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The Meaning of FunAmelia Evans was in every retrospect, perfect. She was the perfect daughter, the perfect student, even the perfect employee. If there was a single flaw that stood out in Amelia, it would have to be her inability to have fun. It wasnt that she was totally against the idea of fun; it was just that shed never considered it an important enough item to add to her already full schedule.
After all, through her life as a student at Stockstride High School she had made sure to stand out in every academic way. She was always there to run a club, to organize a fundraiser, or to volunteer at a charity when she was needed. Even with her busy schedule Amelia was always sure to give herself enough time to devote to each of her classes so that she could ensure a perfect grade card of all As. Teachers Pet, Geek, and Nerd were the more polite names that Amelia was called, but she paid them no heed. After ten years of schooling there was no reas
The songs swelled around me, sung dutifully by the mourners. I was too young to truly grieve with those in the audience, instead sitting quietly beside my mother. All I understood was that my friend Renaes grandmother had died, and that this sad ceremony was to honor her. Because I had met the deceased only once, I couldnt truly understand what Renae and her family were feeling. For this reason I was a little surprised to look up the rows to Renae and see her crying.
Renae was two years younger than I with shoulder length brunette hair and expressive blue eyes. Her face was spotted with freckles and at the moment, shimmering with tears. Though usually smiling and causing mischief with her three brothers and I, she looked sadder than Id ever seen her before. Her knees and elbows often had scratches and scabs to show her bold personality. In many ways we were opposites, yet still the best of friends.
I remember trying to rise, intending to go and comfort Renae. My mothe
Winnie and Christopher RobinCome on Darling, theres something I want to show you, said a man gently. The man was in his thirties, his red-brown hair neatly trimmed and dark eyes practically glowing with warmth as he looked towards his daughter.
The girl could not have been more than six years old, her auburn hair pulled into pigtails with cheerful yellow ribbons tied into bows. She wore a matching dress that came just below her knees. It had a white ruffle on the bottom as well as the neck and each sleeve with the imprint of sunflowers sewn all through the yellow fabric. She skipped merrily to her father, letting him lift her up to be set on her bed beside him.
What is it? She asked eagerly, her eyes bright with curiosity.
Some very dear friends of mine, the father replied with an amused chuckle. Yes Very dear indeed. He added much softer.
Who are they? The girl asked, practically quivering with anticipation.
Let me show you, He s
The Flower Garden
The butterfly was just out of reach, its wings shimmering in the early morning light. With clumsy attempts Lily reached for it, trying to capture the elusive insect inside her small hands. Just as she had finally almost reached it I caught her hand, shaking my head.
You must be gentle, I told her softly, For this creature is not harmful in any way, and though you simply want to look at it, catching it too hard could result in its death.
Lily listened, though her soft brown eyes were still fixed on the butterfly above us. I dont wanna hurt it, I just want it to sit still. She said, her soft voice echoing loudly in the deserted field.
I know love, but theres many times we dont mean to hurt someone and will if we are not gentle. I explained patiently. Cup your hands like this Lillian, I moved her hands into a form similar to mine. Now very slowly approach the butterfly and put your hands around
Little Bo PeepIt began as another day at the library. We were there, my sister and I, by ourselves for the first time. Our mother had been called in to work unexpectedly, and after much pleading, she had agreed to let us go ahead with our planned trip to the public library.
We were walking around, acting on our best behavior in case mother had a way to spy on us while at work. You never knew who you might run into, and we didnt want to take any chances that day. Just as I was reaching for a book to check out a very loud wail pierced the silence that normally encloses libraries.
It was a siren, long, deafening, and terrifying. The same drawn out wail in different volumes told me that it was the sign for a tornado on the way. Whether or not I had remembered that though, the librarians were calmly herding the visitors down a winding set of stairs and into a long hallway in the basement.
I took my sisters hand, holding it tightly as if afraid if I loosened my grip, she might be swept away in
No TearsI cried out as I felt my bike slowly tipping. It seemed that I hadnt been ready to remove the training wheels after all. Before I knew it I was on the ground, a pain erupting in my knee.
No tears darling, My daddy murmured, cradling me in his arms as he skillfully bandaged my wound.
The rain was coming hard and fast, lightning the only light to our house and thunder the only noise. I whimpered, my eyes moist as I clutched my daddys hand tightly to keep from jumping whenever thunder erupted.
No tears, He whispered warmly, Big girls dont cry. He hugged me close, his heartbeat drowning out my unpleasant sounds.
The nightmare had been an especially terrifying one, of death and falling, disaster and terror. I crawled into my parents bed, snuggling between them with a feeling of warmness and safety. Even so, when my mother asked what was wrong I could feel my eyes glistening with the effort not to cry.
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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