Short Story

Marissa Nicholson
D Block Silver
Mrs. Simmons
Creative Writing

I was 12 years old when my Grandpa Pete passed away. Most would say that I should feel lucky that I had him for all those years, but his death was sudden and unexpected and no one was sure how to handle it.
For as long as I can remember, my grandpa had been an important part of my life. He was there for every dance recital, every first day of school, and every other significant occasion. I remember the time when I was 6 he took me fishing on his favorite lake, just him and me. We spent all day out on the lake, freezing cold and not catching a single fish. It was the best day of my life.
Though Grandpa Pete was 83 before he died, he was still one of the liveliest people I had every met. He never once acted like his age was something that should hold him back, therefore neither did we. To me my grandfather could do anything. He hiked for miles around lakes on about a monthly base, he played basketball with the senior men’s Park and Rec. team, and he was always the one to beat on family bike races.
Grandpa Pete was known for being the one in the family to be able to handle any physical challenge, so when we got the call that he had, had a stroke, we were all shocked. The minute we found out, my parents gathered me and my sisters up and we took off in our big blue van. Once we got to the hospital and explained to the receptionist that we were here to see our grandfather, we were told to take a seat in till he was ready for visitors. As we nervously sat, waiting for the signal to go in, Ernest, his longtime friend, walked into the room. At first I were surprised to see someone outside the family who had heard about the accident, but then more and more of my grandfather’s friends starting emerging through the door. There were neighbors and children, families and couples, friends we knew, and friends we didn’t. The entire basketball team even showed up, all of them there to see Grandpa Pete. I couldn’t believe how many people were showing up to see him. Everyone was telling stories about Grandpa Pete and everything he’s done for him. I couldn’t help but cry, just seeing how many people cared about him.
What felt like years later, the doctor came out but only to tell us that Grandpa Pete would not make it. None of us could believe the news. He said we were aloud in to say our goodbyes but only for a couple of minutes. As we all crammed into the green painted room, I could hardly bare to look directly at him. It was the first time I had ever seen him look weak. He was shockingly pale and you could tell he was struggling to stay awake.
The room fell silent as we realized none of us were prepared with something significant enough to say. My heart began to pound, hoping someone would say something soon, when my mother who was kneeling by his side started singing You’ll be in my heart, his favorite song. We chimed in and my grandpa was beaming, his famous smile on his face. We were half way through the song when slowly his body relaxed, his smile fading. I knew then that we had lost him.
Though it may have seemed slightly cheesy, I couldn’t have imagined a better goodbye. It’s been 3 years since his death, I still can’t help but look for his face in the crowd every time I get on stage or wait for him to pat me on the back when I finish a race. Though I know he’s gone his memory and sprit will always remain a part of me. Rest In Peace, Grandpa Pete.

Free Association

The snow falls outside

fluffy and white like the withering cat

sweetly lying at your feet.

gently you roll to the side

as to not wake Candy,

these are the memories of my childhood.

Free Association

Seasons Haikus

Spring

April showers falling

Flowers start blooming freely

The sky's a perfect blue

Fall

Colorful leaves falling

Old friends meeting, schools starting

The reasons I love fall

Winter

Children building snowmen

Hot chocolate to go around

Snow falls on white ground

Summer

Sprinklers on green grass

The sun is more than I can bare

A spritz will help me there

1990

“She’s ready to see you now,” a nurse in flower-printed scrubs told me as my neighbor took my hand, leading me into the room where my mother was supposed to be.
As soon as I walked in my eyes were instantly drawn to what she held. All I could see was a bundle wrapped in a blanket with a grapefruit sized head and lots of dark hair. “That’s it?” I said, mostly to myself. I couldn’t believe I had waited 9 months for something so petty. As everyone else in the room ooooed and awwwed at my new baby sister I began to cry out of sheer disappointment. No one even noticed.
For the next couple of weeks life at home was complete chaos. People I had never even met before were coming to my house to see the baby. I wondered how something so small could possibly be so mesmerizing to them. It’s not like she ever really did anything. All I had seen her do was cry and sleep. Mom asked me several times if I wanted to hold her, each time I declined not wanting to have anything to do with her.
Meanwhile in kindergarten, kids were talking about a cool new theme park that was opening called Universal Studios. It had all sorts of cool rides based off different movies, and some kids were even planning on going to visit it! Of course I knew we wouldn’t get to go, as mom had mentioned several times Marissa was too young to walk and play still meaning she was far too young to ride the merry-go-round with me. Not only was she too young to play but it seemed she was too young to do anything by herself. She needed mommy and daddy’s help for eating, burping, and even falling asleep. As a result, I was left to entertain myself. I wasn’t use to sharing my parents and I realized very quickly that I didn’t like it. I decided there was only one thing to do; live somewhere where I wouldn’t have to share.
The next day I packed up all the things I would need: one of the blankets from my bed, my stuffed lamb, the 78 cents I found in daddy’s pocket, and a bag of Goldfish. I wrote the ABC’s and my name (the only thing I knew how to spell) on a note to let them know I would be living with my cousins in Portland. I snuck into the living room where my dad was watching the news. The reporter kept talking about and earthquake in the Philippines and the new president in Peru. I tip-toed around his chair and past Marissa’s room. She was sound asleep. I was just about to go out the front door when I heard a familiar voice say my name. I turned around to see my mom right behind me in her fuzzy blue bathrobe, looking exhausted. “Where are you going?” she asked me. I tried to explain but ended up sobbing instead. I told her I was leaving because she didn’t need me anymore. She walked over and held me tight as I continued to weep. As she held me she told me how much she loved me and she was sorry I felt that way. She informed me that Marissa was just going to need a little extra attention for a while and how special it would be for her to have a big sister to help take care of her. Just then we heard a shrilly wailing sound coming from down the hall, notifying us that Marissa had woken up. My mom got a concerned look on her face but instead of feeling angry that she would be occupied with the baby again, I told her I wanted to help. We walked into the pastel-colored bedroom where Marissa was still wailing in her crib. My mother lifted her up onto her shoulder and rocked her side to side to calm her down. “I’m ready to hold her,” I declared, sitting down in the wooden rocking chair. She placed her gentle in my arms and immediately she stopped crying. Looking down at my baby sister, I couldn’t remember why I didn’t like her in the first place. She was so tiny and precious I could hardly believe she was real. I felt her warm breath touching my skin and I knew that being a big sister wouldn’t be such a terrible thing after all.

Nature Poem

An apple tree
Sits with me
As I write its poetry

The leaves are smooth; the bark is coarse
Apples stir and cause to force
In me a gentle remorse

For the leaves have grown to red
Away from it my path does tread
And quickly to home I head

The time has past
I see at last
The tree has lost its chloroplast

The apples fallen to the ground
There are no leaves to make that sound
It's happiness gone that I found

List Poem: Moments to remember

1. Being 3 with Mallory, my simplest friendship yet
2. My first day of preschool wearing my polka-dot red dress, pink lunch pail in hand
3. At the hospital at 3 in the morning waiting anxiously as my sister was born
4. Riding on Princess at pony camp when I fell off and hit my head
5. Hot summer days out on the boat, laughing as the water splashed in our faces
6. My very first kiss in my own back yard, I was shaking so much he almost missed
7. Seeing my brand new puppy for the very first time, his thick,warm puppy breathe in my face as I held him tight
8. Spending everyday of 8th grade with my friend JoAnne, we never had a single dull moment
9. Introducing my entire family to Brad at our 4th family reunion
10. Last day of junior year with my two best friends, squeeling as our toes touched the cool lake water
11. First time seeing Brad after he moved away, I realized how grateful I was to have found someone like him
12. My 18th birthday, squeezing my friends hand tight as I got my first tattoo

Writers Autobiography

As I sit here surrounded by sheets of called up paper I wonder how writing a simple essay could possibly be this difficult. I've been sitting here for almost an hour and a half now writing beginnings to essays, realizing how bad they sound, crumpling them up, and starting over. I seem to get stuck in this cycle just about every time I attempt to write. 

I'm usually not too picky about my school work. I generally just get it done and hand it in without thinking twice. Writing, however, has always been particularly difficult for me. 

In math and science you get the answer right or wrong and there's only one way to do it. with writing, everybody has their own style and opinions on it. A poem which  may sound astounding to one person may sound dull and boring to another. 

The lack of clarity makes it extremely difficult for me to be satisfied with my writing. In fact, my need for perfection actually brings down my quality of writing. I spend so much time discarding various ok-sounding essays that I run out of time and end up turning in a less-than-decent version of one I had thrown away.

Minority Poem

The children laugh

The children play

They run around

On this gorgeous day

They have no cares

Because they are free

Free to run

They're not like me

I sit here

Because my legs cant move

I watch them play

I watch them move

I wish that I 

could be like them

But instead I stay here

??Wishing I were a gem??

Ballad

Hiding in the classroom

Thinking of his plan

His anger overflowing

Their lives so close at hand

Merely sitting with her daughter

Teaching her to read

She's the perfect target

How he longs to make her bleed

He stands up in the classroom

Clinging to his gun

Pointed at her head

As everybody runs

Raising up the shot gun

Sounding like a bomb

Just then her little girl steps in

Yelling "Don't hurt my mom"

Dodging past the woman

The bullet hits the girl

Falling to the ground

The room starts to whirl

Horror arose his face

As he realized his mistake

As wrong girl lay on the floor

A life too precious he did take