MS Literary Magazine, section 4

Eagle

Magnificently it soars over snowy slopes.
It dives, it screams, it lands crouched over,

ready to strike.

Waiting, scanning its perimeters, screeching again

and again;

Finally, it sees its prey, a small wood mouse

scurrying around.

Crouching, waiting, it dives, screeching,

the taste of blood in its mouth;

The taste of the kill is good.

It goes back to its perch, searching for another victim,

the taste of blood still lingering in its mouth.

It spots something, a flash of silver, a splash

of red.

It's all over. The eagle has gotten its prey.

Andrew N.
seventh grade

The Huge Rat

     There was a house that had a rat in it. The owners of the house were scientists. The rat was very happy in his home. But one day the people made an experiment and found the rat, and, of course, the rat drank it. Then they put the rat in a cage and went to bed.
     But the next morning the rat was gone, and the cage that the rat had been in was broken! The people ran outside and saw huge, and I mean huge, rat steps. The people chased it and ran after it. When the tracks stopped they looked up and saw it.
     They said, "The...the...the...ratttt we used for the...the...experiment!"

Hana S.
fourth grade

Black Out

     It was 11:00 at night and Dr. McKane had just finished talking with a distressed relative of one of his earlier patients and was packing up to leave to go home after dropping off some files at the hospital a few blocks away. Dr. McKane’s cellphone rang with a loud, annoying beeping noise. He was a forty-three-year-old internist who had been in the New York Hospital for four years. He stepped into the next room and put the receiver to his ear.
     “Dr. McKane, you are needed in the 4B room. It is an emergency.”
     The dial tone started up. He quickly ran to the exit and stepped out of the building. The cold air struck him like a punch in the face. His sneakers slapped the pavement as he raced down three blocks. Now he was away from his office and heading into the hospital where some unexpected horror would await him. He burst in the door and ran for the elevators. He could feel the warm air defrosting his frozen cheeks. The elevator did not arrive, so he charged up the stairs until he got to the fourth floor. Then he raced down the hall.
     “Good, you’re here,” said a doctor. “We’ve been waiting for you and hoping it was not too late.”
     Dr. McKane took the small machine from the doctor’s hand and pressed it to the victim’s chest. The shock jolted through the patient and the body shook as the heart was trying to start going at a regular pace.
     “A car hit him. He’s in a very critical coma. License says his name is John Spade, age thirty-four, lives on West 17th Street. That’s all we know.”

     John Spade woke up seeing only the darkness of eternity. He tried to get up but he had no universe. He was part of the darkness and nothing more. He closed his eyes (or where his eyes should have been) and realized that now he could see everything except the outline, as if everything was made out of stars. The pictures seemed to be transported into his brain simply by thinking. His hearing worked the same way.
     “Where am I and why am I here?” he asked into the eternal darkness.
     Then he remembered the look of the drunk driver, the insane glint in his eye and he knew where he was. Knowledge started coming to him: some questions have answers; the others only have more questions. There was no point in looking for the answers if you lived in them. Everything humans did was done telepathically from eyesight and hearing to talking and touching.

Dr. McKane stared at the patient with doubtful eyes. Then there was a noise that made all hearts drop. The noise was the sound of E.K.G. which before had had a hopeful beeping and now turned into the dreadful hum of death.

Jonathan G.
fifth grade

A Meager Morsel of the Tale
“In the Basement with the Ogre”

His teeth sank into the gooey mass; the drool ran down his pointy chin and splattered on the table and ran down its dirty legs and splashed onto the musty cellar floor bringing the rats, who sucked up the only liquid they could find. Then the pus-covered fingers reached down for more. They grabbed the only thing left in the slimy pot, a human tongue. Plop, plop, the blood ran down his finger and splattered back into the contents of the massive bowl. You could hear him slurping from the end of the dark cellar, slurping down human guts and other grotesque things. Little did my poor aunt know, but now she was in the pot, and I was trapped in the corner of his basement.

Annabelle B.
fourth grade

The Man on The Horse

I rode a horse down to the river
And to my surprise
A lizard with a bright green hat
Started to arise
On its hat I saw a flea
Who actually attempted
To jump on to me
I was upset
The flea was mean
He would not eat off the lizard
He liked his blood lean
I jumped onto my horse's back
It neighed and coughed and ran
Then I fell off
And magically it turned into a man
I was amazed and I looked down
On my butt there grew a tail
I was confused
I started to wail
I didn't want to grow a tail
Then I heard a ding
And I woke up
I realized that I wasn't a horse
and started to sing

Amalie S.
fifth grade

Lamenting the Bite of Death

Here I am, hanging in the prime of life, a handsome sight for anyone and everyone to see. Ahh, but how unfair—how fleeting are all my hopes in life, for it is now, though still I am vital, that I remain at the brink of life. Ohh, how I fear it—but alas, they roam beneath me as I breathlessly watch here waiting for life to end, waiting to be piteously devoured by death's sharp and cruel jaws. First a bite from the left. Then one from the right. Ohh, woe is me! But wait—now I hear footsteps approaching swiftly. With every step the very panic in my center core enhances. To be gripped, a helpless prey, and done away with. If it was possible I would be in a heavy cold sweat now. There goes my dear friend! I only wish I could rot right here and now rather than let them end my life first. Will it be painful? My—I hope it's not too painful, my sheer anxiety is pain enough. How will I bear it? How I wish I could be moved up higher, concealed from their wretched eyes. To be pecked to death by birds and eaten within by tiny grotesque worms would be a better fate than this one which I believe awaits my wholesome visage—more conventional at any rate. But they are merciless. They don't care whether I suffer or not. They're just concerned with themselves. I'm so nervous! I'm surprised they haven't found me. Out of all of us why must I be so naturally desirous—not a scrape, peck or bruise! No! This can't be happening! Is that one reaching for me? No! I'm not ready yet! Get down from that ladder this instant! It's no use! Ohh! To be a shiny apple in an orchard full of pickers!!!

Christina P.
seventh grade

Winter fruitless trees
Bare branches over the street
Look: hands reaching there

Andre M.
seventh grade

Witch?

     She had dark brown hair and green eyes with her pale face. Long eyelashes and no eyebrows at all. Small nose with big pupils. Some people said she was a witch. Who knows? Maybe she was. She had a sullen look. She only went out of her house at night. People all over the small town said, “Is she really a witch? Is she really?” No one even knew her name.
    There was a girl named Sarah with her older sister Melissa and their parents, Susan and Joe. The family lived next to the old woman’s house (known as the “witch house”). The family had just moved into town.
     “I think that she’s a witch and is going to come along on her broomstick and eat us all,” said Melissa, trying to scare Sarah.
     “I think that she’s a nice old woman, so don’t say that Melissa,” said her mom. “In fact I think we shall invite her over for dinner tomorrow night. I will go over to her house right now to ask if she would like to come.”
     “But Mom, she’s a witch!” said Sarah.
     “See what you made her think?” said her mom, looking as Melissa. “I will be right back.” She went out the door and closed it behind her.
     As Susan started to walk, she became a little nervous. She got to the house and knocked at the door twice. No one answered the door. She knocked again. This time someone answered. This person who answered seemed troubled.
     “Who are you? What in the world do you want?”
     “My family and I are your neighbors. We live in that house there. We wanted to know if you would like to come over to our house for dinner tomorrow?”
     Without even thinking, the old woman replied, “No!” and slammed the door.
     Susan was alarmed by this rude behavior. She started walking home confused. When she arrived home the kids asked her, “So, when is the witch coming for dinner?”
     Susan said, “There is no dinner.” She explained to the kids what had just happened next door.
     For the next few weeks the family had nothing to do with their unfriendly neighbor until one night, as they were finishing dinner, they heard a horrible scream coming from next door.
     “It must be the witch!” cried Melissa.
     “Let’s go see what’s going on,” said Joe. Everyone agreed. They started running over to their neighbor’s house. They got there in a second.
     “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” they all cried. “Are you hurt?”
     “Yes, help me!” replied the neighbor.
     “The door is locked, so Melissa and Sarah should go through the window, and when you are inside, unlock the door for us.” The children did what they were told, and after about five minutes everyone was inside. They found their neighbor lying on the floor next to the stairs.
     “She must have fallen down the stairs.”
     The neighbor heard and said, “Yes, I did. Take me to the hospital, now!”
     Surely, they were nice and took her to the hospital. They waited with her until a doctor examined her and told them that she would have to stay there for a few days, but would be all right.
     As the family drove home they talked all about their exciting evening.
     “See, Sarah and Melissa, if she really were a witch, would she fall down the stairs and get hurt? I don’t think so,” said Susan.
     “I guess you’re right,” said Sarah.
     “Yeah,” agreed Melissa, “witches would fly, not fall.”
     Their next-door neighbor, who had just been in the hospital for two days, returned home and was pretty much okay. If the family had not come to her house to take her to the hospital, she would probably still be lying next to the stairs. Who knows what would have happened to her? They worked hard to save her, and she never even said thank you.
     She might not have been a witch, but she sure was as mean as one.

Elizabeth K.
sixth grade

Though the body is grounded
And weighs grief upon the shoulders of its mourners,
Its soul floats weightlessly up to heaven
And lies down on a cloud
To wait in peace
For eternity.

Elizabeth H.
seventh grade

     I walked onto the plane. It was my first time traveling alone and I was really nervous. The flight attendant greeted me at the plane door. I gave my ticket to a tall, slim woman with long brown hair and lightly tanned skin. She took two big steps back.
     "Well now, honey, are you traveling alone?" she said in a tone like she was talking to a baby.
     "Yes," I said, looking down at my patent leather shoes that my Mom had just polished that morning. She held out her hand, but I resisted it and walked in front of her. I was too old for that kind of stuff. I was eight years old and still growing. She walked me down the aisle of people, some with babies and some alone. When we got to my seat 15C, I sat down.
     "If you need anything, just press this button over here," she said, pointing to a few small red buttons on the ceiling.
     After the flight attendant left, I reached into my purple backpack and took out my favorite book, Encyclopedia Brown. I quickly turned the pages and finished the book. I reached in my pocketbook, took out a piece of gum, and stuck it in my mouth. I looked around and saw a man walking towards me.
     He was a pudgy old man. He looked like he was about one-hundred-and-fifty years old. I giggled to myself at the thought of a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old man. His wrinkles covered his face and his eyes were buried in his head. He had little hair and a big nose. He came and sat down at the seat next to me. He said hello, and I said, "I'm not supposed to speak to strangers."
     The flight attendant came down the aisle with a tray of food. I ate the cookie and then started to feel drowsy and fell asleep.
     "And this year's president is…Katie Monroe."
     "Oh," I woke up startled, but then went back to sleep.
     "Katie Monroe, please come up to the stand and tell America what some of your plans are for the next four years.
     " Oh, no,” I thought. “This can't be happening. I'm not even allowed to vote.” I stood up and cleared my throat.
     "I…I…I don't understand," I said.
     The crowd roared with laughter. Someone said, "Who voted for her?" Others said, "And she's wearing her pajamas!"
     A tear rolled down my cheek. I ran down through the crowds of people who were shouting, "We hate Katie. We hate Katie." I looked behind me and saw them chasing after me.
     "Help, help!” I cried.
     I felt someone tapping on my shoulder.
     "Mom?" I said.
     I opened my eyes and looked up. It was the flight attendant and we were only half way through the trip.

Lauren M.
sixth grade

     I could hear the clock in the back of the bar. Jim the bartender was washing shot glasses in the sink. The highball glass felt smooth in my hands; the whiskey left an amber shadow on the dark mahogany wood. The late afternoon sun filtered in through a dusty window in the front. I picked up the glass and downed the last few drops of the cool liquid. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills and placed them on the countertop. I stood up and grabbed my coat off the seat next to me and walked out.
     The sun was low in the sky; as I walked down the street it cast a long shadow behind me. Most of the storefronts were closed now, empty and abandoned, shelves covered with dust. The sun had begun to lower behind the horizon, casting a golden orange glow over everything. My shoes tapped in an even pattern on the sidewalk. At the corner, I turned right and continued to walk, my feet falling into the same pattern. I started to walk down to the brook. As I got closer I heard the sound of water rushing over rocks. I went down to the edge of the water, picked up a rock and threw it into the water. I took off my socks and shoes and stuck my feet into the cool water. When I was little I would come to this spot every afternoon and play; this was my spot. I had kept a coffee tin in a hole in the large oak tree. I stood up and walked over to the oak tree and reached inside; the tin was still there. I opened the tin and looked inside.
     On top was my favorite fly for fishing and below that a folded piece of paper. Slowly I unfolded and read it. It was in a child's messy script. It was my wish list from when I was in second grade. I had written that I wished to be a pilot when I grew up. Underneath that was a pouch with a dime and six shiny pennies which were wrapped in a piece of leather; they had been my savings account. A few assorted buttons and safety pins were in the bottom. The can had an odd smell to it, a mix of coffee beans, leather and peppermints. Carefully, I put everything back in the tin except for one thing that I put into my pocket, my wish list. As a little boy I had always wanted to be a pilot; now all I am is an alcoholic.

Sarah C.
eighth grade

     “Wake up, you dumb little girl! Lily, it is five-thirty. You should have been up half an hour ago doin’ your work.”
     “Wha–? I don’t wanna get up.”
     Suddenly I was fully awake. My cheek felt hot and tingly, like it had fallen asleep. Something had hit me right in the face. I opened my bloodshot eyes and lifted my hand to my cheek. I could already feel it swelling. I kept my cool hand to my burning face. I looked up slowly, whining softly like a sad dog, into my uncle’s flaming red eyes. Uncle Riland, Sir Riland Belts he liked to be called. He was sweating all over. He looked to me like a cloud slowly letting drops of water fall to the ground. He lifted his hand up to slap me, but instead he yanked my hand off of my face. He said in a cold voice like the winter wind, “Next time I find you sleepin’ in, I’ll really beat you.”
     He stormed out of the loft, his big boots shaking the floor. I felt a shower of dust fall from the ceiling and was afraid the house might collapse. He wore cowskin boots, a snakeskin belt around his big belly, and a cowboy hat wrapped in alligator teeth.
     Riland was a bachelor. He lived in a small, two-story shack on the side of the Montana state turnpike. The only money he possessed was the money he had gotten when his parents died. He didn’t have a job and his last pennies were running out quickly. He didn’t consider me part of his house. I was just his slave, used for whatever he wanted. My life wasn’t horrible once. I had sweet, loving parents who did anything for me. But they died like every happy story must.
     Riland had a brother. His name was Roland. He was six feet tall and very slim. He was like sweet candy, caring and kind. He came to visit me twice this year. He would always sneak candy into my pockets and I even got a birthday present from him. Roland was very poor, though. He didn’t have a home. He just stayed with friends and saw the world. He told me once he had been to the greatest city in the world, New York. If Roland weren’t so poor, I would have gone to live with him, but he could hardly feed himself.
     “Are you comin down!”
     There was a loud sound like thunder booming from downstairs. My uncle was waiting, and I could not keep him much longer. I pulled up my ripped jeans. Yesterday’s dirt surrounded my pants. They smelled of horse manure and were covered in stains. They probably hadn’t been washed in days. I pulled my red shirt over my head. I could feel the threads in it snapping as I tried to pull it down my big neck. I had worn this shirt every day of my life since I was five. It had lost both its sleeves. I pushed my feet into my sweaty sneakers. The hearts on the sides had worn off and turned into mere red blobs. My toes stuck out the front and my heel out of the back. I knew one of these days they would just burst.
     “Are you comin?”
     “I’m comin, sir.”
     I walked down the dusty steps. Spiders had made their homes in many of the cracks. When I got downstairs, Riland was sitting in a chair next to the window reading last year’s paper in the early morning light for about the one- hundredth time. On the floor beside him there was a bottle of whiskey half full. I went to the old stove and took my toast off the top. It was so burnt it looked like charcoal. I brought it to my mouth and took a bite. It was cold and hard. It tasted like rock and I thought my teeth might break. I tossed it into the garbage and walked over to my uncle. He took a big swig of whiskey and swayed back and forth in his chair. A gray beard was appearing on his face and it looked like he hadn’t taken a shower in months. He was panting softly, his hair slicked back with sweat, his arms shining in the golden sun, making its first appearance on the horizon this morning. He must have been out in the fields already today. He stood up and walked over to me.
     “We’re goin out to town this mornin. You ready?”
     “To town? Oh, Uncle Belts!”
     I raced upstairs to the bathroom. There on the wall was a cracked mirror. I looked into it and brushed my knotted hair with my hand. Wow! I hadn’t been to a town since my parents died. I walked back down to the kitchen and Riland escorted me out the back door.
     “Wonder if this car has any juice left in ‘er. Haven’t drove this baby for years.”
     Uncle was holding another bottle of whiskey, filled to the brim. He took a couple of gulps and then opened the car door for me. The car was smelly and damp. It smelled of rust and rotten egg. I brushed off my seat. Dust flew into the air and I coughed. The side windows and dashboard were cracked. I pulled my seat belt over me but there was no buckle. I stuck it into a hole in the seat so tight it stayed. Riland was sitting on the hood of the car. It looked like an old Chevrolet, but I couldn’t tell because of the dust. Riland finished his whiskey and threw it into the dusty road. It was our hottest day this year, eighty-nine degrees. But now the wind was picking up. Dust and grass started blowing over our fields, and I knew I’d have a lot of work to do this afternoon. Uncle Riland entered the car and sat himself down in the driver’s seat, his belly almost hitting the wheel. The key was already in the car. He grabbed for it and missed. He tried again but he still missed. He was drunk, very drunk.
     “Sir, are you sure you want to go to town?”
     I reached for the door but his arm wrapped around mine like a snake.
     “Sit down, you little worm!”
     I sat back in my seat. I could feel the hairs rising on the back of my neck. I took the key and handed it to him. His yellow teeth were showing because of the wide smile engraved on his face.
     “You ready for a ride, missy?”
     My eyes shut tight and I clenched my teeth together. I felt a drop of sweat slide down my forehead. Riland turned the key and the engine started with a blast. The noise it made was like a stampede of elephants. He stepped down on the pedal and smoke burst from the car. The old truck took off like an angry monster. There was a crash, and I looked out the window to catch the last glimpse of the whiskey bottle smashed on the ground, the glass shining in the light like crystals, the last drops spilling out onto the hot road, sizzling in the early morning sun. We were now past the house and coming to the end of our driveway. Riland swung around the corner and stepped down hard on the gas heading for Oaktown, seventy miles away. We were now going ninety and gaining. Luckily for me, the car couldn’t go much faster. I looked over at Riland. He was sitting as far forward as he could in his seat, his eyes alert and ready. He looked like a lion approaching his prey. My body was flat against the seat. I hit the door every time he swerved around a turn. I closed my eyes as he turned around a sharp corner. I could hear the wheels screeching. My shoulder hit the door and it moved. I quickly pulled myself back and opened my eyes. We had made it around the turn, but not so far in the distance I could see lights. Car lights. A traffic jam in Montana. I reassured myself that it was just houses, but as we got closer and closer, I started to see lots of cars.
     “Stop! Please stop!’
     My eyes filled with salty tears. Drops started falling down my face. He hadn’t heard me. I looked over at him and he was so pale I thought he would faint. The traffic ahead got closer and closer, but Riland showed no intention of slowing down. We were less than five hundred feet from the jam. There was a sharp turn ahead of us right before the car accident. He yanked the steering wheel to the right and I smashed into the door and it opened slightly. Riland was holding the steering wheel tight but we skidded on something and the tires on the car seemed to give up. We headed straight into the fence. I heard something snap. My hands were shaking and I was soaking. I saw red blurs. Red light, or red what? I could feel a throbbing pain in my head so great I thought I might explode. It was getting worse and worse. I heard something roll up. I sounded like fierce wind passing through a field. My face felt wetter, almost like it had been dunked in water. I couldn't see anything now. It smelled of salt and it was very hot. It got darker and darker. I could faintly hear in the background the sound of sirens. But now all I could feel was cool, fresh wind blowing on my right cheek, hard but relaxing wind.
     I was on a soft and fluffy feather bed. My right window was open and was letting the sweet afternoon air in. I was eating a chicken sandwich with a cookie and a lemonade. The chicken was warm and soft with fresh lettuce and tomato on top. The cookie was filled with chewy nuts and chocolate. The lemonade had been squeezed from the ripest lemons in the world before it had been delivered to my room at the Carona Resort. People said it was the nicest resort in the world. I owned four rooms in it at the southernmost end. My rooms overlooked the Atlantic Ocean and the sandy beaches of Florida. Out my other window I could see New York piercing the sky far, far off. I had a dog who lived with me named Rice. He wore a gold collar filled with jewels. I could hear voices because of my wonderful hearing and I often listened to other people's private conversations.
     "I'm sorry, Roland. We don't know if she'll get out of it, or if she'll live."
     "What about Riland?"
     "He died instantly. He hit some glass and it slit his throat."
    "Right now she is not doing so well. I'm sorry, Roland."
     It was a hot day so I decided to go for a walk along the beach. I left my room and walked past the small pool. Palm trees hovered over it like guardians of the holy water. My feet touched the hot concrete and it startled me, but they soon got used to the warmth. I stepped onto the sandy beach. I heard voices saying,
     "We have to give her the..."

Kate R.
sixth grade

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