My Dog.

My Dog.

S: "My dog is way better then yours"
B: "No way, you only wish it was!"
S: "Oh, I know it is"
B: "OH NO YOU DIDN'T! My dog is actually cute, compared to your lil' scrawny rat you call dog!"
S: "Girl, who you tryin' fool, your dog's so fat, the first time I saw it, I screamed because I thought it was a big ol' fat grizzly bear."
B: "Excuse me? You did not just go there. And I don't see your 'pup' doing any tricks like mine can!"
S: "BTW, begging for food, isn't considered a 'trick', my dog can do a 360 by jumping on a trampoline, beat that."
B: "My dog can do a back flip off of the high dive, into the water and still fully swim across the entire lake!"

S: "My dog, who doesn't look like 'Chewbacca the Wookie' from Star Wars, can run all the way to Mexico, and still find her way home."
B: "Well, my dog could bight your dogs head off!"
S: "Then my dad, who's better then yours, could make the police put your dog down."
B: "Don't get me started with this."

Pickle Write.

Pickle Write.

As I lay in the golden gleaming sun, the smell of rype and fresh vegetable fills the air. I wonder about my 'life' being as is forever. I have only lived here almost four months, and I don't think I'll ever know how the outside world is.Some of my syblings are taken from our habbitat every day, and put into the old womans lonely little cabin. I don't know what she does to them in there, but when they leave, the never come back. Once a week a loud and noisy vehicle appears in the drivway by the cabin. It's hideous and frightening, and I think that is were they all dissapear too. I'm always afraid that I might be pulled out of the warm, heated dirt next, and I don't want that happening.

I am a cucumber, and I don't want to be anything else. I'm a perfect shade of green and could be, as smooth as a babies bottom. Being taken from my home is a very depressing thing, but now what I have to go through is insane. I am living in the refridgerator of a pickling lady's house. I don't know why I'm here, but it's dark, and it makes me scared. Sometimes I think I can actually see the light, but that just might be the lightbulb in the fridge everytime the lady opens and takes other vegies out.

She opens the door, she grabs me, she puts me on the counter. Beside me are fellow cucumbers. I get excited. Maybe she'll take us outside? I was wrong. She grabbed us all in a bunch, and threw us in a bowl of acid smelling liquid with asparagus and gralic too. It stung my body and gave me quick shivers. I wasn't quite sure what was happening, but I didnt like it. I sat in the juice for a couple days with others until she came to touch me with her wrinkley hands again. What now. She carefully placed us into a glass jar labeled "Penelopes Pickles". She poured the pickle juice in on top of us so we could drown once again. She screwed a gold lid on top of the jar and now I knew we were really dead. She cautiously placed us into a big cardboard box labeled "Fragile" and "to Orlando, Florida". Then the big truck came, "Uh-Oh, this is it", I thought, "byebye to the only place I've ever known". Was this torture? No, it's the life of a cucumber.

School Could be Changed.

School Could be Changed.

Dear Staff and Mr.Robinson at Glenrosa Middle School,

Two things that could be changed to improve my success in school are...more break time in between classes and less homework.
We spend six hours and fifteen minutes in school five days a week. Only fifty five minutes of the day, we get to eat, socialize, get ready for our next class, and do whatever we need to do in break time. Personally, I don't think that it is enough time, considering that five hours and twenty minutes is spent in class doing work.
We should also get more class time to do homework instead of all the instructing and note taking. In my opinion, homework should be an option. It does help, but why not give us class time to do it instead of worrying about us finishing it at home? Besides, out of school we need our own time to socialize and do our out-of-school-activities.

In school the things working that I enjoy are...the teachers and the classes.
The teachers are very supportive and can be fun at times, but could put a little more fun into the courses we have to learn. The classes are also enjoyable. I especially like in English when we get our own time to silent read and in P.E. when we play different games and learn different activities like Martial Arts.

Sincerely,
a GMS student.

Slow Down.

Slow Down

A. Crossing the Creek

As I was skipping on the dusty and dry rocks, my foot fell into the clear, icy water. Now my foot was wet, it would be more difficult to get along the creek. I tried very carefully and slowly to jump the big opening between the two small rocks, I was afraid that, with my drenched foot, I'd slip. Unfortunatly, my short legs wouln't take me far enough across. When my wet foot touched the tip of the unsteady rock I hesitated and stammered back. I felt the frozen water splash against my rock indented but. I couldn't feel my body. All I felt was the high water rush over me like it wanted me to join its rush. I gasped for air, but the current was too strong. I thought about how my seperated parents would handle it. Lonely, depressed, possibly angry for taking the 'short cut'. I tried my hardest to get up, but my body wouldn't move. I felt paralized. Suddenly a long rock thrashed against my arm. It stung, but it felt warm and comforting. Next thing I knew I was in a birght room lying on an uncomfy matress. I seen my mom and dad staring down at me with smiles and tears. I didn't know what to expect when we got out of here, love or anger.

B. Accident

Reduce, Reused, Recycled.

Reduced, Reused, Recycled

Here I sit, shaded by greenery, comforted by fluffy, white and delicate carpet. Around me there's music and warmth, and joyful voices that make a melody in my head. I smell scents of fresh pine, cinnamon candles and sugar filled cookies. The home is welcoming to Christmas, and I'm just one of those little things that people like to have for this kind of celebration.

I can't walk or talk, people just stare at me, and sometimes they give me this odd sort of look like they can't resist me, and that gives me the chills. I would consider my self beautiful looking, like I came in a perfect package, but no one ever tells me so, nor do they care, they just want to know what I'm like on the inside.

Sometimes, my life can be pretty unusual though, like when I am abused and thrown into the "Reuse" box until next time someone wants me again: it could take a couple of days, or it could be a year, maybe longer. I never stay in one place for to long though, I'm moved around from time to time. Like when other celebrations come around and I'm used to be placed in someone elses home. One time, I had to stay in the attic of a smokey home, I swear my color was wearing off then. Other times, I'm actually treated as a true guest, like when I first visited the White House. The first lady feld me up into a square and placed me on a wooden shelf with others when she didn't need me, and that was the very best experience of my life.

But now my life is as boring as heck. I'm placed in the old retirement home with other
house-once-held items and sit depressed thinking of my old life. My color's faded, my ends are torn and split and I'm not worthy anymore. Sometimes I wonder why this place is so full of junk, and what the word "Dump" means on the sign hung on barbedwire fence. I am now at my old age and close to being ready to go. I wish my last intakers would have treated me better and put me to recycle instead, but I had no say.

Thank you for listening to the story of my life,
Sincerely,
Wrapping Paper.

Winter Scene.

Winter Scene.

It smells like cinnamon and pine tree. It feels warm and cozy, comfy and like home. It isn't home though, it's somewhere not so far from where I live. Me and my family are staying at a cabin up in Big White for the Christmas holidays and in my opinion, it's the best way too spend the weeks, in a cabin, on a ski mountain, with the family. It's an amazing place to be, and I love it up here. The windows are frosty and you can barely see the glistening whiteness of the snow outside on the hill. The trees tower over the buildings and people swiftly fly by our cabin dow the slope on their skiis and boards. The kitchen is baking the delicious smells that fill every room in the two floor rental. Grandmother and mom are standing and talking about new things that have happened this year while taking fresh cookies out of the oven. The scent was grandmas Cristmas Pepermint Chocolate Chip, mmm, my favourite. As I walk to the couch I hear my mom and grandma preparing for the lovely Christmas dinner, boy were we going to have a feast tonight. Every year grandma comes to see us for Christmas, and every Christmas dinner, she fills the long table with food. Turkey, cranberries, potatoes, ham, gravy, cooked veggies, homemade bread and tons more of delicious food. My grandpa, uncle, dad, brother, sister and I all sit down in the decorated living room to watch the Christmas specials on the wide screen T.V. The room was filled with Christmas decorations and candles, warm blankets and sparkling lights, but what sticks out the most, is that beautiful evergreen colored pine tree that covers a blank corner in the room. It is treasured with memories that came even when I was first born.

This Life of Mine.

This Life of Mine.

Everyday I am pushed in and out, up and down, all around and reajusted from time to time. I hate being what I am, though this girl really needs me sometimes. I and her are discusted by the gross, gooey, smelling stuff that comes out of her unexposed parts, but I guess that's just a part of life.

I am a Que-Tip, and not the fancy kind with a brightly colored body either, just the plain pale kind that is made from rolled paper. I'm also decorated with fluffy white cotton balls on each side of my thin body for cleaning ear wax and anything else on a human body that may be unwanted.