The Selik Weilders

Hey Folks!

So a while ago, like I promised I was going to try to get caught up on posting so I'm mass posting. Teach made us write a short story starting with "One dark and stormy night," And this is what I've come up with. Its not a short story but more or less a short chapter of the opening of a book. Enjoy!

One dark and stormy night, one you could hear the wolves high pitched yowl echo over the tree tops. The sound of crisp leaves crinkled under my footsteps. The sound of the forest kept all of my senses on edge even though this place had become common to me in the last few weeks. Tongiht though somthing was odd, I could feel a nose bleed coming on that was accompaning the feeling. I listened to the many sounds trying to pick out any sound that was out of place. I was so close to the fort, if I could just run for it. Tonight was supposed to be a night of tranquility, apparently it wasn't meant to be.

Adjusting the guitar case on my back I knelt on the ground. The sound of pulsing blood as it beat through my heart. I slid my Selik out of the neck of my guitar. The Selik was dagger like but instead of a metal blade it was replaced with wood from an elder tree, that looked like it was living. The wooden blade glinted like it was just cut from a tree, sap still moist on the surface. This Selik had secretly been in my family for generations and yet it was still as magnificent as the day that it was made. Leaving the guitar case behind I grabbed the guitar and ran towards the fort. I could hear the rustling of soming running after me.

Vaulting over a dead grarled tree, feet planted I drew out my Selik, poised to defend my self. "Daniliath! We've got friends! Bring Wynn!" I screamed over my shoulder. The pleas for help was followed from a strong confident voice, "I see you brother." I felt a body standing against me, the breathing from my comrade rejuvinated my vigor. We are the Selik Weilders and this is our story.

Jorry the Swimming Toy

Hey Folks!

Alrighty, So Teach brought in a "magical bag" it was loaded with random objects and stuff from her house and we had to write a story about the object. This is my story.

The boy had been swimming for days, his blue goggles framing his face surroundeed by golden blond hair. His green swim trunks with dual white race strippes down the side, saturated with water. Jorry swam and he swam when he got tired he swam some more. The waves splahsed against his white body, water on plastic. "Daddy look what I found!" screamed a boy as hepicked up Jorry the swimming toy, "It's a little swimming man that swims when you wind him up." Twisting the nob on Jorrys side and he began to swing his arms faster. The boy set him into the water and Jorry was off again, to swim towards shore. "Wind him up son, and let another little boy find him, Its time to head home." The boys father called. Jorry was wound up one more time and hurled into the water. "Bye Jorry, Swim carefully." the boy yelled wiping a tear off of his cheek. The little swimming toy swam towards the sun set.

Turbo Signing off!

The Change

Hey Folks!

Its been super long since I posted anything but its not like I haven't been writing. I have several pieces to upload and your going to get the biggest one I've written so far tonight. Bear with me. So Teach gave us an assignment to walk around the school and using sensory imagery write a story about some on coming for the first time or leaving for the last time. Deciding to try to think out side of the box, I wrote of a female perspective. I'm most definitely a male in real life so here is my story.

The bright sun was beating through the car window as we drove up to the great, large school. My name is Emma, I’m 14 years old. This is supposed to be my new high school because my father got transferred from the big city to this small town. I’m miserable; my friends are still back home. I slammed the car door and walked up to the school. Since we had just moved I wasn’t enrolled yet, and my Mom was going to do all the paper work as I explored the school.

Entering the big double doors to enter the foyer of the school, a place I would have to deal with for the next four years; against my own will. The air temperature change brushed against my bare forearms. The low buzz of the ventilation system droned out my thoughts about this place. Inside the front foyer was the doors to the main office and across from those were several memorial plaques from the different wars. In every direction long hallways stretched out around the building. In the center where most of the halls connected was a big room with rows and rows of tables, with huge windows above to let in natural light. Many students sat in a group huddled together doing homework or playing cards. Not one head lifted as a shuffled my feet while I was walking by them.

Every hallway was lined with lockers of bright colours; orange, blue, teal, green and red. Since the school was so large I could use them as land marks for getting around. I could hear the soft echo of my footsteps as I explored the school. A low rumble of an orchestra was coming from around the corner. I followed the sound of the excited melody; the room was filled with students curved around a teacher madly flailing his arms around to the beat of the music. Further down the hall; the familiar, repulsing smell of sweaty boys and testosterone grabbed my stomach. I quickly continued down the hall again to get away from the stench. Across from the gym was a huge hand painted mural that read “Home of the Green Team”. The smell of stagnant water and moist soil filled my senses; the feel of unease of being somewhere unfamiliar was replaced with comfort. Stepping into the green house the hot humid air punched me in the face, but after a few deep breaths I was embracing ever smell. A large leafed plant caught my attention as the light sparkled off of a puddle perched on one of its leaves. I steadily reached out to touch the plant, it felt like velvet. The leaf moved just enough to tip the balance sending ice cold water down my wrist. In the far corner of the room was a large medal washing tub and inside of it were several multicoloured fish.

I slipped out of the green house to go back to the front of the school where my mom would be meeting me. Glancing down at my watch, 11:25 I had spent over an hour in the green house. Walking back to the front doors the feeling of unease was completely replaced with a feeling of deep familiarity to a place I had never visited before. I could see myself going to this school, it just felt right.

Be my Valentine? Thank you, Thank you very much.

Hey Folks,

Every year approximately 100 valentines get sent to Elvis Presley to this day even though he died 36 years ago. She had us write a short story around the person who might write one of these valentines day cards. Enjoy

Mrs. Hallendale was sitting in her den the soft clicking of knitting needles filled the room. A musty smell of an older lady was wafting through the room. “Ma, you’re not sending another valentine to Elvis again this year are you?” A younger male said tossing a little white envelope with pink hearts down onto the table in front of Mrs. Hallendale. The man sifted his way through the rest of mail, piece by piece. “How do you know it’s a valentine dear, it could just be a normal everyday card?” Mrs. Hallendale replied in a nice motherly tone of voice.
“It’s covered in tiny pink hearts Ma, and it has Mr. Presley written on the front in your hand writing.”
“Johnny so what if I want to wish him a happy Valentines day? Old people like us like this kind of thing.”
“He’s dead Ma, he kicked the bucket in ’77, 36 years ago, when I was five.”
“He did not! They have no proof, he probably went into hiding.”
“They’ve got him on ice Ma.” The soft clicking noise stopped as Mrs. Hallendale laid down her knitting needles; a scornful look obvious on her wrinkled face. “Get OUT!” She screamed, “He’s alive and he will one day come here to marry me!” With a shrug Johnny turned on his heel, checked to make sure the stove was off and stepped out on to the sidewalk. Looking over his shoulder he noticed how beaten up his mother’s house was. Clicking open his cellphone he dialled a number.
“Hey Janice, … Hi … Ma’s Alzheimer’s is just getting worse, she kicked me out again, you might want to come up here for a few days. … Alright, Bye.” Starting up his truck with a roar of the engine Johnny drove away.

Turbo Signing Off

Trick or Treat!

Hey Folks,

Teach had us write a sensory imagery assignment about Rockets, with out using the word its self. Here is my Story. Enjoy.

“Trick or Treat!” we shouted as the door opened up to a little old lady dressed up as a black cat. The lady was talking to the kids all around me; I could have cared less about how cute we were. I wasn’t supposed to be cute; I was Dracula a blood sucking vampire with plastic teeth. The old lady dropped cylindrical packages in to our pillow cases. “Alright boys, its time to call it a night, I’ve got enough of your candy to haul home anyways. Dad’s tired” commented my father as he patted my brother and I on the shoulder.

Danny and I jolted to the front door bee-lining to the living room to get the best place on the floor with the most room. Dumping our pillow cases on to the floor in big piles, we began to sort. “You know Turbo, Vampires don’t eat candy, guess all of this candy is mine.” Dad joked.

“Nuh-Uh!” I yelped pulling out the plastic vampire teeth from my mouth and tossing them to the ground to be forgotten. “I’m not a vampire Daddy, I’m a little kid!” I yelled baring my teeth to show the fangs were gone. I dove towards the pile of candy and grabbed a cylindrical package from the top of the pile. Since I was far too young to read I had no idea of what they were called.

The cellophane crinkled in my hand as I twisted at the top and bottom of the package. The crinkling continued as I carefully pulled the top open so I didn’t spill any of the tiny bite sized goodies inside. There was numerous little hockey puck shaped candies in all different colours in pastel. Yellows, reds, blues, purples, whites and pinks. They smelled of a high concentration of sugar, an excitement for any little kid at least. I picked one up and popped it into my mouth; it was hard and slowly dissolved in my mouth with an explosion of sugar. I did this a few times quickly narrowing the number of candies down. I quickly learned that if you bit into one it would dissolve at a much higher rate. These tiny candies quickly became a favourite candy if my childhood.

Turbo Signing Off

Anyone but Turbo for Pope? Nope.

Hey folks,

As some of you know this year is my last official year of high school, but I intend to do a victory lap. Getting involved was rough for me a few years ago, I had a shell no one was allowed into. The next step of breaking out of this shell is taking on some responsibility and running for Student Council Co-President is what I intend to do. Starting a rough hashing of my speech and I figured I would post it for future reference.

This is not only my school but yours,
In the end anyone that ignores what is around them is lost.
Which they will pay at their own cost.

If I had known what I know now, then,
I would have joined every club I could even before I picked up this pen.

Life is like a game, you can not win if you do not try.
Next year I want you to learn how to reach the next level.
OSCVI can easily be the best local school given the right leadership,
A school with the right people to be prideful,
A breeding ground for friendship.

Electing me in as student council co president will make your next year a year to remember.
I am eager to get that chance to make this happen.
All of our parents have said high school is the most memorable years of their lives.
Ask your teachers they never left.

As a great canadian poet, Shane Koyczan wrote:

Its a game, you play, you win, you play, you loose, you PLAY
If you are playing to win the first thing you need to do is apply within.

And I play to win.

Turbo Signing Off

Humour me!

Hey Folks,

I'm debating about entering a contest for a humorous short story or humorous personal essay. This is where you come in, I need an interesting situation for my characters to get into. I want to base it in the school where a bunch of wacky things happen but I'm totally open for suggestions.

But wait there's more if you message me in the next twenty minutes - 'cause you know we can't do this all day -(Hehe) if you message me or comment or send me an email or facebook or anything really, you could make a guest appearance in my short story/personal essay. Please help a peer out guys. Short but sweet.

Turbo Signing Off.

Danger is My Middle Name

Hey Folks!

Teach had us write for one of the very first days of class about an experience where Danger became our middle name. This is my story I hope you enjoy it.

It was a hot and sticky summer day, the feel of grass cool on my bare arms, a warm trickle of a greasy liquid dripping from my forehead. Accompanying the liquid came a dull throbbing and stars that spun like tops around my head. This summer day is among one of my most vivid memories, it is rooted deep in my childhood, as it took place more then a decade ago at the tender age of five.

We lived in a subdivision of Kitchener, Ontario and considering the size of the city and how close we lived to several public schools, there were very few children to play with. If you happened to be lucky enough to have a friend to play with, then you became inseparable. For me this boy was Scott. Scott's older brother and my older brother naturally became good friends too. Summer time for children is super exciting and mystical, a reason to spend countless hours on end with a friend at any given time. We used to play a game of strategy and skill that we had developed and refined. The game was played in a team structure; each player had an arsenal of weaponry consisting of normal everyday objects that could be transformed into a fully operational gun with only the imagination. After the game started the neighborhood erupted into war. To score points you had to scream "BANG! Got you Danny!" or something along those lines. This game was a favorite and we played it for hours on end. The whole neighborhood was our play pen, we even ran around in the little old ladies yards and through their rose bushes and shrubs.

That eventful summer day was when I was dubbed Turbo 'Danger' Adair. Our game had almost come to an end due to the nearing of dinner time. To my dismay my best friend lunged out of the bushes and dragged me to prison. I waited for what felt like eternity; which was most likely only a few minutes. It was time to plot my great escape. I ran across the backyard like a true soldier dropping for cover and rolling through the grass towards my objective: the chain link fence. The rolling and dropping for cover easily would have taken me much longer than just walking my way over to the gate but it sure was fun. Getting to the chain link fence that blocked my escape, I did what any munchkin would do and that was to try jumping it. Following my hopes and dreams of being free brought on the crushing reality of failure.

I was never going to get out of this backyard, until to my excitement, along came my brother. Danny walked around the house hunched over to make it harder to see him; he noticed me and ran towards the gate to let me out. I quickly turned to latch the gate shut when Scott, like a horse, came bounding around the corner of the backyard and with a swift kick the gate came crashing towards me. Since I'm relatively short, the locking bar drilled me right in the face. I vividly remember laying on the grass, blood and tears of shock trickling down my face, I don't remember much of the pain though except of the dull throbbing in my skull. I was curled up in someone’s lap surrounded by bloodied towels when I heard my brother call out for my Mom. She had just gotten home from getting pizza for dinner. I was quickly picked up and taken to the hospital where I remember being more afraid of getting stitches than getting hit in the face in the first place. Four stitches later and with a tear streaked face I arrived home to show off my battle scar. The worst thing about that day in my childish mind was not getting to eat any of the pizza.

Turbo Adair Signing off.