A Scary Story

Alright my teacher said 'Write a Story like Edgar Allen Poe did.". Being kind of unobservant and hopelessly confused, she did not realize that A) half the class did not know who this was and B) The ones that did had not really read much of his work. In a class of eigth graders, this was the best she was going to get. So, most of us just assumed 'scary' or 'creepily ominous'. Although it probably has nothing to do with Poe, here is my contribution.

Kiera Wolfe
A Poe-like Story

The world exploded in a flash of light as Larry the maintenance man walked into the gold plated atrium in the kingdom of the gods. The double swirly doors of the Mount Olympus Hotel made quietly snobby thwacking noises as they spun around, ferrying tourists into the extravagant foyer. Everything was made of glass. The façade of the building let in the moonlight, which pierced the downy carpeting and threw the plushy couches and exquisite desks into harshly defined shadows.
The new guests swept into the hotel, sighing with relief. The clouds above were growling harshly, threatening to thunder on anyone who displeased them. Larry shook out his umbrella and efficiently stowed it under his jumpsuit-covered arm. He polished his name tag and briskly walked up to the front desk. The black haired and carefully manicured man behind the desk stood up slightly as he approached, looking him up and down, evaluating his worth. After a quick examination, he deemed the situation one that required a haughty aloofness. He straightened up quite a bit more and looked down his nose at Larry.

“Can I help you sir.” He drawled lazily, putting emphasis on his displeasure of using the word when referring to the maintenance man.

“Somebody called about some sort of elevator problem?”

“Oh. Yes. You’re here to fix Bessie aren’t you? Heh, good luck with that one. That old contraption shut down a month ago, won’t move an inch in either direction. The oldest elevator we have really. I don’t see why we just don’t replace it, it’s so useless.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.” Larry peered down at the man’s name tag “Joseph.”

“Oh you will, won’t you?” Joseph replied with a keen smile, showing an unnaturally large amount of teeth. “Now if you excuse me, other repair personnel need to be dealt with. Ones that are actually doing their jobs.” Larry turned, prepared to leave, as a scruffy man wearing a dirty sweatshirt and pants covered in grease shoved him out of the way. He smelled odd, and reeked of something Larry had never smelled before. He glanced at Larry suspiciously, and turned toward Joseph. Ignoring the snub from both parties, he sauntered away thoughtfully. His eyes are two different colors thought Larry, how peculiar.

He paced over to the elevator that Joseph had pointed at and referred to as ‘Bessie’. It was remarkably roomy, as elevators seemed to be these days, and there was a pretty design of wood paneling on the walls. But the lighting was a little off somehow, throwing the whole box into an ominous collection of subtle darkness. He walked inside, undeterred, and opened the maintenance patch in the wall intended for people of his profession. A flashing red light was blinking determinedly next to a plaque that read ‘WEIGHT LIMIT EXCEEDED’. Larry shook his head in confusion. There was no way that he would set off the scale by himself; he was a rather thin man. It would take at least seven people to weigh down the lift past its maximum capacity. He turned to report his findings to Joseph, not looking forward to another interaction with the oily man, but the hair-gelled monster was already standing outside the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently. “So, can you fix it or not, old man?”

“Well it seems that it’s nothing more than a weight problem, she isn’t moving because the machinery has been halted by the alarm.”

“Oh really.” Sneered Joseph skeptically. “And where is all this ‘weight’ coming from?” He added those atrocious air-quotes with his first two fingers around the word ‘weight’. Larry was secretly wondering the same thing. He did a closer examination of the elevator, looking for peculiarities. For the first time, he looked up, and saw a square patch of burgundy surrounding a small break in the flowery embroidery. Upon closer inspection, he found the traces of small bolts where a handle must be fastened on the other side of the patch. He pushed slightly, and did a small hop to push his head above the ceiling of the box.

A name flashed across his vision as he stared into a familiar face. A face that had emblazoned the cover of many a newspaper. A face that nobody had seen among the living for six weeks. Five more similar corpses littered the top of the elevator. One blue eye and one green lit up the darkness. Joseph slammed the doors shut just in time to conceal Larry’s final scream.

What Motivates You The Most To Do Well In School? (APP)

A smile can mean a lot of things. A smile could be a gesture, meant to convey a content or happy disposition. A smile could be a cheery hello to your neighbor in the morning. A smile could be a window to experience the pure glee of another. Or, a smile could be a thinly veiled challenge, a test of wit and determination between peers. As I sit impatiently in my algebra class, waiting for a test to land on my desk, I share such an expression with my desk partner. Our eyes lock, and our eyebrows raise, and we swiftly look away. But that was enough to convey a myriad of emotions and suggestions. That simple glance was the throwing down of the gauntlet, the first swish of the red flag that forever tempts the bull. That simple connection says:

"I have defeated many an algebra test, and I have no intention of losing to a feeble minded hooligan like you. I WILL get an AMAZING grade and promptly throw it in your face. You just wait for your slow and disgraceful academic downfall." We look down, shuffle our papers, and then turn towards each other again. I casually shrug as if to say:

"It’s your call. Defeat this challenge or forever live in mind-shattering shame." Then, I look back down at my paper, intent on getting an A. This silent face off is what motivates me to do well in school. The secret challenges of intelligence that go on every day. A constant battle between myself and all the pressures in my life. It comes at me from all sides; my peers, constantly motivating me to improve and prove my own intellect; my family, pressuring me to do as well as they have; and the society I live in, forcing everyone of my generation to have a different outlook than the previous ones on the norms of education . My classmates, family, and age group all over the world are getting smarter every day. I incessantly strive to keep up with my entire environment, and personally think I’m doing pretty well. Whatever it is, fear, hope, pressure, or even OCD that motivates my generation to succeed in school is obviously doing a bang-up job, and I can only imagine the amazing things that these forces will push us to accomplish.

The Foilman: A Poem

Inspired by The Epeeman, by Ralph Goldstein

The Foilman, the Foilman, truly the best of the bunch,
The Sabreman, the Epeeman, he could eat them both for lunch.
The Foilman is the only one, who possesses true finesse,
The Foilmen own the board, in the game of fencer’s chess.
A Foilman is quick and sly; he always keeps his wit,
‘Hide your moves, keep it small, and make them the ones to quit.’
The Foilman is like a dancer, always on his toes,
A Foilman can lunge and leap, and always fool his foes.
The Foilman is calculating, analyzing your every move,
And no parry can stop the Foilman, once he’s in the groove.
But the Sabreman, the Epeeman, they really aren’t so bad,
They deserve a little stanza, but really just a tad.
The Sabreman is ferocious, slashing from overhead,
And if he doesn’t want to use tact, he can just bop you on the head.
The Epeeman can take a challenge, in that I must concur,
He has to guard and attack everything, moving as a blur.
But the Foilman, the Foilman, always victorious on the mat,
To him, and me, and all the rest, to them I tip my hat.

Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse: A Poem

Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse
During a zombie apocalypse, your main goal is to survive,
The number one rule - that zombie is not your friend come back alive.

2. Always know your enemy, and of its strengths take note,
For if you ignore a zombie’s might, it will be quickly at your throat.
Pay special attention to a zombie’s teeth, hands, and smell,
You see, as a zombie gets older, its awful odor will swell.

3. Don’t forget a zombie’s weaknesses, for you don’t have to take flight,
If you think you are ready for the task, by all means, stay and fight.
A zombie certainly lacks in coordination, intellect, and speed,
With knowledge and preparation before, you will certainly succeed.

4. Avoid infection at all costs, and above every other aim,
Cover up as much as possible, to avoid joining the zombie game.

5. At all times, attempt to be resourceful; your terrain is always vital,
Try to avoid theatrics; this isn’t your second grade recital.

If that day comes around, where all of humanity must get up and brawl,
Make sure you educate everyone, so that our species does not fall.
Do not ignore the zombies, they aren’t fake like Nessie and Cupid,
BUT ABOVE ALL REMEMBER, THAT MUMMIES ARE ETERNALLY STUPID!

My Mister Monday Pursuasive Letter Review. Done in 2 nights, Woo!

Alright its kind of super long (has to be 5 par. essay) but im sure youll manage hahaha. Also, in middle of Drowned Wednesday, very good. Pick it up at whatever weird place you collage kids get books and read it! It was like midnight by last 2 paragraphs of this thing but I still think they're pretty good.

Kiera Wolfe 23 Deer Run Drive
Periods 4-5 Clarksburg, NJ 08510
3/16/10 March 23, 2010
Dear Future Sixth Grader,
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. By definition, these are the words that we use in everyday human society to describe and define the days of the week. Monday in particular means “the moons day”, a day sacred to the various goddesses of the moon in many different cultures. But this seemingly simple word is looked at it a whole new light in the book Mister Monday by Garth Nix. This book is an intriguing fantasy that I would recommend to anyone because of its inspiring characters, ingenious setting, and breathtaking plot. You think of something bland and uninteresting when you see this simple title; but the attention-grabbing alliteration hints at the true awe-inspiring creativity and fresh imagination imbedded in this amazing read.

What is one of the most important and vital components in a successful book? A super squad of dynamic and relatable characters! The protagonist and first fly on this well spun web of a tale is Arthur Penhaligon. Arthur is a regular boy just like you and me, who is extremely easy to relate to. He is an adopted, asthmatic, and sarcastic teen boy. His reactions to situations are extremely similar to ones that any average child would have. When you read a book about a superhero or a god it is interesting to think about what you would do if you had their talents but you know it would never be possible. When you read about Arthur and his adventures, you can really imagine yourself in his place, bringing your reading experience to a richer and more refined level. “He (Arthur) couldn’t believe that he was in this situation. He was supposed to be some sort of hero, going up against Mister Monday, and here he was without any pants on … Surely no real hero would end up in this predicament. (Nix,137)” Can’t you imagine yourself in this situation? Thinking of this exact thing? Also, this character brings an element of humor that further improves the literary experience.

Another character intertwined in the web of Mr. Nix’s tale is Suzy Turquoise Blue, a fresh and spunky girl who lives in the main setting of the book. The setting is complex and imaginative, and In Garth Nix’s story, there are two basic settings; The House and the Secondary Realms. The Secondary Realms are the world in which we live, and others that are similar. Arthur lives in Britain (Garth Nix’s home place). The House is the center of everything, and the people that reside there live outside of the realms of time. Suzy lives in the lower part of the house, where people are incessantly running around with paper, papyrus, letters, writing, and anything that in anyway relates to type. Ms. Blue is an Ink Filler, 5th class. She has blonde hair and wears an odd assortment of mismatched and oversized clothing from different time periods that wash into the house like the water onto the shore. She has lived in the house for an indescribably long time. Back in the beginning of the house, Suzy and other children living in past time periods (Suzy is originally from the time of the Black Plague) followed a mysterious Piper that led them into the maze-like walls of the house and they haven’t found their way out since. They sit with other slave-like Denizens, serving the rulers of the house. There are 7 people that rule the house and each represent a day of the week. They are extremely corrupt and are constantly fighting with each other over ownership of the different parts of the house. The setting of this book is very important because it is the place that all of the Days are fighting over. They all want to rule the entire house, and become all powerful, ruling all of the Secondary Realms. Can Arthur stop them?

The plot of this book is simply extravagant, holding you captive until you must put it down. You begin with some chapters dedicated to describing Arthur and his massive adoptive family. But after this there is some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that Arthur is destined to die. The good news is that he doesn’t. Mister Monday (the first Day that rules over the lower portion of the house) arrives at the scene where Arthur is gasping from his asthma attack, induced by making him run the mile in Gym class. He gives Arthur the Minute Hand of the First Key to the Kingdom (the House) after being tricked by his butler. Later, you realize that Mister Monday’s butler was under the influence of The Will. The Will is yet another character in this story, yet it is also an object. You see, when the Architect (or creator) created the House and Secondary Realms at the beginning of time, she composed a Will like one you or I will create. A document that was supposed to enforce her (yes, HER) wants after she died. One of the rules in her will stated that after a certain amount of time, the rulers of the house would pass down their power to a mortal heir from the Secondary Realms (a.k.a. Arthur). The Will was broken up into seven parts and never enforced. So Part One (passages 1-5) of the will broke free and resumed in helping Arthur. The Will is a haughty and arrogant it believes that “Charity is a very labor intensive virtue (Nix, 170u)” So, the Will convinced Mister Monday to give the Key to Arthur (tricking him into thinking there was a loophole in the Architect’s Will) and it immediately heals Arthur to a point where he barely even has asthma anymore. Later that day, a horde of mysterious beings appear and spread a disease or plague that starts to affect residents of his Arthur’s town. Arthur panics, but then realizes he also received a book with the Key, upon opening it, he finds the locations of the House, and realizes that there is a possibility of a cure inside. Arthur finds the house, enters it, and meets Ms. Suzy Blue and the Will. Arthur explores the house with Suzy and part one of the Will, facing many dangers and predicaments. The Will assures him that he is the one that must inherit all the Keys of the Kingdom of which there are seven. (One for each of the Days) In the end, Arthur prevails by finding and defeating Mister Monday and inheriting the first of the Keys, making him Master of The Lower House. (Although “Monday” should be his title, to avoid confusion Mr. Nix refers the previous, overthrown, Monday as Monday and Arthur still as Arthur)

In conclusion, I believe that the book Mister Monday by Garth Nix is an intriguing fantasy that I would recommend to anyone because of its inspiring characters, imaginative setting, and awe-inspiring plot. It is one of my new favorite books, and I keep liking the series more and more after reading of Arthur’s contact with Grim Tuesday, and Drowned Wednesday. So find this book at your local library and start cracking!
Yours Truly,


Kiera Wolfe

My Dark Side Theme Songg

At my lunch table we have to fake groups that we call 'the dark side" and "the light side" (original i know) soo i (as co-leader of the dark side) made us a theme song!
Its to the tune of the Darth Vader Song
THE DARK SIDE IS RE-EALLY AWESOME
WE STEAL COOKIES FROM LITTLE GIRLS
WE AL-SO HAVE RED LIGHTSABERS, WHICH ARE COOL
BUM DUM DUM DUM DE DUM.
Alright, nobody has seen star wars except for me and I barely remember it but the theme song still goes with the tune nonetheless.

brief interlude

I believe that there is beauty and truth in words. I spent most of my childhood buried in them. I would breathe them like air. Words carefully preserved between colorful bindings covered in plastic, pressed between the careworn pages given momentary life by the passing of fingers, hungry eyes. Living words glowing on screens. "A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away", "I'm glad you are here with me Sam, here at the end of all things". They'd lead to places I wished to be, immersed and safe, images staying with me far longer than anything else I can remember.

Sometimes I would like to imagine that people walking around in auras of words. They would float around our bodies like clouds of dotted lace. And when we needed to say things that we couldn't, they would wake up and swarm around us, spreading out like huge black billboard wings. A quick "Thanks" and smile to a kid at the cash register, and a nod in return would be translated to

"YOU CAN NEVER KNOW THE IMMEASURABLE GRATITUDE THAT THIS GIFT OF GUM HAS INSPIRED WITHIN THE DEPTHS OF MY HEART. MY BREATH WILL NO LONGER STINK OF SOUR MILK AND DISEASE. I WILL BE MINTY FRESH ALWAYS, AND YOU HAVE MADE THIS POSSIBLE. YOU ARE WONDERFUL. A GOD OF CASHIERS, A PARAGON OF BAGGERS, A PRODIGY OF CHANGE GIVERS."

To the jerk who is driving 50mph in the fast lane, the italian lady with the long clawlike nails who snatches the last jacket in your size from the rack, the kid whose large head is completely blocking your view.

"YOU SHALL KNOW MY RAGE AND UTTER DISDAIN. I CURSE YOU, YOUR ANCESTORS, AND ALL THE SPAWN THAT WILL COME FROM YOUR LOINS. I HOPE THE GROUND WITHERS BENEATH YOUR FEET, AND MAGGOTS FEAST ON YOUR FLESH AND DEVOUR YOUR BONES"

and in reply

"I SECRETLY DELIGHT IN YOUR MISFORTUNE"

As you are getting in the car, or walking out the door, after a quick hug and a bye.

"I LOVE YOU AND WILL MISS YOU. GOODBYE GOODBYE. IF I DO NOT RETURN, I WANT YOU TO KNOW MY LOVE IS ALL ENDURING AND WILL FOLLOW YOU WHEREVER YOU GO. LET THIS BE HOW YOU REMEMBER ME."

I think this would make life much more entertaining.