The Duet: Rough DraftThe stage was illuminated by yellow light overhead between two red curtains the same color and texture as a renaissance dress. Within this space everything was black: the wall, floor, and even the chairs in their arching curve. The air smelled like a storm had just dropped all its rain. Each performer held a golden or silver instrument that glowed like the full moon on a cloudy night. The men resembled penguins with their white button up shirts while the women resembled ninjas with their sleek black dresses. In the center, the conductor’s baton undulated in the air swinging back and forth. Sitting in the second row my eyes focused on the conductor’s movements, but they were also focused on my best friend.
If anything contrasted the scene more, it was her natural copper-red hair that matched her flame colored eyes. Extending from her triangular arms was a skinny black instrument like mine. Her fingers blurred as they shifted across the open, silver circles that formed the ke
The Boy Who Stole Dreams, part 2Everything was failing. She couldn't think, her words were frail. What had happened? Where did all her energy go? Why had such sadness overcome her?
She walked through the bleak white walls of school in this state, she nearly felt like going straight to lunch and laying on one of the outside benches for the rest of the school day. The clouds would be more soothing in their soft floating journey across the sky than an hour basking in the confusion of another algebra lecture from Mr. Pine.
Then suddenly a change swept over her. As she walked into math class, her mood brightened. Her friends were in the same class and she had a wonderful teacher. That day she thought openly and aggressively about every problem like they were puzzle pieces to some philosophical riddle.
And when she went into computers, the problems continued to flow through her head. She began applying every inch of her mathematical knowledge to the programming she was working on. Soon she rose to the best in her class sav
Minimally IronicEveryone get your rough drafts out. I shifted my papers.
I wonder. Slowly I turned my head just barely to the right. A folder, but no paper. Huh.
I’m requiring that you edit each other’s paper prior to the due date for your final draft, but first you need to prove that you have a complete rough draft.
I turned my head slowly back towards my paper. I knew I had everything, but I hoped the printer didn't misalign anything too much.
Title: irony. Page one, two, three, four….There were but two words on that page….fictional and characters. Hmm
A simple laugh came from beside me. I knew it was him. I felt embarrassed; I’m more proficient than this.
That is one minimally speaking paper...he stated, smiling slightly. I looked in his direction. His eyes were genuine, a sort of connection was formed.
We both were wearing black t-shirts of years before our time, my shirt: heart, his: dream.
What did you write your paper about? His hand moved to his chin and his fea
White ShadowInches away.
It was always inches away....
She could just reach out and feel the atmosphere around her. Everyday she could grasp the happy feeling, the short witty sentences, the simple smiles, the glance in that single direction.
He sat beside her, had always sat beside her in some way at the same time of day, but she dare not look at him directly.
Before she had been in intellectual war, always striving to out do the other. Both were talented in all the same ways.
Now her ear listened intensely for his speech, limited to communication through facial expression.
Then there was the days when class was freer. He would comment about her work and she would ask his opinion. They would both laugh at jokes regarding the one thing that never changed: band. In this regard they had much in common. These were her favorite days.
And then when class ended, with unspoken agreement, they raced each other down the halls to the ultimate goal of the final door. She would often lead the race towards tha
The Boy Who Stole Dreams, part 1A little black haired boy of the age of nine wandered the street. In his hands he held a toy train. When he tugged on a string, the train would whistle.
A girl at the age at eighteen pulled on her bookbag, grabbed her flute case, walked out the door, and waited at her bus stop. She looked up at the twinkling stars of the early morning and a feeling of awe struck her. When she rode the bus to school she looked out the window and saw the sun shine through the trees making rays of bright green.
“One day I’ll be a band director,” she thought, “I’ll find a way to stop kids from quitting band and teach them about life. We’ll play so much beautiful, exciting music.” Her favorite song from class started to fill her head. She got off the bus. The morning breeze was cool and smelled of freshly cut grass. The sky shone bright blue. She clenched her fist and looked up at the school.