Category: Junior Literary

The things I’ve noticed in my life. sometimes when I breathe while sleeping my noes whistles, and wakes me up at night.  When I zone out I’m not really daydreaming rather listening to the air conditioning unit, I do this often. When I get dressed in the morning I don’t process anything that I do into I actually leave the room. I forget thing faster than I probably remember them. My head twitches to the side when I feel proud of myself. I pop my neck in every one of my classes. The floorboard of the literary room has a lot of scuffs marks on the floor. The ceiling is also floorboard but just painted white. I really like it at this school despite the fact that I thought I would be miserable. I stutter whenever Sam walks toward me. My stuttering problem, in general, is getting worse but also at the same time more maintainable.The Ceiling lights of JI look like UFO’s or upside down pyramids with circle bases. I like my friends here much more than I like the ones back home. I haven’t had a brain freeze in like a year. writing has become a natural coping mechanism for me. The floor of my Spanish classroom is a giant square with black tiles outlining outer cashmere tiles that remind me of sand against volcanic dust. My computer keyboard has ants living in them and when I type they crawl out. Everyone has someone, even if they themselves believe they are alone there will always be another human being that has their back whether they know it or not. I like the steady strum of typing that always fills the literary room when we blog. I have begun to bite my nails less. When it’s time for me to go home a feeling of dread sets over my body which is quickly replaced by comfort when I’m actually at my house. The world is starting to become a more accepting place. My poetry is starting to get better in my eyes. I’m getting used to speaking in front of others despite my outer fear. I cant control my facial expression. I’m allergic to citrus. Every single person has morals but its just a matter of applying them thatch the real problem. When I ramble and just type out random things a story usually comes after. I never know how to end a story or a blog.

To me, the best movie ever is A.I. This movie is about a trial robot boy who is an experiment within his family. When he runs away, he finds that being a robot is not easy. Many people were against robots and hunted and destroyed them publicly. He seems to slimly avoid capture and destruction while on his journey home with his best friend, a wise, old, teddy bear with his own personality.

This movie is less of a tear-jerker, and more of a hurricane of emotions occurring in your mind and spilling out your eyes. This said, there are so many moving moments in this movie.

My absolute favorite moment is when there is a gathering of humans and robots–however, the robots aren’t there by choice. The humans are angry at the robots and the people creating them. So, they gather as many stray robots as they can cram into their large metal cages. The arena’s seats were flooding, while the arena itself had multiple robots being killed in excruciating and terrible ways. One robot, for example had acid poured over her. Another was tied to a board and beat with a large wooden hammer. The worst shown in the movie was probably the aggressive disassembly of a ‘male’ robot. The humans didn’t care that the robots were built with a sense of emotion. These robots had already been neglected for being “out-dated”, but the rioters gave no mercy.

This movie shows all the sides of humans, however; this scene just goes to show how heartless and impulsive and angry the human can be.

Bill was making soup.  He made a broth with tomato paste and water.  It was in a giant pot.  He slowly chopped carrots into bite size cubes.  He shelled English peas until he had a sizable bowl full of the small, green spheres.  He took an onion, cut it in half, and diced one half of it.  He was about to put Saran wrap on the cut end on the unused half but decided that there was no real point in doing so and set it back on the counter.  He then diced a potato.  He then cooked ground beef in a pan with a little bit of garlic salt; it didn’t need to be too seasoned because it was working with so many other flavors in the soup.  After adding all of the vegetables and allowing them to cook inside of the bubbling broth, he added the ground beef.  He then put a lid on the pot and put it on low.  It simmered for a while before Bill came back to it.  He lifted the lid and an incredible aroma came out.  He grabbed his wooden spoon, tasted a bit of the broth, and added some salt and cayenne pepper until he’d achieved the flavor he wanted.  After doing so, he got a bowl from out of the cupboard and scooped some soup into it.  He sat down at his table with his soup and a spoon.  He then removed something from his pocket, a vial.  From that vial, he poured a clear liquid into his soup.  He stirred it in with his spoon.  It disappeared from sight after very little stirring.  He inhaled, and there was no difference to the soup’s lovely fragrance.  He took a bite, and it was as good as he expected.  By the eighth bite, his face was in the soup still and likely to have been cold if it had not been for the hot soup.  A fly watched from the onion not paying too much attention.

All MSA juniors were assigned a senior mentor over the summer for guidance, a new friend, and comfort. My senior, Amory, is here for all of the above. She is truly amazing.

Amory has been one of the few people I can run to since the day I met her. My mother took an instant liking to her, and that’s when I knew she would be good for me. What makes her even better is that I can relate to her on any and all levels of life. We can actually talk and vent to each other like long time friends. I don’t think i’ve ever been so comfortable with someone so quickly. She let me know from the beginning that I could always come to her about any and everything, and she meant exactly that.

Last night after I became upset, Mory had a long talk with me, enlightened me on the troubles she faced her junior year at MSA, and her life problems in general. I truly appreciate her for opening up to me, venting, and the bonding time.

I feel as if everyone should have that kind of bond with their senior, that’s what we’re here for. A support system is what everyone here should have.

 

I really just wanted to post my monologue on angels because I enjoyed creating this piece. It is in the POV of a demon. (I’m also thinking of using this piece for the September’s coffee house theme, Glow.)

They fall from heaven hungry. Their voices recall bleeding to death without wound and starch- white lilies placed in windowsills. Be afraid, for they are everywhere unseen, a cathedral of mirrored walls with no reflections. Unholy mouths will drawl their names in offering and silence will resound as an answer. Do not be fooled; there is threat within the tranquility. You think of soft pink cheeks and ivory and yearning light- all I can see is the red spit and unused bibles below hotel beds. Heaven’s holiness hits like damp cotton sheets hung from laundry lines, but can catch your lungs full of ichor all the same. You’ve never tasted the carnage they create; it stills burns on my tongue like confession, like prayer. Listen well when I say there are horns beneath their halos and supernovas writhing within their stars. You wonder if the warm glow of their god-like skin is the sun, not realizing it’s the rising of flames. Paradoxical promises lie in the wings. Be careful not to ruffle their feathers, otherwise you could end up in ash.

This piece was really fun for me to make becaue I love writing about things I do not understand, one of them being the existential matter of angelic forces. I truly think that if angels are real, this is how they would be shown, or should be. So many people hear about things they do not understand and do even challenge the fact that not everyone knows what they are talking about most of the time. I mean, angels might just be mythical creatures nonexistent in the real world, but this does not mean all angels have to follow the suit of conformity. Dark, forboding, chaotic; this is what I think of when I hear angel. I believe heaven and hell are a lot closer than we at first realize, demons and angels one and the same. That’s kind of what I wanted to represent in this- unforgiving order heightened by uncontrollable power, overwhelming and soft as well.  Angels are heavenly, but sometimes I think we only see heaven as good and pure when in reality we do not know. I liked taking this monologue from the POV of a demon because the sides are sort of flipped, roles changed.

 

 

This is the only piece of work I have ever read that I will never forget. I based my hopes, my dreams, and my beliefs around it. The first time I read it, I was in fifth grade. I was angry. I was angry, and I could not tell you or anyone else why, for I did not know. Happiness alluded me; I alluded it. I was angry, and I wanted everyone else to feel my rage with me. There was something wrong with life. It was an underdeveloped idea, something barely forming but not yet identified.
My teacher read the poem out loud to the class, and my facial expressions softened, almost sore from the scowl I always adorned. It resonated deep within me, an echo that I can still hear.

I immediately found myself drawn to the moth, and I ignorantly didn’t consider the cockroach as anything more than pitiful. When we took a poll to see who identified with the cockroach or moth, I was shocked. Almost twenty children chose to be the cockroach, while less than ten chose the moth. I was never so baffled in my entire life, nor do I think I ever will be again.

When I read this poem, it was almost as if my entire life changed. It didn’t happen in a minute or even the day after, but after a week of mulling it over until it was naked without mystery, I gained my first real idea. I gained something that was my own, something that people didn’t agree with me on. Most importantly, I didn’t believe it by someone else’s command. I finally had a voice.

After reading this poem, I did not change immediately. I did not even change for three years afterwards, but rather cried myself to sleep wishing to be a moth. Then, the next morning, I would put on my cockroach costume, for it was easier.

In ninth grade, I remembered it again. It was a random echo from deep, and I read it again. In that moment, I flipped as if a coin, deciding to finally shape my life around it. I changed everything I did, everything I loved, and everything I believed. People change, and this poem changed me.

About twelve years ago, my Aunt Jill introduced Tanner, my cousin and her only son at the time, and I to the wizarding world of Harry Potter. Being only four verging on five, the idea of wizards and witches was one I happily accepted. My cousin being younger then myself didn’t quite grasp the concept. And as per usual, we claimed house Gryffindor as our own.

However, as time progressed Tanner came to understand the movies and he truly claimed the stereotypical house of Gryffindor. I however, after seeing the third movie, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of  Azkaban, I knew Gryffindor was not the house for me.

Now this might sound quite silly, the idea that one could possibly claim a mythical house from a mythical school of wizardry in which there is a man who seeks to destroy all the good mythical people. But you must know that for the nerdy people, this is normal.

But back to what I was saying, I relinquished all claims to the house of Gryffindor and laid claim to House Slytherin.

So when my family went to Universal Studios in Orlando, the Wizarding World of Harry Potter was our first stop. I, of course, collected as much Slytherin Merchandise as  our budget allowed.

Then my friend informed me of the Pottermore test that is supposed to categorize you into a house based on your answers. I immediately created account and took the test.

My results thankfully came out as Slytherin.

“Or perhaps in Slytherin,
You’ll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means,
To achieve their ends.”

–The Sorting Hat, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone

 

Without the plot twists and the surprising turns, a movie would not be considered to be one of good taste to many, myself included.  We rely on movies and TV shows in order to give us some sort of entertainment after a day of our own seemingly uneventful and “boring” lives.  Compared to those people on the screen, we feel as though we are no more than bland, over-emotional beings.

Movies are a thing of wonder, of imagination.  When we are bored with our lives or want to avoid doing homework, we sometimes watch movies.  And what is the best part of a movie?  Well, personally, I believe that the best part of a movie is when it makes you cry, or it makes you rethink something you’ve gone through or choices you’ve made throughout your life.  It makes you think, or feel, or consider extremely intensely.

The part of the movie that makes you cry is one of the best because a good piece makes you cry.  A good piece makes your emotions surge all around you and into the sky above you.  It makes an impact greater than you could ever imagine that a movie would have on you or how you think, or how you feel.  Without that, the movie itself is bland. Without the powerful emotion it makes you feel, it becomes nothing more than a couple of people being recorded living their everyday lives.  Without emotion, a movie is not a movie.

Now, the part of it that makes you rethink any decision, or life choices you’ve ever made is my personal favorite.  When a movie causes you to sit down and wonder “Was I right to do this?” or “How many people were affected by what I did?  And was that something an action that seemed insignificant to me but had a life-changing impact on someone else?”  That, is what I have come to enjoy.  We let such simple things determine how we react or what we choose to do when something drastic happens, and something just as simple – say, a movie, for example – can cause us to question those choices we made.  We think we are the only ones that can change our lives, when really, everything but ourselves influences every little decision we make.

Something that does not even pertain to our own lives makes us wonder if we were in the right.

for me, the best moment in a movie really depends on music. my favorite moments typically have songs i love in them; for example, my favorite scene in the film speech and debate is a montage with “rollercoaster” by bleachers playing over it. two of my favorite scenes in the perks of being a wallflower are the dance scene with “come on eileen” by dexy’s midnight runners and the tunnel scene with “heroes” by david bowie (speak of the devil “heroes” just started playing on youtube). part of why i love these moments is that i love the songs that accompany them.

music is something that i always have and always will love, which means the moments in film that i love often revolve around soundtrack. in my opinion, good films have to have good soundtracks. having just the right song playing at just the right time can turn one normal scene into a moment that the viewer will never forget.  a song can be any old song you hear on the radio, but if its opening chords start to play at during the climax of a scene, the song begins to represent something bigger than just another song you hear on the radio. it comes to represent that moment, that specific feeling you felt the moment you heard it in the scene.

the best moments in films are the ones where the music perfectly sets the tone of the scene. they’re the ones where an emotional moment becomes magnified by lyrics and melody. these moments take a song you may or may not know and turn it into something that will forever remind you of three friends speeding through a tunnel feeling infinite, the moment two characters share a first kiss and change everything between them forever.

in my world, music means everything. this also means that music changes everything. music can make happiness and love just as much as it can make heartbreak and despair. it can turn a day on its head, and the same applies to film. a happy song can completely reinvent a scene that may not be entirely happy and vice versa.

music can change the world, and it does. it can build up mountains and break down walls. it can completely revolutionize the life of just one person or an entire community. music changes us, so doesn’t it make sense that music changes film too?

Everyone has that one song, maybe even a whole playlist, that they need to listen to to be able to start their day off or to help them get through a particularly hard day. Here are some of mine:

When I need to get out of a funk:
–Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man
–Ophelia by The Lumineers
–Wish I Knew You by The Revivalists
–Dog Days are Over by Florence + the Machine

When I need to concentrate on my writing:
–The Girl by City and Colour
–Arsonist’s Lullaby by Hozier
–My Eyes by The Lumineers

When I’ve had a long day and I’m ready to wind down and relax:
–Slow Hands by Niall Horan
–Spirits by The Strumbellas
–First by Cold War Kids