Hiya Everyone. Alot of my teachers and friends tell me im a phenomenal writer for my age…. I dont believe them, so im putting some of mine on my website. I wouldn’t mind if you read one of em and told me if they were any good. Thank you. Doughnut861.

Stories:

Redemption

“White supremacy!!!! White supremacy!!!! White supremacy!!!! We are the saviors of the white race!!!” the Ku Klux Klan chanted as they marched through the streets at midnight.

Koy Kipper was somewhere in the mob of white masked creatures. He and his two buddies, Trey and Raleigh, tore away from the crowd near Levi Anderson’s home. They had posted a warning on his door that told him to get out of town. Obviously he had not listened, for the lights were on and music was playing. They were now prepared to make a black man pay. Raleigh had brought the spiked stick, Trey had brought rope, and Koy had brought his rifle, just in case. They silently crept around to the back door, which was strangely unlocked.

“Stupid n*****,” Rolly said while laughing, “doesn’t even lock his door.”

“Should we open it quickly and scare him or go for the slow ambush?” Trey asked.

“Let’s open it quickly and loudly,” Koy answered. “Ready, on three: One, Two Three!”

All three kicked the door open with an excess of force. Koy entered first and screamed aloud, “I’ve got a gun! Get down, you stupid n*****.”
But Levi wasn’t there. Koy signaled Trey and Raleigh in, and they started searching. Koy was searching the bedroom when he heard the familiar sound of the cocking of a rifle. Stunned, he turned around to see a flash coming straight at him, and a black man jumping out of the bedroom window. Then, darkness.
“Wellldonnnn,” a sweet voice sang him awake. At first he was cloudy, not knowing what happened to him, where he was, or who this Weldon person was. Then with a jolt he remembered the night before. He jumped off of the bed and looked around cautiously. It didn’t look like a hospital room, nor heaven, yet where could he be? Suddenly, he saw a black woman in front of him. He was very confused, so he decided to go against his gut and act friendly for the time being.

“Weldon, are you all right?” she asked nicely.

“Is this heaven?” he asked, for surely he couldn’t have been sent to hell.

The black woman chuckled a little and replied, “If we fixed it up a little it might.”

“Then where the hell am I?” he said alarmed. Surely a black woman wouldn’t be a hospital attendant.

“Weldon! Don’t ever say that word again!”

Suddenly he lost his cool and screamed, “Tell me where I am you dirty coon.”

Silence filled the room as the black woman stared him down with fierce emerald eyes. She then glanced at both the windows and intensely said, “You’re lucky the Klan didn’t hear you, they would kill you on the spot. What’s gotten into you? Everyone’s on edge right now.”

Not knowing what to do, Weldon pushed past the woman and walked into a small kitchen with a newspaper on the table. Checking the date, he saw something that bewildered him. The headline of the paper was: “K.K.K MEMBER SHOT TO DEATH BY BLACK MAN.” The subtitle read, “A three-year Klan member, Koy Kipper, was shot in the head yesterday by a local black man, Levi Anderson. There is a county-wide search for the killer.”

Koy stared in disbelief at the article. Time stood still. Then something else caught his eye. It was a hand, HIS hand. It was black. Suddenly, he understood. He was a black man somehow—yesterday, a dead white man, today a living black one! As the black lady walked out of the room, he yelled, “Quickly, get over here! I’ve found something important!”

“What is it, deary?” she asked politely.

“This is me,” he said pointing to the paper. The expression on her face was blank.

“Weldon, I think I need to take you to the doctor. You’re not yourself. You’re becoming delusional.”

Suddenly his sense returned. He angrily turned on her, “You’re not taking me anywhere!”

He bolted out the door, wanting to run as far away from her as he could. To his surprise he was near the K.K.K’s meeting place. Perhaps, he could convince them he was Koy. He patted himself on the back for a great idea as he walked into the room, quickly forgetting he was black. When he got to the assembly room, something serious was going on. Raleigh and Trey were giving speeches of sorrow under their sniffles for his death. He decided to wait until after the speech to tell them his story. Suddenly, he heard Trey yell, “Everyone look! In the back row! It’s a dirty black man! Let’s get him!!!!” Before realizing what had happened, he was covered by a mob of his angry and armed friends.

Koy was bound and beaten with sticks. He realized that he was going to die again, this time at the hands of his friends. But as he was losing consciousness, a man with a hat covering his face crept sneakily up to the crowd with a rifle, and shot it three times in the air.

“Leave him. Take me instead,” the man shouted as he pulled off his hat, revealing his familiar face. “I’m the one you want,” declared Levi Anderson.

“Had this man come to rescue him? The same man who had killed him the night before?” Koy wondered. Apparently he had. The man who killed him was now saving him! Levi untied him, keeping his rifle trained on the mob.

“Get out of here,” Levi ordered Koy and let him free into the street. Levi watched him go and calmly handed his rifle to the man closest to him.

Koy was free. He ran full speed away, aware that Levi was probably being beaten to death. He heard the roar of sirens behind him, and knew he was done for. Strangely, they passed right by him. He stopped, laughing, as a jolt of deja-vu hit him. His hand… it was white again. He bent over in joy and relief. As he stood back up night had fallen, and he saw Trey and Raleigh next to him and a door in front of him. Music played beyond the door.

Raleigh spoke. “Koy! For the last time! Are we gonna ambush him quickly, or slowly walk in and scare the n*****”

After a long and thoughtful pause, Koy said, “You know what boys…. Let’s call it a night.” Dropping his rifle, he pulled off his white hood, crumpled it and dropped it on the floor. He wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

Learning to Bike:

When I was six, something horrible happened to me. I got my first tricycle. The period of learning how to ride a bike and trike was not very bright for me. Although there is a happy ending, it did not come without the scares and the scars.

● ● ●

Whenever my father came home early from work, it meant one of two things. Either he just got a raise, or he planned to do something fun with me that afternoon. I was three when he brought an odd contraption home. He would later tell me it was called a tricycle. At first I stared at it, wondering what it did. He then placed himself on top of it and put his hands on the handlebars and his feet on the pedals. I stared at him oddly for a moment and suddenly he started darting forward. I stared at him once again as he dismounted from the strange machine.

“Now you try,” he said, clearly dismayed seeing that I wasn’t in awe. I simply shook my head no. “C’mon it’s easy,” he said as he plopped himself back on the trike. “First put your hands here. Then put your feet here, and push. Understand?”

I was very shy then and didn’t speak much, so, hoping to avoid any further discussion of the matter, I nodded my head yes. That would be a huge mistake in the long run. I started to walk back to the garage when my dad whistled me back. I turned around as he scooped me up and put me on the bike. I started hysterically crying. He calmed me down and then showed me once more. Being brave I got back on, firmly grasped the handlebars, and started pushing my legs in long circular movements, slowly but surely gaining ground. After about three thrilling cycles my legs got tired and I stopped. My father, just now realizing I was going uphill and that he did not teach me how to brake, started to run to my side. But it was too late. I starting going backwards on the trike, bumped into our driveway curb, and toppled over with the trike on top of me. I didn’t go near a tricycle for another six months.

Every year my family goes Long Beach Island, LBI. My most memorable year there was when I was six. By then I had abolished my fear of the tricycle and had mastered it. Unfortunately, a new larger fear took its place, The Bicycle. The third day there my father, despite my screaming hysterics, dragged me to a local church parking lot. Even though he had to chase me around a little to get me on the bike, he somehow put up with my intolerable behavior.

“Don’t worry, Jake. I promise I won’t let go of you,” he said under my sniffles.

And then he started pushing me, firmly grasping the back of my seat. Personally, I think my dad has watched too many movies where the father lets go and the child can magically ride. Well, after about twenty seconds he did let go, and I quickly realized he did and turned my body to make sure. Unavoidably, I leaned the bike too far and flipped over, colliding with the hard, scorching pavement. The only problem was that I was unscathed. This meant that I was to be dragged back there the next day. Even more sadly, my friend Arthur was there to learn with me the next day. After screaming, arguing, pounding the wall, running from my dad, and negotiating the best a six-year-old can, I was in the parking lot once again. This time my dad let go even earlier than he did last time. At first I was cruising and enjoying the first ride of my life.

Then I started yelling, “Daddy I’m doing it, I’m doin—“Bang!!!!! I fell into a small ditch going full throttle, throwing me backwards off of the bike. I lost my oxygen for a few seconds as I smashed into the sharp pebbles. I didn’t need to look. I already knew I had a few small rocks implanted beneath my skin.

I also vaguely remember that when I stopped crying, my father went over to my friend Arthur and said, “It’s your turn, Arthur.”

My friend, scared out of his wits, retorted, “I don’t want to be hurt too.”

I’m not entirely sure, but I don’t think Arthur has learned how to ride a bike since that crash.

I was nine when the great miracle happened. I had continued practicing my bike after that unforgettable crash when I was six. My dad had decided that I no longer needed to ride in a church parking lot, but instead down a quiet lane in North Shore Bay. I had also gladly accepted this too, since it was a Sunday and I would have a lot of trouble steering around the cars.

Down that little lane the miracle of the bike happened. I started pedaling and pedaling and soon enough my feet were doing it by themselves. Biking had finally clicked inside of my brain. I could ride! I even made my first sharp turn down a street. It was a glorious day in the world of biking.

The next day though, my dad, excited to see me for the first time happy to go biking, took me to a small park to ride. Little did we know that there had been a strong west-wind the night before. (A west wind causes all of the bay and ocean mosquitoes to swarm and gather on the island and beach. Also, I’m highly allergic to mosquitoes.)

It was another great day until we ran into the horde. I had been laughing at a joke my dad had told me when I felt the first mild sting on my face. Suddenly I was in a mass of black, buzzing, and angry flies. The pain at one point became so intense that I threw myself from the bike and into the grass. My dad, not as lucky as I, crashed into my bike and fell onto the pavement with his bike on top of him. About a minute later (it seemed like an hour) the flies got bored of biting me and left.

My dad was slightly dazed and decided to walk home instead of drive. I was crying then though, but not because of my fall, because the need to scratch was so intense I was twitching like a maniac.

The mosquito bites took a grand total of one week to calm down. But the day after I recovered, I got right back on my bike and learned how to ride. It was only then that I finally got the great feeling I get every time on a bike. I finally felt I could fly, strictly on the ground of course.

● ● ●

I am twelve years old now and have almost mastered all the tricks of the bike. I have now ridden from the north end of LBI to the south end and back, with a strong headwind. It was a total of forty-eight hard-ridden miles. And as I was approaching the end of my journey at the rock driveway of the bike rental shop, I took my hands off of the handlebars and shot them straight into the air, just as Lance Armstrong had done when he won the Tour de France. But to me it had a different meaning. I had finally won the war against the bike. But as I rode my final ten feet I recognized the fact that the war would never be over, because at that very moment I realized I didn’t know how steer without my hands. So just as I finished my journey, once again I toppled over and hit a sharp bed of rocks. But instead of crying, as I had done for the past eleven years of my life, I started to laugh. Perhaps that was the victory.

The Box…

While a rover on Mars is digging for samples, it suddenly hits something under the initial layer of rock. It is a vaulted box. When it is safely landed on earth, fifty-nine of NASA’s brightest engineers open it. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately– one of them, a man by the name of Harold Stevens, is sick. A few days later he arrives back at work, only to find everyone dead. As he explores deeper into the NASA building he sees something even more disturbing: the box is open. The box is empty.

● ● ●

“Harold to probe room… Harold to probe room,” the speaker bellowed. Harold let out a long sigh. How was he going to finish his job if the rookie kept calling him back every five minutes?

He could see perspiration gleaming on the rookie’s head as he entered the room. He could also see a few buttons flashing red. A bad sign already. “What is it Parish?” he asked, giving his voice authority.

“Something’s wrong with the probe! I just started digging and the maintenance button started flashing and the drill stopped, and I lost the connections for a second. I think the drill is damaged somehow,” he said waiting for fireworks to explode from Harold’s mouth.

Normally Harold would be very angry, but he was in a particularly good mood that day.

“This is a serious situation. Pull a chair over for me. Okay, first thing we’re going to do is check to see if the link is valid. Phone over to David,” Harold said, pulling a microphone headset over his ears. “Yes… Yes. We need you to check the link between home and probe AD-9… ok, can you see why we lost the link?”

Parish pulled on his headset and heard David say, “I dunno… it came up unregistered…was there any area in particular you used before it shut down?”

Parish replied, “Left drill rim.”

“Okay, let me do a scan of the area… The drill is busted.”

“What!” Parish and Harold simultaneously replied.

“Yeah, I used the emergency monitor. It looks like you must’ve hit something hard… because the point lost it’s sersation.”

Harold glanced over to Parish and raised his eyebrow. Catching his look Parish said, “Um.. Would you mind checking to see what it broke on?”

“Sure, but it was probably just rust. I mean the thing has been up there for a y–” Suddenly the only thing you could hear was the soft buzzing of the headphone.

“David… Hello? David, are you there?” Harold glanced over to Parish and gave him a nod. Parish pressed the speaker button and said loudly, “Security to Tech Room!”

A few moments later there was a loud shuffling outside. Harold lifted himself off his seat and headed for the tech room. Parish followed, right behind him.

There was an eerie silence as they opened the door. The electricity was off, and the security team was huddled around David. It only took one look to see that David had fainted.

The guards then asked Parish a few questions: “What were you talking about, Where were you, Did something sound off when he was talking to you?

Parish answered them straightforwardly.

After about two more minutes all but two of the guards had left with David in a stretcher. They said after a cursory scan of him that he had probably fainted from fear or shock.

“Probably a rat or something,” the guard concluded.

The last guard then asked if he was looking at anything in particular at the time he fainted. Parish then gave somewhat of a snort and said, “The screen… Where else?” The other guard then hearing this turned the electricity back on. A stunned silence came over Parish and Harold as they saw what was on the screen. With a ghostly silence spread over the room. The guard asked, “Ummm. What is that?”

Parish said stumbling on his words, “Sss-something that a rr-rover on Mars had dug up.” The security guard then looked back at the screen. He raised his sunglasses to make sure he was really seeing this. On the screen was a box, a vaulted metal box.

“Parish?” Harold said with a bit of a squeak in his words.

“Y-yes sir?”

“I want you to launch that probe down here immediately, with the box attached to it!”

“Yes sir!” Parish said and walked back into his station, eager to get the job done.

Two Months Later

Today was the big day! Today was the day Harold would get his big promotion, be interviewed in the news, become famous! The probe had finally landed safely with the box. The rest of NASA had kept it all hush-hush. Not even the CIA knew about this. Harold had planned everything out. He was going to show it to the rest of the engineers, then they would open it, (all fifty-nine of them) and hopefully find something. Hopefully.

Harold was adjusting his necktie when a sudden woozy feeling came over him. The world was beginning to spin… He could suddenly hear himself thinking out loud, cars were passing by him, his toothbrush was dancing. He was sick.

“Ohhh,” Harold moaned. “Don’t let me be sick today. Today of all days?” With this Harold hit the floor. Blackout.

One Week Later

Harold slowly opened his eyes. There was a bright light above him. Oh, so maybe I’m in the hospital, Harold thought. He was. After not showing up for work that day, Parish had contacted authorities. When they found him lying on the floor of his apartment they rushed him to the hospital. All this was explained after the surgeon told Harold he’d had a minor stroke. They couldn’t find a reason why though. He had no family history, he didn’t have any blockages, his blood pressure was low and as far as the surgeon could tell, Harold was a healthy man.

About an hour later Parish and a friend visited Harold’s hospital room. They said NASA was waiting for him to open the box. At this Harold felt relieved, yet, he couldn’t help feeling something was off with Parish. But he chose to ignore it. They talked about what could be in the box for a while, then moved on to the stroke. Parish, concluding the conversation, said, “God works in mysterious ways.” Then he left with his friend. After drifting off a little a thought struck Harold, Parish and his friend had had deep blue eyes. Didn’t Parish have brown eyes? “Oh well,” he thought, and fell asleep.

The Next Day

Harold was straightening his necktie. He had checked and rechecked his appearance. Finally he was ready to show the engineers the box. He hopped into the car and began reviewing his speech in his head while driving.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” (He passed a blue speed sign.) “I have made a discovery of such proportion, it will change the world as we know it.” (Just then a sleek blue Porsche zipped by.) “It is… a vaulted box from Mars!” Harold pulled into the full parking lot. “That’s weird,” Harold thought. “Huh. I guess everyone came to see me.”

As Harold entered the building, he immediately noticed something was wrong. Instead of the usual commotion from the various rooms, a silence filled the corridor. Harold slowly walked through the doors of his office. Everyone was there, “Oh thank God, I thought I was going crazy.” No one spoke. “Hello? Hello?! Is anyone here?” No one answered. No one stirred. Nothing moved. Harold, engulfed in fear, crept over to a woman’s desk. She looked fine…until he noticed something on her neck. It was a tiny slit. Harold screamed. Then he noticed something else, the color in her eyes was gone. They were dead white. Harold ran to a few other people. They all had slits and no eye color. Drowning in fear, Harold burst into Parish’s office. No one was inside. Then a new thought struck Harold, “Oh my god, THE BOX!”

Harold rushed to the meeting room, and flung the door open. It looked like a scene from the Bible. Everyone was in some pose, eyes wide open, mouths dropped, hands shielding eyes. And in the center of the scene was the box, door swung wide open. And there was Parish sprawled on the floor, throat slit, eye color gone. “What… how is this possible?” Harold grabbed Parish’s limp body. “You said they waited for me, YOU SAID THEY WAITED!” No one answered. Something stirred. Something moved. Harold jumped to his feet, scanned the room, and began running. Long cold arms stopped him in his tracks. Harold slowly turned around to see what awaited him. It was a sleek brown figure with blazing blue eyes. Under a twisted grin the alien said, “You’re next.”

Harold quickly turned around, trying to escape. There was another alien in front of him. He was nearly surrounded. After a quick scan of the room, Harold saw one opportunity to escape.

Harold closed his eyes trying to show no fear and said, “Why?”

The aliens stopped. “Well, Harold. You see, you have something we need. Something up there,” the alien said tapping Harold’s head with its claw. Seeing the opportunity, Harold drove his fist into the alien’s gut. He made a break for it, but was quickly grabbed by the other alien, and thrown against the wall, as if he were a doll. The only thing that separated him from the aliens was a desk. The blow to the wall had dazed him, but he knew this would be the end. After a few long moments the alien sprang at him. Harold closed his eyes waiting for long claws. They never came. When he opened his eyes, he saw the alien laying on the ground dazed. “What the…” Harold said, and then saw the giant horseshoe magnet on the desk. He grabbed it and pushed it forward. Suddenly the remaining alien was thrown back, and hit the ground with a thud. Harold ran forward with the magnet until he had the alien pinned to the wall. He slowly began pushing harder inch by inch, until there were two large holes in the alien. It was dead.

Then Harold began to run. He needed to escape the place. Just as he ran into the parking lot Harold realized, “Wait. What happened to the first alien?” Harold ran back inside, but the first aliens corpse was nowhere to be found. But neither was the dead one’s. “Huh, do they disintegrate when they die?”

“Hopefully.” Harold thought. “Hopefully.”

15 Years Later

Harold, the new head of NASA, leaned back on the sofa, beer in hand, and flipped on the TV. It had been a good day, and he was looking forward to a relaxing night at home. He put on the evening news, where they were doing a special on the primary season. They said a young Floridian Senator was making a startling run for the presidency. After a few seconds, his picture flashed onto the screen. In that moment shivers ran through Harold’s back. He paused and rewound the TV, back to the image.

The future president of the United States of America had familiar blue eyes

Poems:

Fear

There are places

Where you haven’t been

There are places such as here

There are places with dreary, dark, deserted buildings

Rotting in the rundown roads of hell

There are places such as here

There are places that have no bottom

Simply darkness in your perpetual flight

There are places such as here

There are places without any water

Only salty seas of death

There are places such as here

These are places I have been to

Places to and fro

You may not know these places

But you surely know your own

The Blind Man Sees

On top of

Mt. Everest

The blind man stands.

He sees only light streaming down below him,

He hears the soft grinding of his boots

As they touch the icy frost,

The briny smell of an unbathed sherpa

Staring down at the world beneath them,

He feels at one with the heavy air,

And tastes the cold of winter in his mouth,

He waits a minute longer

Then departs as slowly as he came.

Moi by me

I’m dot nyslexic.

Once I won the lottery, then I woke up.

I’m being totally sarcastic right now, or am I?

I would eat my head if I could,

Simply because I wouldn’t have to listen to people.

I always say I’m patient

But I refuse to wait for agreement

(“Grammar is” my, easiest: subje)ct

Soh iz speeling.

I was on the top of a mountain when I dropped my binoculars

Then I realized they were around my neck

The more I push myself, the harder it gets to open the door that says “pull”

If you see dark circles under my eyes it’s because I worked on this all night

So far there are 102 spaces in this poem

Now there aren’t. Or are there?

My wise grandpa once told me, “Eat Asco beans and hear your Asco boom!”