Category: Junior Literary

In a dungeon of Hell

i sit in the corner, dark and cold,  
questioning why i do as i’m told.
wondering bout this room of mine,
asking why the sun won’t shine. 

the door unlocks and gets flung open,
and there stands Hades, so outspoken.
He throws my scythe and hands my robe,
telling me “Go fetch a soul!”

i wonder out, but where to go?
when suddenly i sense a soul.
the soul is old but newly dead,
i’m wondering if he was wed.

i hold my scythe, and aim to swing.  
Oh why does this keep happening?
i smile sadly, poised to strike.
and think ‘don’t work’ with all my might. 

Hades calls me back i can’t evade.
he bids me back into my cage.
left no comp’ny but the dark,
till the next time i depart.

so here i’m tapped inside this room 
where not even flowers choose to bloom
and here i’m stuck with hades my keeper
even though, i am, the Grim Reaper. 

 

I wrote this poem based on an assignment I was given in class. The goal was to write from the Antagonist (aka the villain) point of view. To make the reader feel for and relate to the ‘bad guy’ in the story. I choose to do the Grim Reaper. He might seem like a bad guy to most, but I think our generation has turned him into something softer. And a little more kind. In my poem, Death (whose job title is Grim Reaper) is sorta being held prisoner by Hades. Hades needs somebody to go and collect souls, doesn’t he? I mean, it’s not like he could go out onto the world and get those souls himself, right? But Hades prefers to just do the paperwork. So he has Death go do it instead. 

Now, Death is being kept locked away for a reason. It’s his punishment. See Death is Death, but he is not in charge of when or where people die. That’s The Fate’s job. He just collects the souls. And remember, this was before he has put under Hade’s guardianship. This story happens during the time he is still allowed to roam the earth freely.

Death would come and give collect souls of all sorts. He did his job well and kept track of the souls he gathered. Then he would send them to Hades using a shadow dog he conjured up as the messenger. But one day, when he was collecting a fairly old woman’s soul, the soul asked if he would look out for her young grandchild. For the sake of helping the soul find peace, he agreed. 

Later when his shadow dogs came back from a delivery to Hades, Death noticed that one of them had a note tied to its collar. Death unrolled the piece of paper to find that Hades was telling him to keep his promise. And so Death began to take care of the little girl.

He showed up at the house the old woman had lived in to find the little girl trying to wake her grandmother. The little girl had tears streaming down her cheeks, so Death asked one of his hounds to lick her face to try to cheer her up.  But after receiving a giant slobbery kiss from the Shadow dog, she was gifted with Special Sight and was now able to see Death and his dogs. The little girl, who been crying at her cold grandmother’s side since the night before, threw herself at Death, wrapping her tiny arms as best she could around his waist and clutching his robe tightly in her itty-bitty hands. Death tried to comfort her as best he could, but he was Death and had little experience dealing with emotions like grief. 

 

And that is where I will stop this story for this blog post. If you want to know what happens next, comment below and let me know!

I’ve always had curly hair, but I never knew how to take care of it (and I still don’t). Growing up I wanted to have what all the other girls had around me-straight hair. So I straighten my hair. (Which literally took THREE HOURS,  girl, my arms were TIRED) I neglected my beautiful curls for almost four years, and I still beat myself up about it. Until I was talking to strangers on a kik group chat. They expressed their love for my curls. They made me fall in love with them. This was the first time someone ever told me my curls were beautiful, and girly, it was over with from there. I WAS EMBRACING THOSE DAMAGED FRIZZY FRIED CURLS.

I still didn’t know how to take care of them, and learning how to do so was and still is so hard. I was running a comb through them and putting crunchy moose in it until I was over at my cousin’s house, and asked him how he got his curls looking so luscious…he looked at me like ??? and said “I wet them”. I felt so stupid y’all. I was thinking to myself wow that really makes a lot of sense. So that was a start– styling my hair while it was wet. But trying to find the right products for my hair?? A MESS. It took so many trial and errors and at least 100 dollars down the drain, but mistakes make progress and I was getting there. I didn’t really have any guidance… I didn’t even know what type of curl I had until literally a week ago. (thanks Steph) My mom didn’t know anything about curly hair so she wasn’t much help. And my hairdresser?? No shade to you but please stop straightening naturally curly hair in your salon mam. Anyways, YouTube became my best friend. The spiral I go into watching hair product reviews…I’m not proud of it. So with the little information I have I’m gonna try to give my curly girls a couple of tips. 

1. PLEASE stop applying heat to your curls. EMBRACE them because I promise you so many people long for them. 
2. Use that old “paint” shirt to dry your hair when you get out the shower. SAY GOODBYE to those towels. The frizz there giving to you…
3. THROW THE SHAMPOO AWAY. It’s drying out your hair. Make co wash and conditioner your best friend. 
4. The brushes got to go too. 
5. This might be common sense but section your hair when applying products. It took me some time to realize that. It might of been my laziness but the difference it makes. Yeah it was definitely my laziness. 
6. MASSAGE YOUR SCALP GET THAT BLOOD FLOWING (Not throughout ya know a night out or anything) I know it’s so hard to keep your hands out your hair throughout the day but try. You can do it. I believe in you. 
7. Most importantly, listen to your hair. Find what works for you. Don’t give up after that 8th bottle of hair product that doesn’t work for you. You’ll find what makes your hair thrive. I promise.   

I didn’t go to cosmetology school or anything, but I wish I knew those things a little bit earlier to save myself some frizz, and I hope it can help a girly with curly locks :). 

The Dinner and Dialogue assignment we had to do early on in the year is probably my least favorite piece I’ve produced here so far. However, I felt like I should share it publicly on here, because even though I’m definitely not proud of this piece, it helped me view spending time with my family as not something to dread, but rather something to enjoy. It made me realize that even though we definitely have some disagreements, I need to relish in the time I have with them and make every moment count.

When I first heard about doing this assignment, I internally cringed and groaned. Dinner with my entire family of 3, a massive number of people, I know, sounded like a political nightmare. I could only imagine the awkward exchanges, the scoffs from my mother, and my father playing the role of mediator during it all. I feel like my father expected this as well because when I came to him with this assignment, he had a look of excitement, sure, but also one of slight dread. The last time we ate as a family was probably the last holiday.

However, when the time came around to sit down and eat, we were both pleasantly surprised. Our dining room table was completely covered by paperwork and random items, so we sat in the living room to eat our microwavable dinners. Outside were my mother’s hummingbird feeders swarming with ruby-throated, tiny emerald birds beating their little wings faster than the eye can see, along with a few outdoor cats pouncing upwards to grab them. The shining birds were always quick enough to avoid the swiping of their paws, and the slender felines would lay down in front of the window after a tiring workout.

Gazing out at the vision of nature outside, my father brought up a new ice cream place he had discovered while he traveled for work, and that took up most of the conversation. For at least half an hour, my father went on about the giant milkshakes and cheesecake ice cream.

“Aren’t you lactose intolerant, Chris?” asked my mother.
“Yeah, but this was definitely worth it,” he replied, cracking a smile.

The dinner went on like this for around another thirty minutes as we talked about our days at work and school, along with new Netflix releases and music. It was surprisingly enjoyable, and as much as my teenage mind hates to admit this, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.

Like many other days in my life, I found myself overcome with both stress and boredom. (yes, I was procrastinating, mind ya business lol) I decided that I didn’t want to just float from app to app on my handy dandy phone, so I did the next best thing. I scrolled through my camera roll.

I hope you all can relate when I say my camera roll is full of not only pointless videos and memes, but also screenshots and countless backyard photoshoots. I constantly get notifications about the lack of space I have. But, I simply refuse to scavenge through my camera roll and delete the things I KNOW I don’t need. Enough about me being too lazy to scroll and delete, aren’t you guys interested in what I found???

Well, when I first opened my photos app the first thing I saw was a few saved TikTok videos. (please, don’t ask.) Next, I found random screenshots that would probably come in very handy someday. The likeliness of me ever using those screenshots is still pretty low considering how pointless the conversations were. If I continue to scroll I then find even more pointless memes and videos. (I swear, I actually take pictures, friends)

Now, here comes the cute stuff. I continued to scroll for what felt like ages before I actually see pictures. The first picture I see is simply me doing one of my infamous backyard photoshoots. As I continue to scroll, memories of this summer come flooding back in. Due to Covid-19, I couldn’t really have a “proper” summer vacation, but I still enjoyed it to say the least.

When the summertime pictures came along, I knew that I was nearing the end of my camera roll adventures. I upgraded my phone during the summer of this year. My very first picture is a backyard photo of me and my youngest brother. (AWWW!!)

I experienced many different emotions scrolling through my camera roll today. It was a journey to say the least. I saw with my own two eyes my confidence increase while my sense of humor continues on its own downward spiral. At least I have my camera roll to look on. It’s nice and interesting.

 

Let’s set the scene, you’re in a relationship, something doesn’t seem to be going quite right so you decide to ask what’s up.  That’s when you get the dreaded “I think we should just be friends” text, or something of the like.  Now not only is your heart shattered, you have to mentally prepare yourself to never be in real contact with them again, because they don’t wanna be “just friends” for some reason that is just the crap people say, what they mean is every time you see each other, you look away, you never speak, except maybe an occasional “Merry Christmas” text or something like that.  Oh, and they might just block you on social media.

So, what did you do to have to go through this?  Nothing, apparently.  Or that’s what he claims.  Nothing went wrong yet here you are crying in your bed, hugging your stuffed animals, listening to something on your phone, probably Melanie Martinez.  So, why do you feel like everything is your fault?  You pick up your phone to stare at it blankly for a moment, then put it back down.  You contemplate getting ice cream, but you decide not to because you don’t like the way you look and want to lose weight.  

Days pass before you get out of your slump, in that time you’ve been pestered about your “laziness” from your family and a long lecture about how you don’t do enough to help around the house and yada yada….  You find your cat, his small headbutts of affection give you a smile.  He rubs against your legs and you stroke along his back.  If you are feeling a little brave, you may pick up the warm fury creature, nuzzling your tear stained face into his soft purring body.  You scratch his head and kiss him, after a while you will put down or he will squirm until you know he wants down and you will grant his request.   

So, maybe you wrote something, made a vent drawing, or just sung your voice out to your mental breakdown selection of songs; perhaps all of these things.  Sometimes, you reach out to people while you are in a heavy episode of depression, but the usual response is leaving the message opened and not offering any help, perhaps even calling you names at the fact you are “attention seeking” when you just want someone to throw you a rope ladder to climb out of this big, deep, pit of despair.

Chapter One: Maid

I detest having to clean the floors. Especially for the royals. I despised it. To spend my days answering to everyone superior me, there to fill out every command or wish. Liara do this. Liara do that, I thought as I sat on my knees, cleaning as hard as I ever had.

The King had a new lady coming to visit. There seems to be an endless stream of ladies being introduced to his court. I can’t stand the king’s court. The lords of the gentleman’s’ court would ravage the young girls without a care and leave ’em, having found better ladies whom had better social stature and titles. I’ve spent too many nights lending my shoulder for girls having been left. I think they’re silly to think a lord is going to wed a maid.

But what do I know? I’m just a maid. I spent my days as a personal maid for the king and his seemingly endless stream of young wives. When he didn’t get a son, he’d divorce or execute the wives and would’ve already found a new queen. I think that the king’s ideals were abhorrent. Not that my opinion mattered. At least, I thought it didn’t.

Little did I know, the king would.

It’s frigid outside

Like we were inside of a snow globe

Snow on the ground

It’s a winter wonderland

We  sate our thirst on that sweet,

chocolate nectar

that already fills our bodies, 

Creating a cozy contentedness

Children shrieking gleefully,

ecstatic at the sight of their first snowfall. 

They marvel at the crisp cotton-like flurries

Coming down,

as lightly as a million feathers atop their small heads

Which are caressed by velvety wool caps

Lovingly knitted by careful grandmothers

Young lovers are gaily laughing under the mistletoe

Enjoying each others’ presence

Without a care for the troubles tomorrow may bring

Indifferent to judgmental, wandering eyes

Grandparents lovingly nurturing their small grandchildren

The warm smell of soft sweet gingerbread

And old, clean leather nuzzling

the itty-bitty children

People building gargantuan, frosty, affable snowmen

Topped with an old beat-up top hat that’s been in one family for decades,

Fresh picked crispy carrots from Old Man Grady’s farm, 

Smoot covered coal, fetched from the railroad tracks

Across the street from the Town Square

And a scarf knitted in soft, bright colors

Gifted by a little blonde pig-tailed girl 

Who was maybe three years old

Warm gingerbread men

Baked by the kindest ladies you’re ever likely to meet

They all get together at the town church

And make Christmas food for everyone in the park

Carolers chiming like twinkly bells

Joyfully belting our favorite Christmas tunes

Parents drinking eggnog,

Conversing with each other while attentively watching their kids,

Cheering their children on during every hockey game,

Making sure no one gets hurt

People dutifully fulfilling their loved ones holiday wishes

Friends ice skating together,

Tripping over each others’ feet

And choking on their laughter

Happiness is what Christmas is all about

Content Warning: eating disorders, self-harm.

I’ve always been extremely critical of myself throughout my life. There would be times where I would just stare in the mirror and maliciously find every “flaw” littered around my body and mull over for hours on how to fix them. Not a single blemish, scar, or stretch mark was safe from my eagle eye of judgement, and I even viewed that as a positive trait. Not even my personality or social interactions were safe. Every slip up and possibly annoying trait echoed in my mind incessantly, and I had to make constant notes on how to improve myself and better behave in the future.

It wasn’t until I developed an eating disorder and went to therapy that I realized what a horrible mindset I had. Becoming the “ideal” had absorbed my life to the point where I couldn’t focus on or even think about anything else. There would be times where I would get so fed up with my body I’d sharpen and dig my fingernails into my skin to punish myself for just being me— to punish myself for not being “the ideal.” This period of my life still affects my physical and mental health to this day, but I think I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m fully content with myself and who I am.

It started with me challenging that so-called “ideal” in my brain. Who decides what the “ideal” even is? Why should I worry so much about it? The answer is very complicated and, quite honestly, could be a topic for an entirely separate blog post. Past me would jump to the surveys and studies on the internet and say something along the lines of: “The majority of men prefer this body type and this nose shape, so clearly it’s the “ideal” and most desirable.” Even then I realized my obsession with this was because of my fear of inadequacy and not being good enough for my partner. A pit would form in my stomach whenever I was faced with the mere idea of a relationship, and visions of being a regret of my future husband or wife would haunt my every waking and dreaming thought.

The answer was so simple and what everyone had been telling me.

“If they really want to spend the rest of their life with you, then you’re already their ideal.”

“Well, what if someone leaves me for someone else? Someone more ‘ideal?'”

“Then you may not have been their ‘ideal,’ but there will be someone else out there who will love you just the way you are.”

It took a lot, and I mean a lot, of work to get to that point. Thing is, I wasn’t even close to being done. I still needed to come to make a mends with my body and eliminate every other person from my view. I needed to forgive, or rather, thank my body for being itself. I needed to let myself be me. And I did. I chose to love myself.

I feel as if MSA was a perfect environment for this newfound mindset to cultivate and grow. The students here value genuineness and and individuality more than anyone I’ve ever met, and they really do wish to support you in any way possible. I’ve never felt so accepted and like I didn’t need to chase after some “ideal” to be accepted and loved— I just needed to accept and love myself and others. 

I am my ideal, and I am proud of my progress.

I probably could have written this much better than I did, but after a crisis at 2:06 am in the early morning of the due date, there isn’t much time to revise or rewrite. It’s been something I’ve wanted to explore in my writing for a very long time now, and although I may not have executed it in the best way possible, it’s down on paper and into the world, just like I wanted it to be. Typing my final stroke as the clock reaches 3:15 am, I wish you all a good day. 🙂

“How can you miss someone you’ve never met?”
“‘Cause I need you now and I don’t know you yet.”

     I heard these lines for the first time when I was in the shower and an ad from Spotify started blaring through my phone speakers. At first, I felt annoyed, because I was expecting another track from my “Serotonin” playlist to begin, but not having the willpower to step out of the acrylic tub at my home with the conditioner running down my hair, I decided to let it continue. I stuck my head back under the warm water being expelled from the shower head, but found myself pausing once the musician, Alexander 23, sang those two lines. I had to physically stop what I was doing in order to process what I had just heard; those lyrics may seem corny, but when I listened to them, I felt seen, in a weird way.

     Recently, I have been experiencing the odd yet comforting sensation of feeling like somebody is out in the world waiting for me. When I come against my anxieties about finding my purpose in life, there is always this sense of warmth that floods over me and reminds me that everything is working out the way it is supposed to. I truly could not tell you why I feel this so strongly; I just do. When I picture this person, I don’t see anything: not a gender, not an age, not a height, no facial features, nothing distinguishable about them at all, but I still see them. I see the colors that remind me of them: green, red, and blue, and I see the way their heart glows.

     I’m not sure if I believe in soulmates of any kind, but I do like to think that when you meet someone who is going to be important to you, you’ll just know. I cannot figure out what type of connection I have with this person; all I know is that it is there and I can feel it in every inch of my body. They could be a classmate I meet in a writing class who likes coffee and enjoys really, really cliché romance novels. They could be an elderly person I sit with at a café every morning who has lived a thousand different lives and tells me all about them. They could be a partner I meet by chance while on vacation in one of those states with “character.” They could be anybody–a friend, a mentor, a lover, but at the end of the day, all that matters is that they just are. I like to think they are experiencing this kind of pull too. Maybe as I’m writing this, they’re having one of those moments of warmth…or maybe they aren’t and they’re just trying to watch that Criminal Minds rerun marathon in peace.

     Either way, I know I’ll meet them in due time.