Category: Junior Literary

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

Artists have so much influence over the people around them or even across an ocean or two. An artist and their work can change someone’s perspective, opinions, and even personality.

So, when an artist produces a piece, expresses an opinion, or speaks to the media, they [the artist] must censor themselves if they want their influence on society a positive one.

As a writer, I know the responsibility is colossal. The weight can be overbearing because all you want to do is express yourself freely–which is entirely okay. It’s a matter of how you do it, however. For example, a comedic writer’s purpose is to make their audience laugh. Well today, vulgar comedy has gained popularity. Although vulgar comedy is in at the moment, this does not mean that the writer should conform to society’s standards. In my opinion, the author should instead make his/her own type of humor. This will turn comedic audiences instead to less vulgar humor and in turn, changing their personality. This is an example of good influence. Not to say vulgarity is always bad, but sometimes it goes too far and can be quite scarring or even inspiring to malicious intentions.

However, I am not saying that artists should always censor their work or even that they have to censor ANY of their work. It’s all up to how you want to influence the world around you, because art is powerful. It’s all up to the artist.

Recently, I became all too aware of a groundless fear of mine. A fear of writing. Now this is probably the most ridiculous fear of mine. My irrational fear of a shark attacking me in my shower probably makes more sense than this to be quite honest.

I am a literary student. I was accepted into an Art school primarily for my writing. But as the months progress and the work intensifies, I begin to fear what words may come to me as I sit at my desk. I fear the overwhelming emotions that  overtake me as I place my innermost thoughts onto paper.

I fear the criticism I will ultimately receive. I fear the expectations. I fear putting my work out into the world for I do not know how the world will respond. Will people applaud my writing or will they tear it to shreds? Will I be recognized for my work or will i be pushed aside?

I lay awake at all times of the night thinking of how my poems can contain as much emotion as possible. I dream of nothing but pens on paper and fingertips on a keyboard.

I only hope that the world will give my writing a chance.

I really love things, objects, feelings, and emotions. I love having the ability to make a specific thing the apple of my eyes and writing about it in any which way I feel. Having creative freedom, but also control over whatever I desire is very empowering. I enjoy having a subject and stretching it in different directions until I find one I am comfortable with. Then being able to mold and fashion the idea in any way I see fit. Having control over a subject  gives you a world to roam freely, peeking into corners and hidden places and pulling from them what you find most interesting. Better yet, when even greater ideas come from simple ones, you can now build and progress, a series of transitions. Creating a masterpiece from your mind alone is exciting, but putting it into the real world makes it ten times better.

Creation is a beautiful thing. From it you bring life, shape, and energy. Putting energy out into the world is one of the greatest feelings, and usually what you invent will have an affect on at least one person.

So continue creating, inventing, existing, and emitting energy into the universe.

One of the times that I have used my intuition, be it though I don’t use it often, have to be back in 6th grade. Back then I was very awkward,shy and extremely fearful of all human interaction not counting my own family. I was known for being quiet and reserved and as of the new school year,friendless. I had a reputation of being a tattle-tell and a cry baby. my only friend, Brittany had moved away two weeks prior to the new school year and I was mortified. But I didn’t stay that way I gained a little confidence of the course of the summer and I thought I was prepared to face new people and show everyone a new and improved me. It didn’t go that way at all.

Upon arriving at the first day of school I walked the new halls, the middle school halls, much bigger than the elementary’s. Within those halls, i felt insignificant, small and weak among the other students much older than myself, already familiar with this strange place chatting with their friends and walking to classes. It was a sad sight to say the least.

When I came to my class I stopped at a group of lockers four inches away from the door. I try to ease my tremors and my beating heart not wanting to look too childish, I was stronger than that. So when I finally took those steps and peered into the classroom, I froze and the sea of unfamiliar faces and any resolve I had crumbled. I ran out, and back to those lockers I stood at not even a full minute ago and cried. My teacher who looked extremely worried at my state asked why I was crying and if she could do anything to help. In explaining to her my fear of new people, new things and experiences and she seemed bewildered, she then pointed at the class list. On the list was all of my classmates that were in that room. She told me to pick a name from the list who I knew. I looked over the list several times names that I knew were there but of past bullies and vague memories of short conversation from previous years. That’s when I saw it, the one name which for some reason I remembered. Some part of me spoke to me that day almost pushing my finger towards that name and did. The teacher then walked inside and brought out the girl I chose, a short Mexican girl with long brown hair and a blue feather stuck at the top. She took my hand and led me into the classroom.

Now the same girl who I picked that fateful first day of school is the same girl who helped me get into this school the girl who stuck by my side through my worst moments and my greatest. She is the one decision that I will forever be grateful that I made. That girl’s name was Lilly Flores.