jennsmuusings-blog

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Nap Haiku- Rough/Final draft

Once again, since the haiku is so short. This is my rough draft and my final draft. Naps are my favorite thing, and I’m always ready for a good nap. I feel like naps feel all of your problems, and any bad day can be solved with a nap. Some call it escapism, but I call it self-care. 

I’ve had a rough day

My bed is calling me now

I fall into bed

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Dog Haiku- Rough/Final draft

Since haikus are so short- I didn’t have to make any changes! So my rough draft and final draft are the same. Enjoy! This is based off my dog Spencer, who always makes me smile even on my worst days. He’s always so happy and that makes me happy. 

Tears stream down my face

A furry paw on my leg

I can’t help but smile

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The “D” Word- Final Version

For this piece, I actually changed the tense to present because I felt as if it put the reader in my shoes. 

Imagine this: I’m in the second grade

My teacher calls me dumb

It leaves left me with tears streaming down my face

It leaves me feeling numb

 And maybe that isn’t her exact words

But the message is quite clear

As she leaned leans over to the student teacher and whispers

“Don’t waste your time on the little blonde in the back, she’s a lost cause, I fear”.

 The words echoed in my brain

It leaves me feeling shattered

I clench and un-clench my fists

I try best, isn’t that all that matters?

 It isn’t as if I don’t care

I try to pay attention, but my mind would drifts away.

Didn’t the grown ups understand?

I don’t want to be this way!

 I grew  to accept my fate.

I would never be smart

Then the third grade came…

And a teacher becomes the missing part.

 She has the patience to sit down with me

She tells my parents was she thought

“Her brain is just different,” she smiled

She helped me and I fought

 It’s all thanks to that angel teacher that I’m in college today.

She looked at the little blonde girl and didn’t see a lost cause.

So next time you make a judgement…

Maybe take a pause.

[jennsmuusings-blog]

“The D word”- Rough draft

This poem is a true story about an experience I had when I was in second grade, when I was diagnosed with ADHD. It was a very hard moment for me at that age, because no one knew that I had ADHD. 

Imagine this: I was in the second grade

My teacher called me dumb

It left me with tears streaming down my face

It left me feeling numb

 And maybe that wasn’t her exact words

But the message was quite clear

As she leaned over to the student teacher and whispered

“Don’t waste your time on the little blonde in the back, she’s a lost cause, I fear”.

 The words echoed in my brain

It left me feeling shattered

I clenched and unclenched my fists

I tried my best, isn’t that all that mattered?

 It wasn’t as if I didn’t care

I tried to pay attention, but my mind would drift away.

Didn’t the grown ups understand?

I didn’t want to be this way!

 I had grown to accept my fate.

I would never be smart

Then the third grade came…

And a teacher became the missing part.

 She had the patience to sit down with me

She told my parents was she thought

“Her brain is just different,” she smiled

She helped me and I fought

 It’s all thanks to that angel teacher that I’m in college today.

She looked at the little blonde girl and didn’t see a lost cause.

So next time you make a judgement…

Maybe take a pause.

[jennsmuusings-blog]

The First Time I saw my Father Cry- Final version

I fixed up some grammar issues, and added a bit more to add some more explanation 

It happened when I was fourteen years old, and although some of the precise details are foggy, I remember the rest like it was yesterday. It was the first time our small little town had made national news. Most people dream of that, right? Their little town being on national news because of their school’s sports team going to state or some academic competition. No one ever dreams that their school would be on national news for this. It’s something we hear about all the time. The schools are burned into our brains—Columbine, Sandy Hook, Stoneman Douglas. It’s become quite a common occurrence in our country, but despite this all we’ve become desensitized to it, and there’s always that small little echo of a voice in the back of our heads that whispers, “it could never happen here.”

Let’s call the villain of our story, Johnny for privacy sake. I was a teacher’s assistant TA in the English class Johnny was in- and I never had a good feeling about him from the start. He didn’t like me, which is scary now… looking back. I was everything he hated. I dressed nice, I was a straight A student, and his English teacher loved me. He knew my brother, and they hated each other. Despite all of this, I never really thought much about Johnny. He kind of scared me, and I knew he was a bully- so I automatically disliked him. But he was just Johnny… White trash Johnny.

Johnny was expelled the week before the incident. It happened in English too. Johnny hadn’t turned his homework in for the third time that week and our teacher put him in lunchtime detention (the “tank” is what we middle-school kids lovingly called it… Think of it as a place where you go, where you act up or do not do your homework).  He usually shrugged and rolled his eyes but today was different.

“Fuck this school!” He yelled, and then he said the one thing I remember most vividly. “I swear one day I’ll bring a bomb and blow all of you up!”

The silence was deafening. Everyone paused, and for lack of a better word you could hear a pen drop. I stopped in the middle of passing out papers and looked at my favorite teacher in concern. She let out a quiet but furious, “go...” And that was all he needed to know he was in serious trouble. I didn’t really think about it after that. I brushed it off and told myself he was just stupid and trying to be edgy. However, like the mouthy fourteen-year-old that I was, I didn’t hesitate to whisper it to my friends during lunch.

  “He’s scary.” One my friends whispered.

  “He’s a pussy,.” I whispered back, rolling my eyes and continuing our discussion on which Twilight character we would probably be.

 The day of the incident started out rough for me. I fought with my mom that morning. I believe the argument was about how I wanted to skip softball practice. I wanted to hang out with my friends. I begged and I cried and threw a tantrum like I was a small child. Spring break was just a few days away, and I would be spending it camping with my “stupid” and “lame” family. I would much rather spend it with my goofy and lovable group of friends.

  I don’t remember the details of the argument, but I do remember the hurt look on my mom’s face when I told her that I didn’t want to go on our stupid annual camping trip. After all, I wasn’t a child- I was fourteen!

   “Get out of my face.” My mom hissed, but the hurt was evident on her face.

  “Oh yeah?” I yelled back. “What if I died on my way to school how bad would you feel then?”

It was a jab that was meant to hurt her, and thankfully my brother pulled me out of the house before I could be even more stupid. I went to school early that day, which was something I rarely did. My brother drove me, and I realized that I hadn’t done my Algebra homework- which made me even more upset. It was raining on that day, and I remember watching the rain- drops roll down the car window… I then made a wish. I told myself that I would do anything if I could just NOT have to turn my homework in today. A selfish wish. Now, I almost laugh at how ironic it was.

I met my friends at breakfast, and they cheered me up. I got my Algebra homework out of my backpack and tried to finish before the first bell. I wasn’t listening to their conversations anymore, as I tried (and failed) not to get syrup on my pristine paper.

 Then gunshots.

  Pop. Pop.

Do you know how they say that your blood turns cold? I used to think that was stupid and a little cliché, but it happened. I felt like someone had pushed me into a winter storm without a coat, and goosebumps are rising on my arms just writing this. The response was instant, everyone screamed. It was absolute chaos as 12 to 14-year-old kids (and a few lunch aids) tried to run out into the hall. I can’t tell you which of my friends grabbed me—and I can’t tell you how I managed to remember my backpack. But I was suddenly in the halls, and there were teachers grabbing us and pushing us into rooms. I screamed as I was separated from my best friends and put into a room with a group of 6th graders and a girl I hadn’t talked to since we were seven.

  It was quiet, and the teacher (one I had never had for class), shushed us and told us to get down and be quiet as she flipped off the light. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and a 6th grader was trying to stifle his sobs with his hand. It was so quiet, and I had no choice but to face what I had said to my mom that morning. I hadn’t said “I love you”, I hadn’t let her kiss my cheek or give me a hug. My last words to her were about me dying, and they could very well be true now. It dawned on me that I could die, and the tightness I felt in my chest is a feeling I will never forget. The girl I used to be friends with, touched my arm. I looked up at her to see that she was crying too.

 “I need to call my mom.” I whispered, trying not to cry.

She didn’t say anything, only nodded. I didn’t even know if my mom would know, or if she would find out from me. I pressed her contact with shaky hands and put the phone to my ear. The sound of her crying “baby” broke my heart.

  “Mommy, I’m sorry.” I whispered.

   “I know you are.” She replied.

    “I love you.” I continued.

     “I love you too.”

I don’t remember how the rest of the conversation went. But I do know that I had to hang up when my teacher started shushing everyone again. I was in that school for nine hours. I can remember the sound of the swat team running the halls, the sound of dogs. It wasn’t until 4 pm that they released us, one by one. My Algebra teacher walked me to my parents and for some reason, I found it necessary to tearfully tell her I hadn’t done my Algebra homework; she pulled me into the tightest hug (I think I felt guilty, maybe if I had done it- everything would be okay). I ran into my parents’ arms and sobbed as they kissed my head and my face and held onto me.

I had never seen so many news vans at once. FOX, NBC, CBS… They were shoving the camera in every child’s face, asking how we felt. My dad put his jacket over me and pushed me towards the car. He mumbled about leeches terrorizing these poor children. The drive home was silent, and my mom sat in the back with me and held my hand- not letting me go. My father was stoic. It wasn’t until my mom left the car that he made a move. Until that day, I had never seen my father cry. He parked the car and started sobbing. I could tell that he hadn’t truly cried in a long time, and he seemed to not even know how. I sat in shocked as he gathered me in his arms and cried into my hair.

I wouldn’t find out until later that it was Johnny who caused so much chaos in my once peaceful middle school. He had shot one boy outside of our middle school but ran, and he apparently had an accomplice who had grown a sense of ethos at the last minute. He’d had a list with the names of the people he wanted dead- and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was one of those people. As much as I hate to admit it, school wasn’t the same after that. There were always police at our school, and I was constantly reminded that this place I once loved was no longer safe. We made national news, but in the worst possible way.

I once had a substitute teacher who said something that still stops me in my tracks. He was young, probably fresh out of high school. He told my biology class that this would follow us forever, and we would never escape it. Our small town would look at the graduating class of 2015 and know that one of our very own had taken a gun to school with a plan to cause as many causalities as he could. They would always look at us and wonder which one of us was on that list, and which one of us could have very well died that day. I remind myself he’s going to be in prison for a very long time, but I can’t help but wonder myself. I would be lying if I said it doesn’t sometimes keep me up at night.

[jennsmuusings-blog]

The First Time I saw my Father Cry- ROUGH DRAFT

This is actually based on a true story- because it’s something I personally wen through when I was 14. It’s a difficult subject that we don’t want to face because it’s uncomfortable. Someone brought a gun go my school and shot someone, and I remember every detail. This is my best retelling of this difficult moment. 

                                The First Time I saw my Father Cry 

It happened when I was fourteen years old, and although some of the precise details are foggy, I remember the rest like it was yesterday. It was the first time our small little town had made national news. Most people dream of that, right? Their little town being on national news because of their school’s sports team going to state or some academic competition. No one ever dreams that their school would be on national news for this. It’s something we hear about all the time. The schools are burned into our brains—Columbine, Sandy Hook, Stoneman Douglas. It’s become quite a common occurrence in our country, but despite this all we’ve become desensitized to it, and there’s always that small little echo of a voice in the back of our heads that whispers, “it could never happen here.”

Let’s call the villain of our story, Johnny for privacy sake. I was a TA in the English class Johnny was in- and I never had a good feeling about him from the start. He didn’t like me, which is scary now… looking back. I was everything he hated. I dressed nice, I was a straight A student, and his English teacher loved me. He knew my brother, and they hated each other. Despite all of this, I never really thought much about Johnny. He kind of scared me, and I knew he was a bully- so I automatically disliked him. But he was just Johnny… White trash Johnny.

Johnny was expelled the week before the incident. It happened in English too. Johnny hadn’t turned his homework in for the third time that week and our teacher put him in lunchtime detention (the “tank” is what we middle schoolers lovingly called it). He usually shrugged and rolled his eyes but today was different.

“Fuck this school!” He yelled, and then he said the one thing I remember most vividly. “I swear one day I’ll bring a bomb and blow all of you up!”

           The silence was deafening. Everyone paused, and for lack of a better word you could hear a pen drop. I stopped in the middle of passing out papers and looked at my favorite teacher in concern. She let out a quiet but furious, “go...” And that was all he needed to know he was in serious trouble. I didn’t really think about it after that. I brushed it off and told myself he was just stupid and trying to be edgy. However, like the mouthy fourteen-year-old that I was, I didn’t hesitate to whisper it to my friends during lunch.

           “He’s scary.” One my friends whispered.

           “He’s a pussy.” I whispered back, rolling my eyes and continuing our discussion on which Twilight character we would probably be.

           The day of the incident started out rough for me. I fought with my mom that morning. I believe the argument was about how I wanted to skip softball practice. I wanted to hang out with my friends. I begged and I cried and threw a tantrum like I was a small child. Spring break was just a few days away, and I would be spending it camping with my “stupid” and “lame” family. I would much rather spend it with my goofy and lovable group of friends.

           I don’t remember the details of the argument, but I do remember the hurt look on my mom’s face when I told her that I didn’t want to go on our stupid annual camping trip. After all, I wasn’t a child- I was fourteen!

           “Get out of my face.” My mom hissed, but the hurt was evident on her face.

           “Oh yeah?” I yelled back. “What if I died on my way to school how bad would you feel then?”

           It was a jab that was meant to hurt her, and thankfully my brother pulled me out of the house before I could be even more stupid. I went to school early that day, which was something I rarely did. My brother drove me, and I realized that I hadn’t done my Algebra homework- which made me even more upset. It was raining on that day, and I remember watching the rain drops roll down the car window… I then made a wish. I told myself that I would do anything if I could just NOT have to turn my homework in today. A selfish wish. Now, I almost laugh at how ironic it was.

           I met my friends at breakfast, and they cheered me up. I got my Algebra homework out of my backpack and tried to finish before the first bell. I wasn’t listening to their conversations anymore, as I tried (and failed) not to get syrup on my pristine paper.

           Then gunshots.

           Pop. Pop.

           Do you know how they say that your blood turns cold? I used to think that was stupid and a little cliché, but it happened. I felt like someone had pushed me into a winter storm without a coat, and goosebumps are rising on my arms just writing this. The response was instant, everyone screamed. It was absolute chaos as 12 to 14-year-olds (and a few lunch aids) tried to run out into the hall. I can’t tell you which of my friends grabbed me—and I can’t tell you how I managed to remember my backpack. But I was suddenly in the halls, and there were teachers grabbing us and pushing us into rooms. I screamed as I was separated from my best friends and put into a room with a group of 6th graders and a girl I hadn’t talked to since we were seven.

           It was quiet, and the teacher (one I had never had for class), shushed us and told us to get down and be quiet as she flipped off the light. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and a 6th grader was trying to stifle his sobs with his hand. It was so quiet, and I had no choice but to face what I had said to my mom that morning. I hadn’t said “I love you”, I hadn’t let her kiss my cheek or give me a hug. My last words to her were about me dying, and they could very well be true now. It dawned on me that I could die, and the tightness I felt in my chest is a feeling I will never forget. The girl I used to be friends with, touched my arm. I looked up at her to see that she was crying too.

           “I need to call my mom.” I whispered, trying not to cry.

           She didn’t say anything, only nodded. I didn’t even know if my mom would know, or if she would find out from me. I pressed her contact with shaky hands and put the phone to my ear. The sound of her crying “baby” broke my heart.

           “Mommy, I’m sorry.” I whispered.

           “I know you are.” She replied.

           “I love you.” I continued.

           “I love you too.”

I don’t remember how the rest of the conversation went. But I do know that I had to hang up when my teacher started shushing everyone again. I was in that school for nine hours. I can remember the sound of the swat team running the halls, the sound of dogs. It wasn’t until 4 pm that they released us, one by one. My Algebra teacher walked me to my parents and for some reason I found it necessary to tearfully tell her I hadn’t done my Algebra homework; she pulled me into the tightest hug (I think I felt guilty, maybe if I had done it- everything would be okay). I ran into my parents’ arms and sobbed as they kissed my head and my face and held onto me.

I had never seen so many news vans at once. FOX, NBC, CBS… They were shoving the camera in every child’s face, asking how we felt. My dad put his jacket over me and pushed me towards the car. He mumbled about leeches terrorizing these poor children. The drive home was silent, and my mom sat in the back with me and held my hand- not letting me go. My father was stoic. It wasn’t until my mom left the car that he made a move. Until that day, I had never seen my father cry. He parked the car and started sobbing. I could tell that he hadn’t truly cried in a long time, and he seemed to not even know how. I sat in shocked as he gathered me in his arms and cried into my hair.

I wouldn’t find out until later that it was Johnny who caused so much chaos in my once peaceful middle school. He had shot one boy outside of our middle school but ran, and he apparently had an accomplice who had grown a sense of ethos at the last minute. He’d had a list with the names of the people he wanted dead- and I couldn’t help but wonder if I was one of those people. As much as I hate to admit it, school wasn’t the same after that. There were always police at our school, and I was constantly reminded that this place I once loved was no longer safe. We made national news, but in the worst possible way.

I once had a substitute teacher who said something that still stops me in my tracks. He was young, probably fresh out of high school. He told my biology class that this would follow us forever, and we would never escape it. Our small town would look at the graduating class of 2015 and know that one of our very own had taken a gun to school with a plan to cause as many causalities as he could. They would always look at us and wonder which one of us was on that list, and which one of us could have very well died that day. I remind myself he’s going to be in prison for a very long time, but I can’t help but wonder myself. I would be lying if I said it doesn’t sometimes keep me up at night.

[jennsmuusings-blog]

“The Lake”- Final Version

For my changes for this piece- I tried to make things sound a bit easier to understand and deleted repetitive words- and explained things in more detail to make it easier to read. 

Catherine could practically feel the tension in the small camp that she and her sister shared. It had grown silent since she had finished her lecture, and she could hear the sniffles coming from the eight-year-old. Even though her back was turned she could practically see Alex’s arms crossed over her chest, her red cheeks and tearful eyes as she tried not to look at her sister.

Catherine rolled her eyes. She didn’t care if her little sister was mad at her, let her stay mad for all she cared. She would eventually get over it, and it was for her own good anyway. The older girl mumbled to herself as she tried to fix the radio in front of her. They hadn’t heard from anyone in days, and she was desperately trying to reach out to someone that could help them. Catherine cursed herself for not listening to her father when he geeked out over these old things. She had told him it was stupid… She had Spotify now, and she could listen to music on demand. She really wished she would have taken the time to listen. Catherine could feel tears gathering in her eyes- it was too late for that now.

 She was starting to hear and echo of voice when… thump, thump. Catherine grumbled and put her ear closer to the radio. Thump, thump.

 “Do you mind?” She hissed at the little girl, who sent her the coldest glare that she could muster.

“I don’t know, do you mind not yelling at me every chance that you get?” Alex snapped back.

God. Eight-year-olds.

“It was for your own good!” Catherine hissed.

 “Bullshit!” The little girl spat.

 Catherine turned quickly, her ponytail hitting her face as she approached the child in front of her. The little girl seemed to realize her mistake as she backed up slightly- but her glare didn’t drop from her face.

  “You’re not my mom!” Alex yelled, and Catherine desperately tried to remember a time where this little girl was sweet and not a total terror.

You would be too, a voice reminded her, if you were her age and in this situation. But Catherine wasn’t much older than Alex. She was only fourteen! She had just started high school. She should be studying for Mr. Prevost’s history test, squealing with her best friend over the upperclassmen boys, and planning her birthday next week. She wasn’t mature enough for this. Elizabeth was good at this, she was the good sister. Catherine was just the lousy middle one.

  She looked into her little sister’s tearful eyes and sighed to herself. She unclenched her fists as she got down to Alex’s height.

“Look, I know I’m not mama,.” Catherine said gently, smoothing some of the unruly curls away from Alex’s face. “I-I really wish that mama was here, or daddy… Or even Elizabeth. But, it’s just me and you for now and I need you to listen to me.”

 Alex’s eyes widened and her lip wobbled, and she practically launched herself into Catherine’s arms. Catherine embraced the small girl and buried her face in her hair. She was scared, but Catherine was terrified.

  “Will we find them, Kitty?” Alex whispered.

 Catherine was thankful that Alex was turned away from her, because she would have seen the way eyes flashed with pain, and her lip wobbled slightly. She couldn’t tell her. She didn’t know how to tell her.

 “We’ll do our best.” Catherine said slowly. “But you have to stay away from the beach.”

                                                           X

Catherine couldn’t sleep that night. She stayed up simply staring at the little girl that was curled up in her side. She didn’t know how things went so wrong. One minute she was been sent home from school because of some “state of emergency” and then she was home… She could still remember the blood splattered everywhere. It was on everyone. Mom, dad… Elizabeth. She was so lucky that she had gotten home before Alex had. As soon as the little girl got off the bus, Catherine had run away with her. She could still hear Alex’s screams for their mom and dad, and her frantic questions about why Catherine was covered in blood.

They didn’t have to travel far, there was a large expanse of woods behind their house and Catherine had taken them as far as they could go. They set up camp just by the lake- the same one mama and daddy had taken them to when they were little. It wasn’t a surprise that Alex wanted to look for their parents there.

She knew that she would have to tell Alex eventually. Alex wasn’t a baby anymore, and she would know that something was wrong. She deserved honesty, but Catherine didn’t want to face the truth herself. She could practically hear Elizabeth’s voice in her head, telling her that she never faced her problems- she simply avoided them or ran away, like a coward. It didn’t matter now that she was long gone, but it was that exact voice that lulled Catherine into a dreamless but semi-peaceful sleep.

                                               X

She was woken up by a high-pitch scream. She shot up quickly, trying to catch her bearings as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. She was confused, and drowsy but after one look at the empty spot next to her- she knew. She was out of the tent in an instant, grabbing the small hand gun she was lucky enough to grab from an abandoned house just a few days after everything had went to hell. She hoped that she could remember how to use it, distant memories of her father teaching her self-defense echoed in her brain.

“Kitty!” The voice screamed again, breaking into a sob.

Catherine practically slid down the small hill that led to the beach as she struggled to get to the eight-year-old before the worst could happen. The site that greeted her, made her blood turn cold. One of those things snapping at her sister as the little girl attempted to push it away. He snarled in her face, and Alex sobbed again. Catherine was terrified, she wanted to run. She wanted to cry… But she couldn’t.

Without thinking she tackled the thing to the ground with a yell, it hiss and snapped as Catherine kept it’s mouth away from her… That’s when she realized… Those eyes. The same gentle brown eyes that had listened to her cry when she was stood up at the spring formal. Those same lips that had whispered words of encouragement before every softball game. Those hands, that were new attempting to claw at her face… They were the same hands that would push her bangs back to press a kiss to her forehead after every bad day.

“No…” She whispered, her voice breaking.

The one thing she wanted to avoid was right in front of her. She could have let her get her- kill her. She wanted nothing more than to be with her mama again. But she could hear Alex sobbing in the background. She had to face this.

“A-Alex close your eyes and plug your ears.” She said slowly.

“Kitty?”

“Just do it!” She yelled.

The little girl obeyed, and Catherine cocked the gun. She pressed the gun to her mother’s head and pulled the trigger.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered to the corpse.

She got off her mother and tried to put herself together. She approached her little sister, who was staring in horror. She sat next to her, hugging her knees to her chest.

“I have to tell you something, Alex.” She whispered and gathered the girl into her arms.

“It’s just you and me now, isn’t it?”

Catherine stifled a sob but nodded. She pressed a kiss to the top of her sister’s messy hair. She was thankful, despite everything, that Alex was unscathed- at least on the outside. She didn’t want to be alone.

“It is… But don’t worry, Alex.” She soothed. “I’ll protect you.”

[jennsmuusings-blog]

“The Lake” - Rough draft

This story is about two sisters that are trying to navigate the world post zombie outbreak. It deals with coming to terms with topics such as death, and learning not how to run away. The rough draft is a bit difficult to understand so my final version focused on making it sound more clear. 

                                                     The Lake

Catherine could practically feel the tension in the small camp that she and her sister shared. It had grown silent since she had finished her lecture, and she could hear the sniffles coming from the eight-year-old. Even though her back was turned she could practically see Alex’s arms crossed over her chest, her red cheeks and tearful eyes as she tried not to look at her sister.

           Catherine rolled her eyes. She didn’t care if her little sister was mad at her, let her stay mad for all she cared. She would eventually get over it, and it was for her own good anyway. The older girl mumbled to herself as she tried to fix the radio in front of her. They hadn’t heard from anyone in days, and she was desperately trying to reach out to someone that could help them. Catherine cursed herself for not listening to her father when he geeked out over these old things. She had told him it was stupid… She had Spotify now, and she could listen to music on demand. She really wished she would have taken the time to listen. Catherine could feel tears gathering in her eyes- it was too late for that now.

           She was starting to hear and echo of voice when… thump, thump. Catherine grumbled and put her ear closer to the radio. Thump, thump.

           “Do you mind?” She hissed at the little girl, who sent her the coldest glare that she could muster.

           “I don’t know, do you mind not yelling at me every chance that you get?” Alex snapped back.

           God. Eight-year-olds.

           “It was for your own good!” Catherine hissed.

           “Bullshit!” The little girl spat.

           Catherine turned quickly, her ponytail hitting her face as she approached the child in front of her. The little girl seemed to realize her mistake as she backed up slightly- but her glare didn’t drop from her face.

           “You’re not my mom!” Alex yelled, and Catherine desperately tried to remember a time where this little girl was sweet and not a total terror.

           You would be too, a voice reminded her, if you were her age and in this situation. But Catherine wasn’t much older than Alex. She was only fourteen! She had just started high school. She should be studying for Mr. Prevost’s history test, squealing with her best friend over the upperclassmen boys, and planning her birthday next week. She wasn’t mature enough for this. Elizabeth was good at this, she was the good sister. Catherine was just the lousy middle one.

           She looked into her little sister’s tearful eyes and sighed to herself. She unclenched her fists as she got down to Alex’s height.

           “Look, I know I’m not mama.” Catherine said gently, smoothing some of the unruly curls away from Alex’s face. “I-I really wish that mama was here, or daddy… Or even Elizabeth. But it’s just me and you for now and I need you to listen to me.”

           Alex’s eyes widened and her lip wobbled, and she practically launched herself into Catherine’s arms. Catherine embraced the small girl and buried her face in her hair. She was scared, but Catherine was terrified.

           “Will we find them, Kitty?” Alex whispered.

           Catherine was thankful that Alex was turned away from her, because she would have seen the way eyes flashed with pain, and her lip wobbled slightly. She couldn’t tell her. She didn’t know how to tell her.

           “We’ll do our best.” Catherine said slowly. “But you have to stay away from the beach.”

                                                           X

Catherine couldn’t sleep that night. She stayed up simply staring at the little girl that was curled up in her side. She didn’t know how things went so wrong. One minute she was been sent home from school because of some “state of emergency” and then she was home… She could still remember the blood splattered everywhere. It was on everyone. Mom, dad… Elizabeth. She was so lucky that she had gotten home before Alex had. As soon as the little girl got off the bus, Catherine had run away with her. She could still hear Alex’s screams for their mom and dad, and her tearful questions about why Catherine was covered in blood.

They didn’t have to travel far, there was a large expanse of woods behind their house and Catherine had taken them as far as they could go. They set up camp just by the lake- the same one mama and daddy had taken them to when they were little. It wasn’t a surprise that Alex wanted to look for their parents there.

She knew that she would have to tell Alex eventually. Alex wasn’t a baby anymore, and she would know that something was up. She deserved honesty, but Catherine didn’t want to face the truth herself. She could practically hear Elizabeth’s voice in her head, telling her that she never faced her problems- she simply avoided them or ran away, like a coward. It was that exact voice that lulled Catherine into a dreamless but semi-peaceful sleep.

                                               X

She was woken up by a high-pitch scream. She shot up quickly, trying to catch her bearings as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. She was confused, and drowsy but after one look at the empty spot next to her- she knew. She was out of the tent in an instant, grabbing the small hand gun she was lucky enough to grab from an abandoned house just a few days after everything had went to hell. She hoped that she could remember how to use it, distant memories of her father teaching her self-defense echoed in her brain.

“Kitty!” The voice screamed again, breaking into a sob.

Catherine practically slid down the small hill that led to the beach as she struggled to get to the eight-year-old before the worst could happen. The site that greeted her, made her blood turn cold. One of those things snapping at her sister as the little girl attempted to push it away. He snarled in her face, and Alex sobbed again. Catherine was terrified, she wanted to run. She wanted to cry… But she couldn’t.

Without thinking she tackled the thing to the ground with a yell, it hiss and snapped as Catherine kept it’s mouth away from her… That’s when she realized… Those eyes. The same gentle brown eyes that had listened to her cry when she was stood up at the spring formal. Those same lips that had whispered words of encouragement before every softball game. Those hands, that were new attempting to claw at her face… They were the same hands that would push her bangs back to press a kiss to her forehead after every bad day.

“No…” She whispered, her voice breaking.

The one thing she wanted to avoid was right in front of her. She could have let her get her- kill her. She wanted nothing more than to be with her mama again. But she could hear Alex sobbing in the background. She had to face this.

“A-Alex close your eyes and plug your ears.” She said slowly.

“Kitty?”

“Just do it!” She yelled.

The little girl obeyed, and Catherine cocked the gun. She pressed the gun to her mother’s head and pulled the trigger.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered to the corpse.

She got off her mother and tried to put herself together. She approached her little sister, who was staring in horror. She sat next to her, hugging her knees to her chest.

“I have to tell you something, Alex.” She whispered and gathered the girl into her arms.

“It’s just you and me now, isn’t it?”

Catherine stifled a sob but nodded. She pressed a kiss to the top of her sister’s messy hair. She was thankful, despite everything, that Alex was unscathed- at least on the outside. She didn’t want to be alone.

“It is… But don’t worry, Alex.” She soothed. “I’ll protect you.”

[jennsmuusings-blog]

“A Broken Heart”- Final version

For my rough draft- I focused on mainly fixing grammar issues and deleting words that did not sound right.

                                              A Broken Heart

Her tears stained the paper; she was barely holding herself at bay. Her breath was stuck her chest, and she felt like at any minute she would faint. The letter. The letter that her husband had written, words of love and affection...But they weren’t for her. A woman. A girl. Someone her husband had brought into their house. She pressed her hand against her mouth as she tried not to sob. Their daughter was in bed, and she didn’t dare wake her. A three-year-old would never understand. In her innocent eyes, her daddy was perfect and he had no faults. She never wanted to make her daughter feel upset. She was furious with him, but she didn’t have it in her to break her daughter’s heart.

There was so much she wanted to say. But mostly she wanted to scream at him, throw his clothes on the lawn, and tell him to never come back. But then her eyes landed on the picture of the two of them on their wedding day; they were so happy. How could he do this to her? To their family  She wanted to kill him. There was so much she wanted to do—and her heart was so confused.

The door opened. Everything she wanted to say died on her lips when she made eye contact with him, and his eyes (those eyes that she loved so much), landed on the paper in her hands and he knew.

“Honey...” He whispered.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t kick him out. She simply fell to her knees in broken sobs as she crumpled the paper in her hands.

(photo from: http://favim.com/image/5138736/?ref=weheartit)

[jennsmuusings-blog]

“A Broken Heart” - Rough Draft

This story focuses on a wife who just found out her husband had been writing love letters to another woman. It was based heavily on the musical “Hamilton”, which I was listening to while writing this. I’m actually pretty proud of my rough draft, and you will see- beside some grammar fixes- I did not change much. This piece is flash fiction. 

                                           A Broken Heart

Her tears stained the paper, and she was barely holding herself at bay. Her breath was stuck her chest, and she felt like at any minute she would faint. The letter. The letter that her husband had written, words of love and affection... But they weren’t for her. A woman. A girl. Someone her husband had brought into their house. She pressed her hand against her mouth as she tried not to sob. Their daughter was in bed, and she didn’t dare wake her. A three-year-old would never understand. In her innocent eyes, her daddy was perfect and he had no faults. She was furious with him, but she didn’t have it in her to break her daughter’s heart.

There was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to scream at him; throw his clothes on the lawn and tell him to never come back. But then her eyes landed on the picture of the two of them when they were married; they were so happy. How could he do this to her? To their family? She wanted to kill him. There was so much she wanted to do- and her heart was so confused.

The door opened. Everything she wanted to say died on her lips when she made eye contact with him, and his eyes (those eyes that she loved so much), landed on the paper in her hands and he knew.

“Honey...” He whispered.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t kick him out. She simply fell to her knees in broken sobs as she crumpled the paper in her hands.

[jennsmuusings-blog]

Introduction

Hello! Thank you so much for clicking on my blog and reading my stories. These were writings that I have created in my creative writing class. My name is Jennifer, and this is a project for said class. class. I am twenty-two years old, and a senior at university. I’m a nursing student but I do enjoy writing and have done so for a while. I have a total of six pieces that I will post on here, and they all very in size and subject. As you will see, I have a knack for writing more somber things. I promise that I’m a happy and charismatic person. You will see that my pieces deal a lot with complicated emotions, and dilemmas. I do like to challenge myself with these things and deal with situations I may have never dealt with before or may not have to ever deal with. For example, one of my stories is about two sisters  who have to deal with the aftermath of a zombie invasion, and they are slowly coming to terms with the fact that they only have each other now- as the older sister struggles to deal with the idea that she is now in charge of her little sister who is confused and acting out- who does not yet know that people are infected with the virus.

               I deal with dramatic themes a lot, and some real situations that I have found myself in. I try to experiment with emotions, because I consider myself an empathetic person. I believe that it’s good exercise to practice with these emotions. Please enjoy your stay and look around my blog and look at my writings! A fun thing about me is that I’ve been writing since I was very little, and I’ve always been imaginative. However, as I’ve grown older, I’ve seen those imaginative ideas being replaced by more realistic themes. I do enjoy reading fantasy novels and fairytales (I love Disney movies!), but I just find that I get kind of stuck writing them. The story entitled “The Lake” is very important to me because it’s a bit of science fiction, a bit of horror and drama and a more grown up version of something that I would have created as a child. As a child I was very interested in zombies, and the idea of dead people coming back with a hunger for flesh. I play video games in my spare time, and surprisingly (or not so surprisingly)- one of all-time favorite genres is zombie games.

           Once again, most of my stories are kind of sad. My mother and best friend joke that I write very sad things for such a happy person. I’m a very empathetic person, and I write emotions very well. A thing that’s important about being a nurse is that you can connect to your patient to further help them.  You don’t have to agree with how they are feeling, but you are able to understand why they may feel that way.

-          Jennifer