me to come at night, because that would be the easiest time to sneak up without being seen. I climb the vines in near-silence, the only sound being the rustling of leaves and stems as I grasp tightly with my fingers.

Don’t look down, don’t make a sound, I tell myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I love to climb, but it scares me when there’s nothing beneath me. Usually, I climb trees, where there’s dozens of limbs beneath you to catch you if you fall, but houses are very different: if you should fall, you best hope there are soft bushes or an old mattress down there. Especially when you’ve gone up three stories.

I’ve got to get up to Evorah’s window. I’ve got to get a good look at her. I’ve got to see if I can identify her Sin. I’ve got to–

Shhhhrip! Tell me that wasn’t just the vine I was holding on to– it was. I have one free hand. I quickly grab onto another cluster of green, but– Shhhhrip! I wasn’t ready for that! I now dangle from one hand, feet trying to find a safe place to step.

My forefinger breaks free.

Remember, Malcolm, there’s soft bushes down there. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have risked it.

My middle finger slips off.

Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap…

Pinkie Finger won’t be able to handle this on his own–

I was NOT supposed to scream… but I did. I screamed as I fell from a three-story window, onto some bushes that had looked soft but were, unbeknownst to me, prickly, yet oddly supportive.

After letting out several straggled swears and fighting against the bushes, I tumbl to the ground and lay there a moment, until I hear a voice.

“Are you okay?” It was a girl. I look up and see a face that looks genuinely concerned. She’s got light brown hair down to her ears, it’s messy, she’s got bangs. Her large blue eyes captivate me immediately, and I don’t think I’ll be able to say anything. Her lips are the pinkest I’ve ever seen, her purple turtleneck fits her perfectly, her jeans look as if they were painted onto her dancer legs. She’s beautiful. “Hello?”

“I, uh, I–” I stutter, “I-I fell.”

“I know. I saw. Why were you climbing up there?”

“The… uh… the sky.” She gave me a look of disbelief. “It looks nicer from high up.” Stupid.

“Do you live in this building too? I’ve never seen you…”

“No, I– I don’t. I live down the street.”

“Then why choose here?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” Horrible liar.

“What’s your name?”

“Malcolm.”

“Evorah.”

“No,” breathe. This girl cannot be Evorah. She’s too beautiful. I can’t kill her!

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, I… I forgot something. I have to go.”

I try standing up, but tumble back down.

“You know where you were climbing near? That’s my window. The one with the purple walls? Mine. Isn’t that funny?”

“I’ve gotta go.”

“Oh.” A look of sheer disappointment strikes her face. “Okay, see you.”

“I’ll visit sometime–” WHAT?

“Great! I’ll see you around, then. Good night.”

She walks off and I lay there a moment more. She can’t be the one. She can’t be. No way. I can’t kill someone like her! Evorah… she doesn’t look like an Evorah. She looks more like a Kate.

When I was born, I inherited a list. This was a list of people who had to die. It ranged from elders to teenagers, most of whom I didn’t even know. You were determined to be on the list if you were born with a Sin. Each of the names– each of the people –were born with a Sin planted into his or her heart.

For generations, the men of my family have been silently crossing names off the list, working their way towards the end that never comes. But I know that my list has an end, because there’s only one person left now: Evorah Hartly. Arthur had the Sin of Music: He plays and you do as he wants. The music has been known to turn even lovers against each other. Elna had the Sin of Garden: She can make you hallucinate, fall asleep, become paralyzed, be poisoned, just by stepping near the spores let out by the lives in her garden. Rod had the Sin of Blood: When he bleeds, he doesn’t feel it– you do. Ten-fold. Aaron had the Sin of Sweet: He drew you in with a sticky scent or taste, and twisted your insides, burned you. But I’ve already taken care of them. It’s taken me years and years to get through all of them, but here I am with one name left. Evorah has an unknown Sin. I haven’t yet identified it; all we know is that she has one. It’s common that they don’t appear until several years into life, and often aren’t identified until tested.

So, basically, I just have to identify her Sin, get into her life, and kill her. And, if I’m lucky, I don’t even have to bother with finding the Sin. Maybe I’ll just kill her before I have to.

Of course, first, I have to meet her.

WHY IS NOBODY WRITING?!?!?!?!?!