This Just In...

This is a poem I was assigned to write in my English class. It's a poem about what we want to do with our lives when we reach a certain point. Mine is when I'm a newspaper reporter :) I hope you like it!

THIS JUST IN...

When I am a newspaper reporter, I shall wear pencil skirts and a reporter badge.
With fiery red lipstick, six inch stilettos and glasses that suit me.
I will spend my words on things that are worth writing about; disasters, current events, statistics, and advice.
And when they ask me to write something useless, I shall reply, “I’ve no words for fools.”
I shall push my way to the truth, and be loved by few and loathed by many.
And I must own a taser gun because all hated reporters just have to have one.
I will adorn myself in the most elaborate clothing and dine at the best restaurants.
With my ultimately successful career, I shall earn a grand amount of money and give it to those who need it more than me.

But now I am poor, and I cannot give to the less fortunate.
And I must avoid being loathed by many, because it would result in myself being thrown out of the newspaper class.
I will now spend my words on things happening at High School rather than the world.
And I cannot have a taser, because my friends do not find that as fun.
Now I will wear jeans and flats so I will not trip and die before my future is attained.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So that those who hardly know me will not be too surprised,
When I am a loathed newspaper reporter that wears my badge proudly and dresses in pencil skirts.

The Novice

This is a story I am entering for a scary story contest...it was very tricky 'cause the entries can only be one page, double spaced, 10 pt font...yeah, it was hard but I did it! So I present to you The Novice. Let me know what you think!

The Novice

The job was simple. The part she had to play fit perfectly into the illusion she had spun around their heads; it had to fit perfectly, any deviation would mean...she shook her head to clear her thoughts, so that she only focused on one thing: the death of him.

The sweet consistence of the rain tapped on the windows of the car she sat in. Passers-by could not see the short haired young woman making a cruel smile through the tinted windows. To them it was just another empty car on the street. A void which held no consequence. Of course, they were wrong. The girl sitting in the car, the young, eighteen year old girl that a year prior they might have passed on the streets as a simple beggar, was no longer a weak, defenseless child of circumstance. She was a killer. And tonight she would be playing in her greatest role yet.

A man walked by the car, not noticing its existence. He held a cup of coffee in one hand, and shielded his head form the pelting rain with the other, all the while complaining to his associate about the horrid weather. A smile curved on teh lips of the girl as she opened the car door. The rain was slick and heavy, and, while her body was protected in a chic, black trench coat, her uncovered hair was soon saturated. But this didn't bother her, nor did the immediate clattering commotion of people on the street. For the gleam in her crimson eyes had found their mark, and she thirsted for the satisfaction it would bring her masters when she brought this writing young human before them.

She walked at a careful distance behind the man. His associate soon departed form him into an apartment complex and the man continued alone. A sudden burst of adrenaline coursed within her veins reaching her extremities. Theis job was the mark of eternity for her. If she could pull this off, nothing wouldever be out of her reach again. The man turned into an alley way and she smiled. It awlays seemed most poetic when teh final conflict of one' slife happened in the shadowy corners instead of on display for the entire world to see.

But when she made her entrance, he was already facing her, crouched and ready to defend himself. She stopped short in confusion. When had he noticed that he was being followed?

"The bad thing about the Organization is that they send a novice when an experienced player is needed," he whispered sardonically.

Her eyes widened as a beam of white light shot form this hands and instantly consumed her, incinerating her very being in a split second, until there was nothing left but a wet pile of ashes being washed away into the sewers.

He smirked in triumph, and turned to leave the scene. The shadowing figures of three men cloaked and hooded loomed in front of him and his satisfaction quickly transformed into dread.

The most formidable of the trio raised his crimson eyes and said, "The perfect thing about the Organization is that our novices are never alone."