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CATEGORY: Essay

CATEGORY: Argumentative Essay

“Dreamers make the world go round, while

everyone else is stuck in the same, boring mind set.”

Obviously, it is better to dream big and touch the

stars, than to limit ourselves to “realistic ideas.”

Do you really think that the idea of sending a

man to the moon was a realistic goal? No, absolutely

not! One dreamer had the idea and everyone else

said that it

was crazy,

unrealistic,

and

impossible.

But we did

it! We put a

man on the

moon, all

because one

dreamer defied the limits and expectations of others.

Others may argue that it is better to be

realistic so you don’t end up hurt, but they are

wrong. By never dreaming big, you never try, and

by never trying, you never succeed. In the Disney

film, “The Princess and the Frog,” we see an African

American girl dreaming of owning her own

restaurant in a time when men ruled the world and

African Americans were poor. By the end, this

dreamer achieves her goals by working hard to

prove everyone wrong.

Being realistic only limits our possibilities,

so it is crystal clear that dreaming big and chasing

your dreams is better. So dream big, invent

something, try something new, and go see the world.

But above all, spread your wings and touch the stars.

Angelique Marie Morales – 10th grade

Teacher- Lisa Gonzalez

“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

-Louis L’Amour

Literary Anthology

Dreamers Rule the World

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CATEGORY: Short Story

“Taps”

It’s been days without sleep; that damned

tapping won’t stop. I follow the source of

the noise up the wall and to the middle of

the ceiling. The tapping starts up when I

lay my head down. It starts off softly, but

as the night goes on, progresses to loud

thumping. By morning it quiets to a stop,

but by then it’s too late to sleep. I have to

go to my daily lectures. And this is the way

my life has been, like clockwork.

But I’ve had enough, with coffee in one

hand and an ax in the other, I prep for

war. I sit at the edge of my bed, gripping

my weapon of choice tight, waiting,

listening for any sound possible--ready to

pounce at the wall.

The tapping starts up again like usual. In

a fit of anger and rage I raise the ax over

my head and swing hard. I thought I had

heard it scramble away, so I followed it up

the wall swinging once more.

Missing my target, but not quite done yet,

I yank the ax out of the ceiling. And for the

last time, swinging hard. . . I hit my

target. A pain-filled scream rang in my

ears shaking me from my trance.

Pulling the now-stained blade out of the

wall, I noticed that my “misses” were

actually right on target.

A bright crimson color pooled over my

floor.

It suddenly clicked; I live in an apartment

complex . . .

Anthony M. Wagner – 9th grade

Teacher- Andrea Webb

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CATEGORY: Short Story

My Fair Love Be Gone

There she sat as stiff as a tree on a windy

stormy night such as the one today.

She stared at the painting in front of her.

Her emerald green eyes were glossy from the

tears that threatened to spill. Her long faded,

raven-colored hair was messy and knotted as it

clung to her sweat drenched forehead and neck.

Her brow furrowed. Her lips quivered as small

whimpers escaped from her throat. Her once sun

tanned skin was now a winter pale white--the same

color as her night gown. Her slender fingers held a

brush that was drowning in brown thick paint. She

breathed a shaky breath as she stared at the

canvas in front of her.

His beautiful curly chestnut hair resembled

chocolate shavings on a cream pie. His smooth tan

skin and rock like features resembled that of a fine

Italian sculpture. His smile could make you melt

like a stick of butter on a hot summer day. His

chocolate brown eyes were so sweet they could

fatten you up with one glimpse. The wet paint

shone from the light of the red hot flames in the

fireplace.

Thunder sounded through the sky with

lightning striking down on earth. She flinched at

the sound causing her hand to create a messy

colorful streak of wet paint over his hairline. She

gasped. Another mistake made to him which was

her fault.

She closed her eyes remembering the day

his life had gone to the sky.

On that day, she had spoken words as

harsh as a strike to the face. She remembered so

well, being filled with fuming rage and hate when

she found out that he had been with an innocent

fawn whose looks were much more superior than

hers. He had spoken of his mistake saying he

would never betray her again. But alas, she had no

more trust in him.

Broken and defeated, she was about to

strut away but halted and turned around when she

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saw a bright flash of light strike upon her dear.

She stared as his body went limp as he fell to the

cold wet ground.

Oh how she so regretted that day. She

had been much too harsh and strict on him. Her

words were like a mirror breaking into small sharp

pieces that cut and tear. She could never forgive

herself for her cruel actions that day. He was

gone for good.

She slowly opened her eyes as salty, bitter

tears fell like two waterfalls. She gritted her teeth

in anger. Why him?! Why not her instead?!

She flipped a table spilling the contents of

paint and water. She fixated her eyes upon the

mess as it started to form a picture. The orange

and yellow formed a staggered line shooting down

at what seemed to be a person. She stared at her

masterpiece feeling his piercing brown eyes staring

intensely at her. His serious look scared the poor

girl. All she felt was regret, fear, and intense fiery

red hot anger. Screaming in agony, she ran

outside letting the cold icy rain hit against her frail

skin leaving small pink marks. Her hair was now

drenched, making her look like a murderous

psychotic widow.

She looked up at the dark blue, velvet star-

lit sky with dancing streaks of white light. She

yelled out till her heart’s content. She was filled

with pain and rage. She ached to join him up in the

sky and become his fair lover again. Oh how she

wanted to be held in his arms like a newborn. She

wanted to be his forever and always, till death do

them part.

Then she felt it.

A surge began running up her spine and

through her body. She swayed side to side. Her

eyes were wide like saucers. Her mouth was agape

as she tumbled to the ground. Her body was

steaming with smoke. She stared blankly at the

sky where her love stood--white and pure--as he

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held out his hand to her. She slowly lifted up from

the ground feeling her energy return. She took his

hand. He pulled her into an embrace. She buried

her face in his chest taking in his sweet pure

essence.

Pulling back, they stared at each other

glowing as bright as the light that halos the moon.

Now she was white and pure as he was.

And now she was forever his fair lover in

the sky, joined together as one at last.

Amber R. Molix – 10th grade

Teacher- Andrea Webb

3rd Place Winner in

District Competition!

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Gone

She was my best friend

So eager to run and play,

Until illness took her away.

She’s gone.

The back yard where we used to play,

There was never a gloomy day.

But now she is gone.

I will never forget the day that she past,

This dreaded day had come at last.

I still can’t believe that she is gone.

Although the pain in my heart of losing her still aches,

Her memory will never break.

She will forever live in my heart

CATEGORY: Poetry

Angelique Marie Morales—10th grade

Teacher- Claudia Recoder

3rd Place Winner in

District Competition!

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CATEGORY: Short Story

Lorelei’s Asperger’s

Bright amber eyes peeked out from beneath a

thick set of darkened lashes; they looked out

expectantly to meet a collection of clashing colors.

Mascara, blush, gloss, and a layer of powder

concealed much of the fresh features of the bearer.

Lorelei felt unbearably strange and queasy as she

sauntered across the small area towards her friends.

Her anxiety did not come from any of the elements in

the place: the faces, the rhythm of the music, or even

the flowers or the twinkling lights adorning the small

venue.

No, her discomfort came from a small word

which progressively nipped at her ear.

Lorelei had not much experience in social

situations prior to this moment; in all truth, it could

be said that any situation of such nature caused her

much fright. This was not new in her life whatsoever.

This particular word, descriptive of her condition,

had plagued many of her earlier memories. It had

been uttered many times by her parents and sister,

then came to stick in her own mind.

As she had been an unnaturally shy girl all of

her life, Lorelei had been psychoanalyzed for all

kinds of self-esteem issues. It was finally decided that

her meek behavior could not be attributed to

insecurities. Her face, figure, and demeanor had all

brought her nothing but praise, and she knew this. No,

the psychologists had finally decided on a logical

diagnosis: Asperger’s.

Truly, only her closest relations had any idea

as to why she behaved in such a reserved way in

social situations. Despite this, they had counseled her

thoroughly regarding her attendance to this particular

party. This was the night of her twenty-third birthday.

Consequently, her sister and friends had decided to

unite and rent a venue in order to celebrate her. How

impertinent would she appear if she proceeded to

decline their invitation? No, too much kindness had

gone into setting up this party. She had no true choice

regarding the matter whatsoever.

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Upon arrival, her hand had been taken quickly by

that of her closest acquaintance —a man of twenty-

four years whom she had met in her first year at

university. George’s manner in receiving her was one

of complete and utter content. Their partiality to each

other had been widely known now to most of their

acquaintance. As a result,

it was natural that he

would be the one to have

the highest honor of greeting her first out of the

group.

“No public displays of affection until after the

meal, please,” came uttered a few moments after

Lorelei and George engaged in a small embrace. The

voice which spoke this had a tone which could not be

mistaken whatsoever. Lorelei caught it as that of her

sister's and turned to regard Yenna and her wife,

Mirna, approaching. These women brought with

them a mood which seemed to instantly triple the

positivity in the room.

With their cheerful greetings and sweet jokes,

they overtook the attention of the birthday girl.

Naturally, George resolved to move back and took his

leave. He proceeded to converse with a few of the

other individuals in attendance at the soiree.

All in all, each approach and conversation seemed

to soothe Lorelei to an extent which she had never

once thought possible; the fact that she was actually

rejoicing in the happiness of those dear to her was

therapeutic even. Her sister

finally pulled her away many

moments after her initial

arrival, to inquire upon her state both mentally and

emotionally. Bright faced and joyful, her reply came

with much ease.

“Oh, yes, yes! Oh, Yenna— I doubt I have felt this

much happiness since our trip to Disney- oh how

long?” This was met with a grand, wide smile from

her sister who resolved to chuckle lightly for her

sister’s flustered nature.

“Yes, yes, Lorie! Ah . . . that one was back when

you were four, no? I do not remember much more

than your squeals and whines on acquiring all that the

shops had to offer!” Her sister teased, and then led

her back to a seat by a large table where everyone was

congregating. Whilst continuing- “I am surprised this

No, her discomfort came from a small word

which progressively nipped at her ear.

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has had that much of an impact on you—all Mirna

and I did was rent this place.” She giggled, leaning

upon the table once they both took their seats.

George took his rightful seat adjacent to Lorelei,

her hand affectionately reaching for his upon doing

so. Small, humorous howls ensued from a kiss he

presented upon her face. A tan-skinned, spunky girl

quieted them down as she,

herself, moved an arm

around Yenna’s shoulder

casually. Her eyes scoured the scene until everyone

gave her a fair amount of silence. Upon which, she

began her address.

“My, one would think we were dining with

animals, no?” Her eyes went jokingly to their shared

peers. “I am glad we are all here—animals or not—to

celebrate the loss of yet another year of my dear in-

law’s life! Now, I do tease but, come on guys, Lorelei

here is a gem unlike any other. Well, perhaps with the

exception of my Yenna here. Lorelei is so kind; she

is hardworking and boy does it ever pay. The food

here was actually cooked all by Mike over there-”

This woman suddenly sprang back to point

accusingly at a quiet guy sat amongst the others.

This one was already beginning to serve himself

from one of the large platters, which Mirna pointed

out that he did indeed have all the right to do so. He’d

earned it, said she. More speeches were begotten by

these as the group began to serve themselves as well.

Each taking a good moment to

honor how much they truly cared

for Lorelei. Being addressed so

openly would have normally proceeded to make her

even more uncomfortable, though for some reason or

another these anxious effects were absent.

Beyond burying her face in the shoulder of the

male companion beside her, at one compliment or

another, her mood never once faltered. ‘Perhaps this

had been the pleasant that so many others had

commented on so many times prior,’ thought she.

All in all, nearly twelve speeches reached the

young woman’s heart that evening. The most tender

ones obviously being those of her closest

acquaintances, but none went forgotten or unheard.

No, the psychologists had finally decided

on a logical diagnosis: Asperger’s.

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Lorelei’s spirits were perhaps higher than she had

ever felt in her adult life.

The word Asperger’s, which had so much troubled

and haunted her prior to this moment, was actually

forgotten in its entirety tonight.

Truly, she was not as outspoken as Mirna, or as

good with words as others around her, but it seemed

evident despite how socially inutile she had felt

herself to be throughout life—she was loved. She was

loved, and she had touched

many lives around her. She

had people who were willing

to take time and money out of their own lives to

please her, people who had no second thoughts about

going about these things either. Her twenty-third

birthday was honestly no interesting thing, and she

certainly did not feel as though the praise she was

receiving was warranted, but these things did not

matter.

In the midst of this simple party, with no more than

seventeen classmates and family members, Lorelei

learned to actually value an aspect of life which she

had never so much as regarded prior. Her mild form

of autism had always impeded her from so much as

attending gatherings. At this one, she managed to

distract her mind and disregard most feelings of

unease. Perhaps it was true that she would never be

able to fully reap the glory of a social situation, but

what did this matter when she could simply coexist

with others within one? The cold truth was that this

young woman was not antisocial, and she was not a

person with a bad attitude. She was as sweet as her

sister and coveted a certain

degree of company in her

life.

The evening was not perfect; her condition did

make her retire herself every so often to the venue

restroom. This was not seen as odd or remarkable in

any sense. Lorelei would proceed to spend a few

moments alone and collect herself before returning to

the others’ company. Always met with smiles, she

would take note of the fact that the people around her

were truly enjoying themselves. They mingled and

spoke amongst each other as they happily dined and

celebrated. Yenna would check up on her state of

being progressively, as a caring sister naturally

The word Asperger’s, which had so much

troubled and haunted her prior to this moment,

was actually forgotten in its entirety tonight.

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should. She was always quite happy to realize that not

only was Lorelei enjoying herself, but it also seemed

this experience would permanently benefit her.

It was a few hours before anyone finally felt

compelled to leave for the night. Lorelei eventually

left in her car with George, who had carpooled with a

couple of his friends prior. Her sister-in-law

delightedly escorted them out of the ornate venue and

into their car. Once on their way, Lorelei was praised

much more by George. He began, in his own way,

with a silly little question.

“May I . . . tell you something, and you won’t

get mad?” Her reply was the same as she habitually

provided for this question, allowing him to proceed.

“I doubted you would show up, at all. I mean, I am

completely happy you did—don’t get me wrong . . .

but, wow. I just, never thought you would.”

“I am offended!” she replied brightly,

chuckling as she teased, “that you know me so well.

Honestly I did not want to come at all.”

Her confession caused him to chuckle lightly, as he

made a turn onto the driveway of her apartment

building.

“I’m proud of tonight,” was his only comment as

he shut off the engine, turning to face Lorelei.

Tiredly, she pressed a small kiss to his cheek and

proceeded to exit the vehicle. A smile overtook her

tired, reasonably makeup-clad face.

“I am too.”

Luisa Simental- 11th grade

Teacher- Andrea Webb

Literary Anthology

Categories:

Argumentative Essay

Expository Essay

Analytical Essay

Short Story

Poetry

Script

Share your writing talent!

See Ms. Webb in C-122 for details.

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CATEGORY: Short Story

She Ran Away

Looking around the house, all the

lights are turned on, and all of her toys

litter the floor. Silence echoes throughout

the halls, and she is nowhere in sight.

“She ran away? I don’t understand;

I gave her everything, but still she is

gone. Did it not even matter how much

affection I had shown? Would the

outcome have changed if I had given

more? No, I doubt it . . . But then what

made her leave?! Will I ever know?”

“No, screaming won’t get her back.

I have to think . . . Wait! Could it be . . .

that she still misses . . . no, no that’s

impossible. Come on . . . think.”

He stops dead in his tracks from

the sharp pain from stubbing his toe.

3rd Place Winner in

District Competition!

Swearing under his breath, something

catches his eye.

“A note?”

He read aloud:

“I HATE YOU!

WHY DID YOU TAKE ME AWAY FROM

MOMMY AND DADDY?

WHY!

I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!

I HATE YOU . . .

I HATE YOU . . . I HATE YOU!”

Those same words, continuing over and

over, covered the entire page as well as

the back. Dumbstruck, he froze. Holding

his breath, and wanting to look away, his

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eyes would not permit it. His eyes darted

left to right reading: “I hate you!” over

and over again.

He snapped.

“It’s your fault!”

His screams rang throughout the

empty halls.

“You were alone on the swings not

a soul watching you! It’s your fault that

you walked up to my van! It’s your fault,

so why do you hate me not yourself?”

He took a deep breath.

Beginning to chuckle a little, he

said, “It’s fine . . . it’s fine. I can always

get another.”

And with that, the door slowly

closes behind him.

Anthony M. Wagner – 9th grade

Teacher- Andrea Webb

Falcons,

we want your

writing!

Bring your work to Ms. Webb in C-122 or submit via email

awebb@sisd.net

SPECIFICATIONS:

double-spaced

12 pt. Verdana

Title 14 pt. bold

Your name, grade, and English teacher’s name at the

end of your submission

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X CATEGORY: Poetry

Me, Myself, and I

It doesn’t matter what race I am.

Black, white, Asian or tan.

I am different in my own way.

Just as perfect as the night is from the day.

Short, fat, skinny, or tall.

I am myself after all.

It doesn’t matter what I wear.

I am the girl with a bright glare.

Smart or not, I am what’s hot.

I am the one; X marks the spot.

Sweet as sugar or sour as lemon.

My emotions are like Armageddon.

You can stare at me like I am cold.

Like I may have a solid soul.

You may think I am different.

But I know I’m sufficient.

You can say I have a lot of sass.

That my words can break you like glass.

You can stare, say, or think what you might.

But I know that I am bold and bright.

I may be weak like a stick.

I may be tall like a tree.

I may be dumb as a rock.

I may be blind as a bat.

But if you should know, it’s not all about

that.

I can draw like Leonardo.

I can write like Stephen King.

I can sing like a bird.

Think what you want, but it’s not absurd.

You know me now from the words you just

heard.

You’ll remember these words that I have

said.

But now it’s coming to an end.

So now maybe you can comprehend.

That I am me and that’s what’s said.

I will go on; my future will thrive.

Because I am me,

myself,

and I.

Amber R. Molix – 10th grade

Teacher- Andrea Webb

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CATEGORY: Poetry

Marilyn or Medication?

I Love You or I Loathe You?

Medication.

Medication.

Meda –

Meda –

Medication.

Sweet and slaughtered.

Marilyn.

Now knows how to pop

a top with her flipped

bird and thumb

while Little Baby Mo Rose

counts to three,

as if climbing a staircase

timidly on all fours.

“…one…two…three…”

And big sister amity

feels snappy leather lick her.

Gathering on sympathetic vibrations,

she waits on Little Baby Mo Rose

to chirp.

“…one…two…three…”

Medication.

Medication.

Meda –

Meda –

Medication.

Not a pearl in the inside.

Marilyn.

Slurps expresso in the mourning

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while Little Baby Mo Rose

snickers at the landslide

her mama’s arms have become.

“Again! Again!”

amity knows that ten summers

isn’t much experience

no matter the scorching waves

that tore at her freckles with every curl,

no matter the blisters

that conformed to her equal,

no matter how many times

she was betrayed

by the shadows of the Mister

who knew why it throbbed,

like the wings of a moth

pinned in glass,

between her legs.

But she knows Mo’s requests

are unnecessary.

Medication.

Medication.

Meda –

Meda –

Medication.

Fatherless. Motherless.

Marilyn.

Found her kin in one

and a half fluid ounces

and five hundred milligrams

and plenty of latex rubber.

Little Baby Mo Rose wobbles

to the iron gates

of the bedside as

mama rattles,

the landslide slicing

her pupils.

amity moves one foot

in front of the other

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every three seconds.

“…one…two…three…”

Mo’s chirp swirls into a wail

“…one…two…three?”

Medication.

Medication.

Meda –

Meda –

Medication.

A score and four pointed

rhythm over. Bingo

Marilyn.

Looks into her daughter’s eyes.

“I Lo –”

The silence whispers

to the mattress to

swallow the body whole.

The springs think the Mister

has returned for amity,

feeling awfully lonely.

Amaris Henderson—11th grade

Teacher- Theresa Ambriz

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CATEGORY: Short Story

My Nightmare Rose

She was beautiful. She was outstanding. Yet

she was dark with no emotion. She . . . was a

nightmare rose. Her appearance was almost like a

goddess. Her hair was almost as dark as her soul and

her sharp hazel eye could look through you like

glass and pierce your

innocent soul. And I was her

godly sun of life and lust.

It all started on that

summer day when my life

came to an end.

I met her in the garden where Lily and I used

to spend most of our time. The sound of perfect

silence was so peaceful you could just fall asleep

right then and there on the grass. She stood under

the blossom tree blankly staring at me. She smiled

when we made eye contact. She walked over to

and held out her hand as a greeting. That’s how our

friendship began.

Our relationship was as healthy as the green

grass in summer. We acted as if we had been friends

ever since the first

grade—well, that’s how I

saw it. But to her, we were the colors blue and red

yet to make purple. I had no idea what that meant,

so I pushed the thought aside thinking that she was

just joking around. Boy was I wrong, like the

weather man saying it was gonna snow in July.

Dead wrong.

Winter came along, and it was nothing but

pure, torturous, bitter freezing cold winds that beat

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you in the face. It was almost as if the wind was

telling me something: that SHE was cold and bitter.

That she was soon to make me feel dull and numb

all over. Who is she? What are her true feelings

towards me?

Spring came at last and her actions were

becoming demanding and harsh. Like a bee sucking

pure nectar from a flower until it becomes wilted

and vulnerable.

And that’s exactly what she was doing to me.

Every time we went out, she’d cling to my

arm tightly as if trying to say I was her property. She

would go through my phone at every opportunity

she thought I wouldn’t notice! I thought: When will

she leave me and my personal belongings alone?!

I’VE HAD IT! I couldn’t take it anymore!

She wouldn’t stop her evil sins and wrong doings!

She had gone too far now. One time she broke into

my house and rearranged everything. The kitchen

knives were missing and the pictures of my

deceased wife and I were burnt and spread all over

the floor in my room. To make things even worse,

she carved hidden messages behind my bed. One

read: “you’re my personal property now!” The worst

part was located under that text. It read, “She was

never good for you. So she got stabbed and went out

with a bang and died in a patch of lilies”

My stomach dropped . . . I couldn’t believe

what I had read . . . stab and a bang. But why? Why

did she kill her?

I called her later that night. I told her to meet

me in the garden; I said it was urgent and that I

needed to see her face right away. I thought: this

demon shall be gone forever. Tonight . . . she shall

pay for her sins.

There she stood, under that same tree like the

day we first met. She was dressed in a black silk

lacey dress with her hair down and curled.

“So, you did come after all my dear?” I

spoke, holding out my hand as she grasped it firmly.

“Of course, you sounded so desperate to see

me,” she said with a smile.

I couldn’t help to think: how disgusting, you

filthy pathetic piece of trash.

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“I needed to see your beautiful evil face

again. Not one day as in never have I forgotten your

sickening beauty.”

I pulled her close with our noses barley

touching. There was a tint of red on her cheeks. My,

my, she’s sensitive to romance, isn’t she? How naïve

you are, my dear.

“Today shall be the last day we see each

other.”

“What do you me . . .“

I stabbed her swiftly in the stomach. I

watched her face whiten.

“Oh no, you can’t die yet . . . not without a

bang,” and I shot her in the chest, piercing her heart.

She fell to the ground, lying in a patch of

roses. I kneeled down and put a rose on her stomach

and placed her hands on the stem.

“This is familiar isn’t it? This is how Lily

died . . . now this is how you’ll die. But you won’t

be missed.” I got up and started walking off in the

distance.

“Goodbye forever . . . my nightmare rose.”

Amber R. Molix – 10th grade

Ms. Andrea Webb