The Devil's Class of Hell and Destruction

            I hate math; it sucks. The truth is I hate every math teacher that there ever was. Math has ruined my life and my self esteem. I don’t understand why I can’t get it.  I try so hard everyday.  I come in early every morning.  No matter how hard I try, I still bombed my last test. I hate the way my math teacher teaches.  I hate everything about it.  I have been so stressed that I have had to start taking pills just so I can eat without being sick for the rest of the day.  I can’t even run because I’m so stressed.  I hate how this I consuming my life. One day I’m going to leave math behind and hopefully I will never have to think about it again.

            I think I’ll go into English.  Mrs. Carter says I’m not creative, but I can pop out papers pretty easily with little effort. That is when I have a subject. I can’t just think of a topic off the top of my head! I guess it just runs in family. I’d be either that or a butcher.  That way I could kill and chop things up all day and no one would judge me for my bloody passions.

            I also hate my job.  It dominates my life even more than math.  I hate the people I work with, with a few exceptions, and I hate my bosses.  I do everything I can and they still get mad at me.  They don’t yell at those who sit on their fat butts and talk on their cell phones the whole night.  I am the only one who does my job the WHOE time.

 I feel like I’m slipping away and that I have no time.  All of my friends annoy me to no end except like two. Even as we speak, I am so sick because of the stress.  I can’t eat anymore, and I can’t sleep at night.  I don’t think I can take much more of this.  I’m sick of hiding behind a happy face when really I’m screaming out.  One of these days I’m going to go postal and then I’m going to spend the rest of my life in prison.  At least I won’t be stressed anymore.

No Cape Needed

Superman, Wonder Woman, George Washington, Martian Luther King Jr., most people would consider these extraordinary people and fictional characters heroes. With all the great people in this world, it can sometimes be confusing who you should look up to. I admire those who fought for independence and stood up for what they believed in to better the world, but my hero remains someone less known by the world.

I have been blessed by three wonderful sisters and good parents, but one sister in particular has always been my hero. My sister Caitlin consistently stays a sturdy example to me. From heart break in high school to the death of loved ones, she always manages to stay true to her beliefs and standards. It would be a lie to say she obtains perfection all the time, but because she constantly does what she feels to be right, regardless of what others think, she will always remain the strongest person I know.

Ever since the day I was thrown into her world, Caitlin and I have been best friends. We go further than just good sisters to actual friends who spend time with each other outside of our home. I have many memories of us going out to the movies or going up north together. The four year age difference mean nothing to us; we treat each other like equals. She never puts herself above me nor looks down on me for being naive and completely blonde. I can always consult her about my problems. She has a way of helping me realize my difficulties are normal and not the end of the world without belittling me. Even when she moved away to college before I entered high school, she still made it possible to be there for me when I needed her, no matter the distance between us.

Caitlin knows how to be kind and considerate, but she also knows when to be firm and sometimes use force to make me see reason. Recently I called her almost in tears over a petty problem over high school drama. She gave me her sympathy but eventually had to resort to being tough before I realized how melodramatic I was being. Caitlin told me what she thought I should do but ultimately left the decision up to me. She is never rude, but she knows when the time for giving pity is over.

I will never cease to be amazed by her endless patience. Caitlin has somehow mastered the quality I have struggled with my entire life. When we were children, she always put up with my incessant talking and immaturity, but in return I found myself constantly loosing patience with her over the smallest and most insignificant things. Even today I am ashamed to admit that I often act irritant to her and others that I love. I can not remember a single time she lost her temper with me unless I seriously deserved it and many times not even then.

My best friend now lives hours away, married. For a time the distance appeared so melancholy, as she seemed hopelessly out of my reach. It nearly broke my heart to see her going away only to finally belong to someone else. Despite us being apart, I have never once felt neglected or without her guidance in my life. To this day, not once has she said she is too busy to talk to me or to listen to my problems.

Wars go on, celebrities are made, and new idols are formed, but I never doubt who I look up to the most. She doesn't need to parade around in a cape and a mask to save lives; she saves my life everyday simply through her example. No matter what I go through, what I lose or what I gain, my sister will forever remain my hero.

The Forgotten Friend

Covered in red, with glistening gold letters, my journal sits alone in a chest. Neglected and lonely, it waits to be wanted. I am usually too busy to pay attention to it. My journal, though often abandoned, never holds grudges. As soon as I start to feel down and need to express my emotions, it takes me back without a tinge of bitterness.

Its hard, bumpy surface whispers comfort to me. The turning pages, like fluttering wings, reminds me of my secrets it loyally keeps. Better than any good friend, it listens to my problems and never judges. My journal doesn't need to speak for me to know that it understands my difficulties.

This item really is of simple design, a stack of papers bound together. Somewhere a person cut down a tree and made this journal not knowing the place it would hold in my heart. All the money in the world can't buy a friend as kind and trusting as mine.

Although it remains silent, it is wiser than me. Only a true genius could solve all my problems without uttering a single syllable. The more I write, the smarter it grows, the smarter it grows, the closer we become. Friendships perish and new ones arise, but the bond my friend and I share will never die.

Years will go by, and I may forget my dear journal. It might sit alone once again in a forgotten chest, simply waiting for me to remember it once more. One day I will stumble upon it. I will laugh at the petty drama that meant so much to me back then and cry as I remember the tragedies that I had to face. Over time, I will change and forget, but my sweet companion will live on true. My journal keeps the memories that I carelessly let slip away.

Writing Case File

I started writing in kindergarten. My love for fantasy and chivalry were evident even then when I first started writing about vampires, ghosts, and princesses. I continued my young writing career in second grade with an adventure series with a friend. We wrote a whole series about a friendly dragon who only ate things that were already dead. This is when I really started to like writing. I enjoyed just being able to write about anything I wanted without having to worry about a due day, typos, or getting a bad grade.


Other than writing for school, I mostly just write in my journal. It is my most personal writing. I've noticed that I get off the subject a lot when I am writing in my journal. Although, I only write in it when I am depressed or really happy and excited. I'm never consistent in my journal. After reading through my entries, I noticed that they started getting more serious around 9th grade and have continued to just get more so. It was interesting to see that as I matured so did my writing style, and my ability to express my feelings through words.

I also occasionally write poetry. I only do this when I am desperate for a release of my emotions and writing in my journal just doesn't cover it. I like to try to make my poems deep and use allegories and such. I've also noticed that what I write is not always something I would like to read if someone else had written it. I applaud and respect those who can write in parables, and I wish I could do the same, I just hate reading it.

My mood seriously affects my writing style. Depending on how I am feeling, I could write a paper that inspires and uplifts or one that is morbid and leaves you wanting to cry. My writing is very inconsistent; it depends drastically on my feelings at that time. Because of this, I think writing is an art. It takes creativity and a sense of what is interesting to the chosen audience.

I'm really bad at just coming up with ideas to write about. My writing takes time and thought, especially if I want it to be good and meaningful. I'll write little bits at a time and read it aloud as I go. After I've written a whole paper, I will go back and fix things. I like to start a couple of days ahead because of past experiences with procrastination. It is never fun to have to stay up until who knows how late to finish a paper you never even bothered to start.

Occasionally I like to write for fun, but I never finish anything unless I am under the pressure of having it due as an assignment. I've started many stories, some meant to be long novels, others meant to be short stories. Either way, I never really have the motivation to do serious writing just for myself. My writing for myself is very personal though; I hate an audience. My writings on my own time, especially poetry, are private and meant for my ears alone.

I've never been an especially good writer in my opinion. In 9th grade our entire honor's class was required to enter one of our poems into a contest. I did get an honorable mention for my humorous poem about rhyming. Other than this though, I've never won anything or gotten special praise. Regardless of this, writing for me is an escape. It's a way to express myself without the the judgments or critiques of others. This is also why I don't like to share any of my personal writings.

I'd have to say the biggest influence in my writing, more than anything else, is my love for reading. It is probably one of my most favorite things to do. Yep, when it comes to reading, I am a nerd to the extremes. Most of my ideas in writing evolved from bits and pieces of things that at one point I had read. When I read, I seriously get into it; it's kind of like a drug. I can't sleep or think about anything else until I have finished a book. Then when I am done, I feel sad that its over and just crave more. This is many times worse when I read a sad book; that's why I hate sad books. My mood can be affected for weeks after reading a book. I also hate true stories; they just make me sad and angry. I'll never understand why people read these things. If I am going to spend hours reading for pleasure I don't want to walk away feeling bad or wondering if my life is meaningful or something. If you can't already tell, I am an extremely picky reader. Sometimes I will allow a true story if it is not sad or if it doesn't make me want to rip my hair out. Books and writing have great power in my life, that is why I have to be careful what I read. Each book is a part of me after I read it. I don't want to put something dirty or sad inside of me forever.

I often wish writers could understand that no one cares about the insignificant little details that just make a story wordy. Stories don't need to go on and on forever to just get the point across. I think that was why I could never get into Jane Austin. It is even more irritating when writers leave loose ends or holes. It's things like that that keep you up at night wondering what could have happened. I also dislike reading characterless books and papers. I only like to write about things that are interesting to me. It hurts me to write dull things, but sometimes you just have to suck it up and write a boring paper.