"Jay Stands Mocking" by Clare

Inspired by Suzanne Collins’ Mockingjay

evening Primrose healing

            but chosen.

spark ignites, Flame begins

swoops away Primrose.

            Fire taken---thrown---fights

burn away opponents. death

down to few.

            mutts take life. Fire fading

Words offer strength. berries Fire and Words

to die together but stopped.

            the games are over.

            life goes on but Fire smolders.

            embers remain hot.

75^th tragedy. Victors to have one victorious.

            chaos and Fire always burning.

                        12 gone.

                        Words taken---

                                                Hijacked.

bow, arrow, Fire fight!

            must kill Snow.

            Snow shall fall.

Coins tossed, life to be chosen.

Fire to kill Snow.

Primrose healing, sees Fire, bomb ignites.

Primrose gone.

burned.

gone.

            Fire silent. Words gone. Fire leaving.

Coins smothered---Fire’s work.

Snow melted---crowds work.

isolation.

                        where is Primrose?

Fire wants to die. Words say no.

Fire rebuilds. Words remember.

                                                                                  together they grow

                                                                                  together they stand

                                                                                  forever as one.

                                                                                                           little FireWords.

"Remember to Smile" by Savannah Adams

I awake in the morning to the sound of the leaf blower, it’s just another boring day of school. Oh, and the three hour basketball practice after school not to mention. Oh, and the two hour soccer practice after that. Oh, and at least two hours of homework. But no, it’s okay, somehow I’ll get through it. No one has to worry about me because I know I’ll get through it, just like I always do.

As I glance outside, with no hopefulness in this day, I see the trees with nothing on them except a couple leaves. All the other leaves rest on the ground and occasionally blow into the neighbors’ yards. The remaining leaves are now being raked up by my mother.

As I rush out the door, late for school, to approach the bus, I catch the smell of turkey baking in the oven. I should be excited for today, since it’s the last day of school until Thanksgiving break. All my cousins are coming into town and usually we have a memorable time. For some reason this day, the past week, and even this entire month, I’ve been dying for it to end.

I walk to the corner of the street as I shuffle through my things trying to get organized. I then notice the outside air is moist with the hint smell of campfire. The smell of campfire always reminds me of camping, my favorite time of the summer. Then I realize it was only two months ago that we went camping and now I have to wait a whole other ten months. As I realize that the best though, of camping, vanishes.

As I enter the bus the sound of noisy kids over come the silence of nature. Instead of hearing the wind blowing and the leaves crackling, I hear the sound of gossip and laughter. I look to my left, and then to my right, to see if there are any available seats without any gum on them. I finally find a semi clean seat and as I sit on the ripped up, cushioned, bus seat I think of how slowly these days have been going by. I think of how this time of year always gets the best of me.

But no! I will not let that happen. So many times I have let one bad moment ruin my entire day, now I am sick and tired of it. No more missing one bad shot in basketball game and then never shooting again. No more dreading every bus ride to school. No more silent Savannah. The time for a new person to shine has come. And as I look out the window, and hear footsteps approaching my seat, I turn to see a classmate, who I’ve seen before but never actually talked to, ask if they can sit next to me. I looked up at her and before I answered, I unveiled my smile.

"A Love for Music" by Zachary Pohlman

 An eerie sound lurked throughout the house.

This sound, silence, was heard upstairs… downstairs… everywhere.

A sense of sadness came over him as he listened to the sound.

He longed for his love… his love of music.

Walking into the next room, he found there, sitting alone, an old, dusty piano.

Very deliberately, he brushed off the dust from the keys

So that the ivories were showing; all eighty- eight of them.

He pounded  a G sharp with his finger, only to be disappointed by the eerie sound of silence.

Next came a B flat with the same, almost depressing result.

After attempting to play many melodies without the satisfaction of their ring,

He gloomily stayed seated on the piano bench.

After some time had passed, he decided to play and play, but with no sound.

Then something happened…

The room went dark. No sound, no sight.

He woke up terrified by his nightmare.

Then Beethoven realized that although it was a dream, his nightmare was real.

“Fine” he thought, “take my hearing… ”

“But you cannot take my love for music.”

"God is Love" by Zachary Pohlman

What is the world without love?

What is bread without butter?

What is a friendship without love?

                                                    What is a garden without a flower?         

Nothing.

Like butter on bread and flowers in gardens,

Love is necessary.

Without love, the world does not exist.

So what is love?

God.

God is love.

Now think…

What is the world without God?

What is peanut butter without jelly?

What is a friendship without God?

What is the sky without the sun?

Nothing.

Like peanut butter with jelly and the sun in the sky,

God is necessary.

Without God, the world does not exist.

So what is God?

Love.

Love is God.

Never forget that. 

"Looking for Love" by Zachary Pohlman

I know she’s out there, waiting for me now.

I have to find her soon, before she’s gone.

To her I want to go, but don’t know how.

I travel all night to reach her by dawn. 

With no end near, discouragement creeps in.

I stay on track throughout the lengthy night,

‘Till finally she’s mine, and then I win,

Felt is the feeling of warm, loving might.

With her in my arms, the world seems to stop,

Just like a statue stands quietly still,

So glad are we both, rising to the top,

Of our fantasy land over the hill.

Like a small bird sings a soft, peaceful song,

So our love will remain one that is strong.

"My Worries" by Taylor Gibson

I remember thinking… Less than four years.  I’ll be on my own, have to stand on my own--in just four years.  What will I do?  Where will I be?  Will I make it on my own?  How will I survive?  I’ll have no parents living with me to help me when I don’t understand my homework.  Now, four years later, I’m here, sitting at my desk in my dorm room, with a confused look on my face.  I pick up the phone and put it back down, knowing that my homework questions will be too difficult to explain over the phone.  I sigh as I set out to try and answer my own questions.  Hours pass, but still just a blank page.  It’s as if I left all my inspiration and ideas back at home.  Thoughts swirl around in my head, but none of them are what I want.  If only I were back home.  If only I could think straight.  If only my life would slow down, I just might be able to finish this story.

                I put the pencil down and pick up a photo album.  I laugh as I look at the picture of my best friend and me lying in the grass, with our tongues sticking out.  I miss those days—those no cares or worries in the world days.  Now, we are separated.  Separated by the fast pace of life.  I turn the page of the photo album, and there is yet another picture of my friend and me.  We’re hugging each other, smiling.  I start to cry.  It seems like ages since I’ve seen her, even though it’s been just a matter of weeks.  Tears run down my cheeks as I think about the past.  The stress built up from the past few weeks seems to be pouring out of me right at this very moment.  I stop for a split second, thinking that I’m being ridiculous.  But, soon, I continue, realizing that maybe it’s good for me to vent.

                I then begin to think about the bills that need to be paid.  Numbers run through my head, and I am feeling overwhelmed.  How can I pay for all these things?  Do I know where my next meal will come from?  Will I be able to continue to afford to go to school?  To pay for rent?  To pay for gas?  This economy takes its toll on everyone and I, myself, am experiencing this horrible situation.  This is yet another worry I am dealing with, as I’m living on my own.

                I decide to call it a night and lay down on my bed.  I take a deep breath and let it back out, as I stare at the ceiling.  I pull out a rosary and my Bible and start to pray, hoping it will take my mind off things.  If I let these things get to me, I’ll break down into pieces.  So, I try not to think of my problems, although I can’t escape.  My negative thoughts, which can’t be contained.  My worries, which cannot be forgotten.

           

“White” by Mary Ellen Mooter

Fluffy clouds passing

Casting giant shadows below

Soft, comforting pillows

Welcoming you to sleep

Simple innocence and purity

Untainted by the world

Fresh woody smelling paper

Waiting for the inspiration

A bride’s long gown

A symbol of the long awaited day

Brilliant votive candles burning

Sending up silent petitions

Feathery snowflakes falling

Coating all below with their silence

Meditation, deep thinking, patient

Eternal, divine, all-consuming

White

"Summer Days" by Laura Brown

All the plants

Have fully grown

And all the puddles

Are gone from sight.

The sun shines every day

Diminishing thoughts

Of long lost winter.

Suddenly the world slips,

In disguise,

From spring to summer.

I search for shade

Everywhere I look.

It cools, calms, and relaxes.

I listen for the sounds,

Chirping birds,

Whistles shrieking

At the nearby pool.

But I get nothing in return

Except the sounds

Of passing cars.

My mood changes

From happy to sad

Missing the summers

That actually meant

Having fun

And enjoying

The outdoors.

"The House, Part I" by Alexis Harris

            Crunching gravel underfoot up the walkway, green seas sprawling on either side. Warmth, golden rays beaming down and cheerily illuminating the world. The seas of green roll peacefully. Crunchy walkway of sandy-colored gravel. Tall shadow spreading a reprieve of cool blue over the hot, sunny world. Warm gray stones in front of me, smooth and beautiful.

            I can smell the rolling seas of green, crisp and fresh. The scent rises to me, and carries the taste of dew. Birds are chirping and singing merrily, lawn mowers echo in the distance, distant cars zoom past. I am captivated by the sensory overload for a moment, taking it all in.

            Perfect stones climb for miles upward and to either side. Light illuminates the shadows and I can glimpse the world inside as though I’m watching it on a giant screen TV. Once I’m past the arresting sounds and scents of the green seas, the world still makes sound, but I am no longer part of it. The only thing I see, smell, and taste now is wood.

            Beautiful, unmarred wood. I breathe deeply. There’s an almost sappy scent, and I feel like I’m standing in a forest of trees after it rained. A glimmer catches my eye, and I see the shining brass. Suddenly, there is not wood in front of me, but the TV world expanding in all directions. I’ve been invited into the show.

            The intoxicating fragrances of mashed potatoes and gravy, butter and fresh-baked rolls, hot steamy chicken, freshly-cooked carrots, sweet wine, and many other smells immediately swarm over me. I can see to my left a grand semi-spiral staircase with ivory carpet, mahogany wood, and elaborately carved wooden railings, with huge glass windows that make up the wall and allow me to glimpse the rolling green seas once more.

            To my right, there are many mahogany doors all along the wall, and straight ahead is a sprawling open area of great beauty. Illuminated brightly, and very inviting, are several sitting rooms filled with chaise lounge chairs, elaborate sofas, hand-carved tables, ancient lamps, and breath-taking chandeliers.

            Sinking into the arms of heaven itself, I sighed and spoke with the others there. The sounds of our voices filled my head. Gravelly and rough, silky and smooth, angry, sing-songy, hard, beautiful, I was arrested by the sounds.

            Shaggy and brown, long and blonde, wispy and gray. Choppy and black, buzzed, bald, balding. Long and red, curly and gray, long, curly, and brown. Silky smooth, frizzy and tangled, curly, straight, fried, luscious, flat, voluminous. Up, down, elegant, plain, thin, thick.

            Brown, blue, green, hazel, gray. Dull or shiny. Deep or shallow. Readable windows to a thousand souls. Short, tall, fat, thin, tan, brown, charcoal, olive, paste, fair, red, orange, old, young.

            Everything swirled into a soft focus around me. The conversation was buzzing in my ears as the world and I again became separate. Cold and sweet, wetness poured down my throat. Sweet yet bitter, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. The buzzing continued, as did the wetness pouring down my throat.

            Euphoric. I felt euphoric. I no longer had to tune out the buzzing, because I couldn’t hear anyway. Numb. Beautifully numb. The soft focus blurred, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t need to focus. The cushioned heavenly embrace around me added to the feeling. I’d never felt better. The past was drowned out as well as I was drowning in the cushiony softness. The comfort was entrancing.

            Waiting. The hostess brought out cards, and I was barely aware of the shuffling sound. Crisp cards flipping, noisy chatter, laughter, obnoxious. Money thrown to the centers of tables. Fresh crisp and green, crumpled old and soft. Creased, folded, faded, new, old, crinkled, unscathed.

            Triumph, defeat. Victory cheers and groans of the conquered. Money gained, money lost. Emotions blurred around me. Obnoxious came to mind again. Victorious faces laughing with malicious smiles. Angry rematch calls. The games begin again.

            Shuffling, crisp cards flipping, noisy chatter, laughter, obnoxious. Money thrown to the centers of tables. Fresh crisp and green, crumpled old and soft. Creased, folded, faded, new, old, crinkled, unscathed. Triumph, defeat.

            After a few rounds, drinks were brought out again. No more for me. Everyone else started drinking more this time. Cold, sweet wetness poured down the thirsty gullets. The laughter became more obnoxious. Soon, everyone was sitting.

            Pounding, sharp pangs that turned to dull thuds and came back again. Impossible to think beyond anything else. Silence. No taste, touch, smell, or sight. Blackness. Pain. Headache. Sharp to dull, sharp to dull. Light coming through the darkness in flashes. In time with the throbs.

            Time passed, and soon it was over. No more fog. No more pain. My senses returned. Everyone else was recovering as well. Clarity. No more peace. The hostess announced dinner was ready. Finally.

"The House, Part II" by Alexis Harris

          Creamy white China plates, crystal glasses, three forks, two spoons, and two knives on intricately designed napkins. Each table setting on a burgundy placemat and all on a red linen tablecloth. Beautiful sparkling chandeliers illuminating the room. Elaborately carved mahogany chairs. Time to eat.

            The scents I smelled upon entry of the manor grew stronger until they filled every corner of my thoughts. The fog in my mind absorbed only the scent. The smell of every comfort food known to me from Thanksgivings came sweeping through my nostrils. I craved it all like I’d never craved anything before.

            Passing the food around was a grueling process. My impatience rose within me so powerfully I thought I’d explode. The scents swirled through my mind with such clarity and intensity as I’d never experienced. Mashed potatoes, turkey, ham, chicken, corn, carrots, green bean casserole, pasta salad, olives, pickles, steaming rolls with butter. Gravy, cranberry sauce, goose, sweet potatoes, scalloped potatoes, hash brown casserole, stuffing. I wanted it all. I needed it all.

            Everyone bowed their heads and grasped hands. The murmurs of a blessing barely reached my anxious ears. As soon as my hands were freed and I’d said “Amen.” I grabbed the first eating utensil I saw, which happened to be a fork. I stabbed it right into the piece of chicken on my plate, lifted it to my mouth, and shoved it in.

            Instead of the explosion of deliciousness I expected to happen in my mouth, I hardly tasted anything. My mouth was numb. I was too drunk for my taste buds to work right, and the alcohol taste overpowered everything. I felt the juiciness in my mouth; the explosion of what I’m sure tasted incredible. It was tender and meaty, and oh so juicy. It fell apart in my mouth, but I couldn’t taste it.

            I’d never hated myself more in my entire life. I wished with all my might I hadn’t drunk anything today. I picked up a spoon and shoveled in some mashed potatoes and gravy. I could feel how perfectly whipped they were, soft and fluffy, and the gravy was just the right thickness—not too runny, not too solid. I couldn’t taste them though.

            Stuffing—nothing. Carrots, corn, green bean casserole. Nothing. I could feel their textures and imagine how completely delectable beyond belief they should taste, but I tasted nothing. The tantalizing smells teased me, and they waved in front of me just what I was missing. The smell and the feel weren’t enough. I wanted to taste. I needed to taste.

            The strength of my desire surprised me. Then, I thought again of how mad at myself I was, and realized my angry passion was being channeled into uncontrollable desire and obsession. I was obsessed with trying to taste. I was frustrated and annoyed when I couldn’t.

            Then I felt the eyes. Those eyes I’d noticed so clearly before. Everyone was watching me. I hadn’t said anything, had I? Then I realized I was cutting the turkey on my plate so violently I had slopped some stuffing and mashed potatoes onto my placemat. I felt the crazed look on my face as my ravaging hungry passion had driven me forward.

            After my expression softened and I started cutting my meat more gently, the eyes slowly went back to their own plates. A few remained, and I watched myself more carefully as I filled my stomach without being able to savor anything but the feeling and the smell.

            The buzz of chatter surrounded me again, and plates were emptied and refilled. Emptied and refilled. I slowly grazed my plate until it was finally empty, but I didn’t refill it. Then I caught the only pair of eyes that hadn’t left me—the hostess.

            I could see the shining depths of her blue eyes filled with hurt. She thought I didn’t like the food. It didn’t matter that everyone else loved it. If one person didn’t, she felt like a failure. The windows to her soul showed her disappointment in herself. I felt terrible, but I couldn’t make myself get more food. I’d just explain after dinner.

            How late was it? I lived the farthest away, and I wasn’t sure how late it was, and if I’d make it home. Just as I was beginning to get worried, everyone started saying their goodbyes and leaving. It was apparently late. An odd sort of mood had fallen over the house. No, mood wasn’t the right word. More of an air. An atmosphere.

            It didn’t feel right. I got up to go, but the hostess pulled me to the side, obviously indicating she wished to speak with me briefly after everyone left. I recalled the hurt and disappointment in her eyes, and I decided I’d stay and see what she wanted.

            When everyone had left, she asked what I had thought of the meal. I decided to explain and tell her the truth. Something about her soul had made me want to be honest with her. She looked surprised, but then she was happy. The windows to her soul got rid of the hurt and disappointment and brought forth a smile. She offered to let me stay for the night since she knew what a long way I had to go.

            A creepy chill shot up my spine, but I ignored it. The blue shadows of the outside earlier had covered the inside, and I glimpsed the outside again through the door and windows. It looked black and still. I noticed the unmarred wood of the door was now scuffed, and the smooth stone was scratched. The rolling green seas had blackened, as had the blue skies. There were no golden rays of warmth. The blue shadows had consumed everything into blackness.

            I felt cold. Uncomfortably cold. Icy shivers ran up my arms and caused goose bumps. The door shut, and I looked back at the hostess.

"The House, Part III" by Alexis Harris

            Her face was like the sky on a dark and stormy night . . . ominous. Her eyes were unreadable, her expression clouded. A slow misty panic settled upon me. I uneasily questioned her about where I should sleep. She smiled and said it didn’t matter. Then she went on to say that her siblings would soon be arriving for a visit with their friends as they do every night.

            As I was trying to discern the hidden message buried in her expression, my friend came stumbling out of one of the sitting rooms, drunk as hell and swaying every direction as she stumbled forward. Well, sort of forward. I felt a wave of relief wash over me that I wasn’t alone.

            The hostess smiled, helped my friend over, and invited her to stay as well. Incoherently, she thanked her, and asked what she’d missed. She was a much worse drunk than I was. The hostess told her everything she’d just told me, and then the doorbell rang. The hostess smiled chillingly and said, “Oh, I forgot to warn you . . . weird things happen at night . . .”

            As I was beginning to inquire as to what she meant by that, she told us to look out the small diamond-shaped window at the top of the door. She also said, “But I have to warn you not to scream.” She smiled again, but silenced any inquiries with a wave of her hand and a point of her long slender finger at the window.

            My friend approached in a zigzagged line and stuck her face into the diamond. She staggered back, almost falling over, and leaned against the wall for support, her face so white I felt a shiver run all through me. Her eyes were as wide as I’d ever seen them, and she was breathing hard, holding in her scream.

            The hostess looked at me expectantly. Slowly, reluctantly, I inched forward toward the door. I wished I was back in my fog, but with fear had come icy clarity. To my dread I had reached the door. Hesitatingly, painstakingly, I pushed my toes into the floor and lifted my heels. I reached the window with my eyes closed, and then I opened them.

            Two faces were right in front of mine. A cold shock shot through me. There was a girl with what I’m sure were once blonde pigtails with little green ribbons in them, but now she was all blue and glowing like the moonlight. There was also a boy who I’m sure had short choppy brown hair, but now was also blue and radiant. Their faces were expressionless, but in their eyes was an icy cruelty I’d never seen before.

            Naturally, I screamed. As soon as I had, the door opened and hundreds of ghosts flooded inside. I bolted toward the staircase, and started racing up. I heard my friend’s screams behind me, and they chilled my blood. I glanced back out of the corner of my eye, and saw a group around her, and I also saw that the hostess was now blue and luminous.

            They started floating up the stairs after me, arms outstretched, eyes penetrating. I threw open the first door I could reach, ducked inside, and slammed it shut. I turned around, and saw, to my absolute horror, rows and rows of shelves lining the walls, and these shelves were filled with dolls. Dolls with creepy smiling faces everywhere I turned.

            Glowing red eyes started popping open around me and illuminating the darkness. Dolls of all shapes and sizes hopped to the floor and meandered toward me. I flung open the door and ran out. The ghosts weren’t quite to the top of the stairs. I sped down the hall toward my goal—the door, the wood, the light. The only room with the light on.

            I dove inside, slammed the door behind me, locked it, and looked around. The only thing I saw was light. It was so blindingly bright. I felt warm too. I could almost hear the light humming. Then I saw it. The rectangular link to the outside world.

            I dashed across the room and opened it. I looked down. There was a vine! Green and healthy and strong. I climbed out of the room as I heard banging on the door. Down the treacherous path, dangling in the wind, I descended. When I got to the bottom and my feet were back on solid ground, I was facing the wall of glass and I could see inside the bottom of the staircase, clear as day. And some of the hundreds of ghosts who hadn’t gotten upstairs yet saw me.

            As they changed course, I ran. And ran and ran, seeing nothing but a blur of colors tinted with blackness. Crunching gravel, rolling seas of blackened green, and out to the street. I sped off down the median and lifted my hand, extending my thumb, and waving frantically. I tried to hitch a ride with any passing car that would stop, but then I looked into the windows of the cars rushing past, and saw blue luminous figures in the driver’s seats. They all stopped and started getting out of their cars. The hundreds from the house got closer and closer.

            I started running again, as fast as my legs would carry me. The cold night air chilled my lungs, making it hard to breathe, and I could see my breath among the blur of colors. I knew nothing but that I was running. It’s all I could do. All I could think.

            I went for miles and miles, but they were everywhere. It was as if the entire world were ghosts except for me. I made it up the highway, and felt icy fingers grasp my shoulder . . .

“Dream” by Mary Ellen Mooter

            Slowly, I, Anamarie, paced the perimeter of the room.  Never before had I faced such a dilemma.  It all had started out simply enough.  I began ice skating around age six, and I adored it from the very start.

            “Nothing has ever given me that much freedom,” I murmured aloud.  But now everything was complicated.  My family had lost everything we had, and along with that had gone the money for my skating.  All the practice I got now was in winter on the frozen pond near our small worn-down house.  I had taught myself everything I knew and also managed to find time to fit in schoolwork.

            “High school’s just about over now.  What do I do?  I could take that scholarship and my own money and use them for college.  But on the other hand I could continue my skating.  How will I ever figure this out?”  I felt tears dotting my cheeks.  Skating was my dream and my release from it all.  I longed to just quietly enter my own private world in that Olympic rink and give it my all and put my whole heart into it, and let the people see me in my element.  But…what if I didn’t make it?  Then I would be back where I had started from, barely making ends meet.

            I sank to the floor, arms wrapped close about my knees.  “What will Mom and Dad think?  Will they hate me for wasting my chance to get an education?  Will they be disappointed in me?”  Eyes closed, I prayed for an answer desperately.  A gust of wind brought the snow pelting against my window, and some of it managed to make it inside my toasty room.  Carefully I stood and glided over to the window, which was open a crack.  I felt the cold rush as the snow tickled and melted on my arms.  I leaned down, bringing my face to the freezing air and snow.  Then, I flung the window wide open and let the cold consume me and snatched up my skates from the floor.

            “God, help me!  What do I do?!” I shouted into the still night, more to myself than to God, who I felt might not hear me.  I held up my skates, ready to fling them out of the window and forget that part of my life.  But then, I began to imagine.  I saw myself, alone in a freshly smoothed rink, illuminated by a warm spotlight.  Slowly the music began to play and I commenced skating.  I skated freely and let my emotions show for the whole song, and as the song ended, I heard the cheers and the clapping and knew it was just for me.

            “What was that song?  It sounded so familiar,” I pondered, probing the depths of my mind for the answer.  But it didn’t matter.  I had gotten my answer.  After hearing the song that runs within all people, the song of a dream that must be followed, I decided I had to pursue my skating, wherever it might lead.

"DEUTSCHLAND" by Mark Mendick

A glimmering scent, color,

personality floats about the

 light air like snow on a

Christmas morning.

The world is now a possibility.

Animistic personality wiped clean

of this once forsaken place.

Shouting, smiles, tears...

A country split like a crack on concrete,

filled in by the people

with a strong bond.

United as one.

Tag Der Einheit.

"A Dozen Roses" by Erin Slattery

A thousand sighs escape my lips,
Countless aching beats pound within my chest,
Endless thoughts drown my restless mind,
And yet only a single moment has passed me by.
Roses are as red as my eyes that gaze upon them.
Eleven roses wilt as night turns to dawn.
Only one shall feel the warming kiss of the sun.
My twelfth rose.
You my twelfth rose have gone astray.
Hopeful thoughts cannot be contained within a vase.
Hope.
Longing hope.
There's a sudden change in the air amidst me.
For I know with every breath that passes my lips,
every beat of my pounding heart,
Every thought generated deep inside my mind,
And in the very depths of my innermost soul.
I know there is a brilliance that cannot be forgotten.
My twelfth rose.

"What to Say to Convince Your Parents: Tips from the Pro" by Abby Pane

What to Say to Convince Your Parents, Tips from the Pro

Jaylene Parker:  as daughter

Amy Parker: as mother

Hi, my name is Jaylene Parker. I’m sixteen years old and I REALLY want to go to this party, but I know my mom is going to say no… unless I come up with a way to convince her into letting me go by some miracle.

So here is what I am going to do, I’m going to convince my mom into letting me go and you’re going to take notes as you listen to these amazing ways to convince your parents into letting you do something you know they usually would say no to.

                      Thursday, January 3^rd, 2010:                                                        8:03 pm

Jaylene: Hey mom.

Amy: Oh, hey Jaylene, you finished with all your homework?

Jaylene: mhmm…

(Mom looks up at me)

Amy: Are you hungry?

Jaylene: Nope, I already ate. So… mom...

Amy: Yes?

(This is the first step to getting her to say yes, take notes!)

Jaylene: So I was wondering, there’s this party tomorrow night at this kid from school’s house, and I was invited. So I figured since I’ve been doing so well in school and so responsible lately, do you think I could go? (Add in): I’ll be home right at curfew and I promise to let you know if I leave the party any early then I said.

Amy: Well, I don’t know, what’s this kid’s name?

Jaylene: Jason Barker, he’s in my Theology class at school (Adding that he’s in a class dealing with religion always scores major points)

Amy: Are his parents going to be home?

Jaylene: He said they are, and mom, you know I wouldn’t go if they weren’t gonna be there.

Amy: Alright, I’ll think about it, come talk to me later about it.

Jaylene: Alright.

Later that night:

Amy: Jaylene honey, can you come down here?

Jaylene: Okay (I walk down the stairs slowly into the living room) Yes mom?

Amy: Your father and I were talking, and we decided since you have been doing so well on your school work and this Jason kid seems like a good kid so... (like I said, always add the religious part) we think it would be okay if you go, as long as you promise to be home at 11:30 and call if you decide to go somewhere else.

Jaylene: Okay, thanks mom! I better go pick out an outfit.

And that, that is how you convince your parents into allowing you to do something you no they usually would say no to. Always be reasonable, don’t argue, and add in how well you’re doing in school, walaw! You’re going to that party everyone important person is going to.