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**Boots** The air was chill and damp and clung to my skin like a thick blanket. It was dark but I blended in with the night, dressed in my long, black trench coat. My black fingernails and hair made me nearly invisible to everyone besides the eery bushes and street signs that I soon passed by. I was in no hurry to reach any destination. In fact, I began to notice how I was traveling in a circuitous path to the end of nowhere. My boots clapping against the dampened pavement, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, I inhaled the moist air as if I was suffocating from exhaustion of walking for too long. But I could not stop.

comment: Wow! I would keep moving with this piece. Great images! Is this from our shoes exercise in class?

 **Grandma's Perspective** I was around 12 years of age when it happened. I was in the back yard of my two-story home in a prodominately rural area in Danvile, Virginia around the '50s. My siblings were all inside the house, as well as my mother and father and there I was all alone. Me all by my lonesome. Then I saw it, but I had to double-take to make sure theat I saw correctly. It sauntered by, penetrating through the corn stalks, staring at me conspicuously. It had no fear, it watched me arrogantly as if it had been my landlord. A chill ran down my back as I nervously observed its pale, grim face, dressed in all black. There it was firmly standing right in front of the tall corn stalks as they tangoed ferociously with the wind. Although the winds were strong, the sky was smokey gray, and sounds of the roosters crowing projected in the air, neither of us was phased. I then heard my sister scream out "Ethel!" so it and I departed, swiftly vanishing simultaneously from the country back yard.

comment: I love the images of the corn stalks wrapped in a tango!! Good stuff. Do your proofreading and keep moving, kiddo. This is good! My heart goes a flutter It flickers as a flashlight on an shadowy night My heart races It skips so rapidly like a pebble to a pond My heart begins pounding It bangs into my chest as a boxer to his opponent My heart is full of motion It collapses like an avalanche as the sound waves burst into laughter My heart no longer beats It crushes as if he ripped it from my chest, crumbled it, and threw the pieces away
 * Crush**

There is no hope Love has become a stranger to me It bangs on the door but I will not let it in It wags its tail but I will not take it out There is not hope A fear of rejection surfs on my brain A fear of loneliness skips on my heart There is no hope Love is a kite It is flighty and transient Blowing all potential hopes of consistency and stability away from me It has no clue what it does to me There is no hope My brain and my heart tackle Producing an enormous cloud of confusion They can no longer compromise I remain an anomaly There is no hope
 * Hopeless**

Reflection, a woman staring back at herself, deep into her own eyes. She looks as if she was lost, as if she was staring back at a stranger. A serious expression on her face, she does not know who she is. A light is reflected on her wavy blond hair, her pale skin.

Rocky landforms scrape the sky. A waterfall gallops down the rocks, finishing at a stream. The stream holds ducks, a person races to the other side and bushes and trees border it. People stand at the border and watch the person who is swimming. The people wear white togas, skirts and some dressed in nothing at all. They hold sharp-ended poles. Ducks surround them also trees with white trunks.

The Effects of Rape and Pedophilia

Some people would say that rape is just a crime and that pedophilia is just something that people do because they believe that “age ain’t nothing but a number.” Others excuse these mishaps by assuming that rapists are just people who have previously had a rough childhood, were abandoned in their youth, or were never loved. Well I believe the opposite; I believe that rapists are not criminals, merely psychopaths, absorbed in a world with ordinary people. Rape and pedophilia is the worst crime; it steals the childhood, all of the hopes and dreams away from the victims, robbing them of their futures and goals. They should not only be convicted, but should be exiled to mental institutes for the remainder of their lives.

Melancholy fills my heart when I think of all of the men, women and children who become victims of a rape. Imagine a child walking down excitedly on the sidewalk to a neighborhood park. He expects only to greet his friend when he arrives. The rambunctious wind shuffles through his hair as he walks, almost skipping, to the park with a smile on his face. He thinks about how hard he will hit the baseball out of the ballpark and anticipates sliding across the dirt and getting his pants dirty, only for his mom to yell at him when he returns home. That is if he returns home. The only thing that he does not expect is to be snatched by a man in his mid 40’s. The kid kicks and punches, bites and scratches, but it is of no use. The man is much too strong. He quickly drags the kid to his car and drives away.

These sorts of tragedies occur all of the time, more frequently than one thinks. Rapes have been happening for a long period of time. Previously, it was no huge crime. A young girl or woman could become raped and no one would ever know. And even if they did know about it, no one would even care. These crimes were hidden in the burrows of darkness, blinded to those who could actually make a change. And if there were someone out there who could make a change, they would be overshadowed by the wickedness of the enemy, the rapist and the pedophile, and their voices would never be heard. Nowadays, more stringent laws exist, punishing those who commit such a heinous crime and steal the innocence from a child. The only issues that exist are the fact that these maniacs blend in with everyone else, providing us with no warning and causing us to be vulnerable to their attacks. Another issue is that the law recognizes rape as a crime when it is actually a sickness that resides within sick people, people who are “one olive short of a martini.”

There is a seven-year-old girl who cries to herself internally every night. To everyone else around her she is a normal person, but in reality she stays to herself, boxed in, she is a turtle. Her father continually molested her; she does not spill the secret, and although she is only seven, she cannot help but inquire, “Why does my dad do this to me?” She is twenty-seven years old now and she is my cousin. And although this occurred approximately twenty years ago, that seven-year-old still remains within her and still cries every night. Her father’s actions have debased her as a woman, it has taken a huge toll on her life and she has not yet been able to chase her dreams. Eventually the tragedy is revealed and the father is convicted; he later goes on raping another woman and becoming convicted again. This brings me to my argument of how rapists and pedophiles are not only criminals but psychopaths as well.

So, maybe the rapist did indeed have a rough childhood, was abandoned as a youth, or even never felt loved. But these factors do not excuse the fact that rape destroys everything and everyone who becomes a victim of it. Victims of rape and pedophilia often become disconcerted, lost and even violent in some cases. Many rapes have caused people to change their sexual preference and their entire view of the world itself and the people within it. Rape and pedophilia is disgusting, sickening and outrageously out of line. It is necessary to concoct ideas in order to decrease the amount of rapes and pedophilias, to mitigate the mental and emotional pain of the victims and to make the world as much a carefree place as we can. When we do this, not only will we not have to be concerned about as many psychopaths roaming the earth, but we will also be able to help restore the light in the faces of our beautiful people and they will be able to fulfill their dreams.

EDITED Some people would describe pedophilia as an activity that people do because they believe that “age ain’t nothing but a number.” Others excuse these mishaps by assuming that pedophiles are just people who have previously had a rough childhood, were abandoned in their youth, or were never loved. Well I believe the opposite; I believe that pedophiles are culpable, merely psychopaths, absorbed in a world with ordinary people. Pedophilia is the worst crime; it steals the childhood, all of the hopes and dreams away from the victims, robbing them of their futures and goals. They should not only be convicted, but should be exiled to mental institutes for the remainder of their lives.

Melancholy fills my heart when I think of all of the men, women and children who become victims of a rape. Imagine a child walking down excitedly on the sidewalk to a neighborhood park. He expects only to greet his friend when he arrives. The rambunctious wind shuffles through his hair as he walks, almost skipping, to the park with a smile on his face. He thinks about how hard he will hit the baseball out of the ballpark and anticipates sliding across the dirt and getting his pants dirty, only for his mom to yell at him when he returns home. That is if he returns home. The only thing that he does not expect is to be snatched by a man in his mid 40’s. He kicks and punches, bites and scratches the man, but it is of no use. The man is much too strong. He quickly drags him to his car and drives away.

These sorts of tragedies occur all of the time, more frequently than one thinks. Pedophilia has occurred for a long period of time. Previously, it was no huge crime. A young girl or woman would be raped and no one would ever know. And even if they did know about it, no one would even care. These crimes were hidden in the burrows of darkness, blinded to those who could actually make a change. And if there were someone out there who could make a change, they would be overshadowed by the wickedness of the enemy, the pedophile, and their voices would never be heard. Nowadays, more stringent laws exist, punishing those who commit such a heinous crime and steal the innocence from a child. The only issues that exist are the fact that these maniacs blend in with everyone else, providing us with no warning and causing us to be vulnerable to their attacks. Pedophilia is a sickness that resides within sick people.

There is a seven-year-old girl crying to herself internally every night. To everyone else around her she is a normal person, but in reality she stays to herself, boxed in, she is a turtle. Her father continually molested her; she does not spill the secret, and although she is only seven, she cannot help but inquire, “Why does my dad do this to me?” She is twenty-seven years old now and she is my cousin. And although this occurred approximately twenty years ago, that seven-year-old still remains within her and still cries every night. Her father’s actions have debased her as a woman, it has taken a huge toll on her life and she has not yet been able to chase her dreams. Eventually the tragedy is revealed and the father is convicted; he later goes on raping another woman and becoming convicted again. This brings me to my argument of how pedophiles are not only criminals but psychopaths as well.

So, maybe the pedophile did indeed have a rough childhood, was abandoned as a youth, or even never felt loved. But these factors do not excuse the fact that rape destroys everything and everyone who becomes a victim of it. Victims of pedophilia often become disconcerted, lost and even violent in some cases. Many rapes have caused people to change their sexual preference and their entire view of the world itself and the people within it. Pedophilia is disgusting, sickening and outrageously out of line. It is necessary to concoct ideas in order to decrease the amount of pedophilias, to mitigate the mental and emotional pain of the victims and to make the world as much a carefree place as we can. When we do this, not only will we not have to be concerned about as many psychopaths roaming the earth, but we will help restore the light in the faces of our beautiful people and they will fulfill their dreams.

Interview with Spongebob Michelle Foster: interviewer Spongebob: as himself

Foster: So, Spongebob, what's life like down there in Bikini Bottom? Spongebob: Oh, everything's great, i just got a promotion. I'm now the chief patty flipper. Foster: Wow, that's great especially considering the fact that you're the __only__ patty flipper. So what brings you to the other side of uhh... the earth? Spongebob: Well i figured I'd see what I'm missing, see what the other half of earth looked like. I also wanted to get a break from Patrick, he's been driving me nuts, you know with the whole lack of intelligence deal. You know what I mean? Foster: Yes of course. So how's it going at driving school? Have you gotten your boating license yet? Spongebob: No, not yet but you see I don't mind having to go to boating school everyday. Mrs. Puff is the greatest and I'm her favorite student. Foster: Oh is that so? So, I have a few more questions for you. I've always wondered about certain events that take place down there. You know, weird stuff (chuckles). For example, how do you fry patties under water, how do you takes baths and showers underwater, and how was Sandy able to put a pickle jar over her head for air while she was in the ocean? Spongebob: Well Michelle, I don't have any other explanations for your curiosities except the fact that I'm animated. (grins) Foster: Hahaha, of course why didn't I think of that?

Improv #1 The air was still that night: there was absolutely no wind. The stars seemed to float with the midnight sky. The sound of rustling bushes and noisy children riding bicycle filled the air. Tinkerbell strolled down pass houses, pondering over the conversation she had with Henry. She was a bossy little cat and he was a stubborn old steed. Their secret meetings in the forest became their daily routine. They would play games, plan out their daily schedule and gossip, especially about Baldy, the nosy eagle. Baldy was so nosy that he would sail the skies searching for any sign of conflict or drama, from fires to married couples screaming at the top of their lungs. Tinkerbell and Henry soon decided to go to the beach to watch the clams pop up above the water, smiling. They watched the violet ships sail away leaving all of the men and women behind at the harbor, and they laugh. Improv #3: Stories inspired by a specific scene It is spring time, a time that is supposed to be fresh, exciting, and a new beginning. I’m at home, lying on my bed with my hands behind my head staring out of the window, observing the way the sun seemed to smile at me. I sing tunes in my head to myself that remind me of spring. Suddenly as I am looking out the window, it seems as if it is raining. But it isn’t. The death of my cousin Karla haunts me, and lingers on my skin like spider webs, crawling down my back and tip-toeing up my arms. That happy environment seemed to fade away and up came those horrible images rewinding in my imagination. At her funeral, when I walked into the church the heaviness of despair hung on my flesh. The walk down the isle to the pulpit felt like the walk of doom. After an eternity, if finally arrive at the coffin where I see her. I pour into tears, unable to stand, unable to think. Improv #4 Bugladies dream about gliding across the satin silk sheets of paradise The dropsrain so lightly arrive, beautifully and nice Flowerswild, eaglesbald and beansjelly they see flee Fishstar, fliesdragon and clamssea they hear sing Climbing up the stalkbean while they prepare to fly Dancing on the velvety stems and racing the rocketsky The bugladies soar above the cotton fields Dash across the roses they must not yield Galloping round and round They swirl and spin and take their bound On the leaves of the pond they wade Until fallnight they linger in the shade Improv #5 Spring Time, a time for renewal Lying on my bed, staring out of the window The sun gleaming down, smiling at me proudly Singing joyful tunes in y head that reminds me of spring As I look out of the window, rain suddenly pours on me A thunderbolt, lightning, rain that burns when it meets your skin Karla is gone they say, Karla is gone I tune everyone and everything out until y thoughts fade away But I am able to feel The feeling haunts me, lingering on my skin like spider webs And spiders crawling up my spine and tip-toeing up my arms The joyous environment fades away The horrendous images rewind within my thoughts Despair gnaws at my flesh as I walk down the isle The journey to the pulpit becomes the walk of doom An eternity seems to drift by as I reach the coffin My eyes meet her motionless body She appears relaxed and Serene I feel the pain bubbling in the pit of my stomach **__ Animal Poem __** Oh how graceful she grazes with her pack Blades of grass sway calmly accordingly With the direction that she travels in   Glide to the river, through open meadows And pass luring echoes of hummingbirds She’s with her companions as she likes it   But in the dream world she stands alone Alone, in order to gather her thoughts And take notice of the wonders that the World withholds, to escape signs of conflict Recognized profound beauty and embrace Love and freedom as if it were extinct Oh gazelle, release your inner beauty Stand out from the crowd, enter your dream world

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