Miss Lorraine 101
Private Tutoring and Small Classes
since 1994
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Saturday Morning at the Hospital
by Katie Sittig-Boyd, age 15
I paced restlessly up and down the stark white hallway, rolling my eyes, crossing my arms, and complaining silently as I did. Cooper, you idiot! I berated him mentally, as if he could hear me. You just had to go off that jump, didn’t you? Now look what happened. You’re in a hospital bed, ruining my Saturday morning! Some day this has been!
I huffed, angrily, and stopped pacing, looking backwards at the closed door that led to Cooper’s room. I wanted to go in and see him, but at the same time I didn’t. I didn’t want to see what had happened to him. He’d hurt his ribs, and I didn’t know how serious it was.
After staring at the door a while, kind of waiting for it to open, I resumed my pacing. My footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, the only sound I could hear. I almost—horribly—wanted to hear someone screaming or yelling or something, just to break up the silence a bit. Not that I wanted anyone to be in pain…but this was a hospital. Shouldn’t there be some noise, at least?
I stopped pacing again, sighing irritably. I hoped that Cooper was all right. The idiot—did he honestly expect to go off a ski jump that high and get off unscathed? Especially since he’d only spent a few days skiing in his life.
The door opened. “Casey, was it?” said a woman’s voice. “You can come in and see your boyfriend now.”
I felt my face get hot. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said indignantly. “You think I’d date him? The idiot went off a black diamond ski jump after his first skiing lesson, practically!”
The nurse’s mouth quirked in a slight smile. “Well, would you like to see your friend, then?”
“Sure,” I said, and stalked toward the door. She held it open for me, and I entered the room.
Cooper was sitting up on the examining table inside. He looked relatively normal, except for his pale blue hospital gown. I grinned openly—he looked totally ridiculous. I was also grinning, maybe just a little, because he was okay. Not that I would ever admit it or anything.
He frowned at me. “What’s so funny?”
I was thinking of saying, Nothing. Or maybe, Well, you don’t exactly have great taste in fashion. But what came out of my mouth was, “Cooper, you idiot! I was worried about you!”
He grinned sheepishly at me. “Yeah, well…about that.”
Before I could think about what I was doing, I was over by his side, giving him a hug. He yelped in surprise—and maybe pain, too, I thought as I remembered his ribs and eased up on the pressure. I was sure that somewhere, behind me, the nurse was smiling knowingly. I heard her say, “Not your boyfriend, huh?” before walking out of the room and leaving Cooper and me alone.
November 30, 2008The Love of Hunting
by Chris Bolton, age 10
The band of ten men walked through the woods. Every man was armed with a bow and quiver, maybe twelve arrows; some had swords. Corogon had full armor and a war ax. One man shot a small tree. “Get the wagons!” yelled Corogon, their leader. The men had to haul one wagon because with every lash from the driver, the horses and wagon sunk deeper into the swamp.
A dark shape glided below the surface of the murky swamp water. A ripple betrayed its presence. In a flurry of scales and sharp claws one man vanished into the depths never to be seen again. Eight terrified wet men clamored out of the water. One very brave man went back into the water to unhitch the horses and help them out.
The hunting party decided to leave the wagon to rot in that cursed swamp. Several men hoisted the frame of the tree seat out of the other wagon and up into the newly shot tree, nailing it into place. Corogon nimbly climbed into the tree seat. He was handed his bow and arrows. The rest of the men tied bushes down and hid.
Ten minutes passed. One hour went by. It was half an hour before dark when they saw it – a large oak buck. From the tree seat Corogon shot his arrow. The tree dodged it and charged. A shrill whistle broke out. A swarm of crimson feathered arrows flew straight at the tree. But unfortunately not all shots were perfect…. A stray arrow struck Corogon between the ribs slicing into his flesh, just missing the lung! He fell to his knees. The buck completed its charge impaling him with its ten foot branches. Corogon was thrown twenty feet!
The remaining seven men stopped cold. Corogon didn’t move.
“He is dead” whispered Jonathan. But then the moment was over and the tree had seven furious men hungry for the sap of it. Now it was revenge that fueled them. An hour went by. Two men fell. Finally… the tree fell! A cheer erupted from the last four men.
Later each man performed the ceremony of each man dipping his finger in the sap of the tree and touching his finger to his forehead. (This held great significance in their culture.) It was over.
December, 2008
The Lake
by Hannah Sitting-Boyd, age 11
The car careened out of control; I expected the worst as I jerked the steering wheel to the right. I think I went off a cliff but I don’t know. I went off of something I know that for sure, but after that it all went black.
I woke up and had to blink because it was so bright. I sat up.
“Good morning Patrick.” I looked over and saw a very pretty lady with shoulder-length blonde hair and almond shaped brown eyes. She was smiling at me. All I could do was smile back.
“Who the heck are you?” I asked, and then blushed—how could I be rude to her if I was going to ask her out when I got out of this place (whenever that might be)?
“My name is Abigail, but you can call me Abby,” she said.
“Okay,” was all I could say.
[Who am I? Well—I am Patrick Cleegen. I am 26 years old. I live in California and I have blonde hair and a nice tan. I love to surf and play tennis with my friend Hector.]
“Where am I?” I asked Abby.
“You’re in the hospital. Are you all right? Do you feel okay?” Abby asked.
“I’m fine, why?”
“You have been very ill, Patrick, so lie down get some rest,” she said pushing me down lightly.
“What happened?” I asked. My head hurt a little; my foot did too. I looked down and saw that there was a cast on my left leg.
“You lost control of your car and you went off a cliff. You broke your leg and you had a concussion too.”
“When was this?” I asked.
“Three weeks ago. Your fever has broken—that’s good.”
I looked out the window. Abby did too. The sun was setting across the lake. The sun was about to go behind a mountain but I saw it before it did. The lake was orange from the sun, and black from the trees’ shadows. I could see ducks swimming with the last of the sunlight. There were not too many trees, but the perfect amount; if I had had a camera then it would have been a great picture. I felt happy. I felt safe. I was glad to see a sunset because I hadn’t seen a sunset for three weeks!
“It’s beautiful,” said Abby.
“Just like you,” I said. If she heard me then she didn’t say anything, and I was glad because I soo didn’t mean to say that.
I had to stay at the hospital for two more weeks And then I had therapy for my foot, and that took a while.
But nothing really worked, until one day I was at home and had nothing to do. I got my swim suit and went to the lake near the hospital to go swimming. My foot got better and better and now I can walk so much better than before.
That sunset I saw at the lake really helped me, but I never saw such a beautiful sunset as I saw from my hospital room that day. But I can’t say that I haven’t seen such a beautiful girl again, because we get together once and a while.
June 2008
The Beginning
by Emmanuel Sutka, age 13
Anemos Trikymia sat motionless as he watched mice scurry back and forth in from of him. “Where is this guy? He told me to be here at four.” He began to drum his fingers on the floor to relieve his pent up energy. “Well, if I have to wait, might as well look around.”
Standing, Anemos began to survey his surroundings. He was in a cave lit by hanging lamps, and as he looked around he had to admit that it was the dullest cave he had ever seen. After walking around the cave for a few minutes Anemos sat back down, and once again sat motionless.Five minutes later, a loud bang jolted him out of his sitting position. Looking around Anemos noticed a figure walking towards him. “About time.”“Ah, Anemos, I’m so glad you could make it.”“You said that you needed to see me about a job, business has been slow lately, so I thought I’d see what you had to say.” The figure was in front of him now, and Anemos could tell that it was a man. “About the job, would you like me to tell you about it?”“Yes, I would.”“Very well, shall we sit down?”Anemos sat down on the floor. The man looked around the cave for a minute, then sat down in front of Anemos.“Okay, here’s the deal, me and my business partner we’d like you to work for us.”“What would I have to do?”“Anything we ask.”Anemos stared at the man for a moment, then nodded. “What would you pay me?”“You get to name the price.”“Fine! When do I begin?” “When you wake up.”
Before Anemos could react the man stood up and lashed out with his foot. Anemos’ eyes widened with surprise as the foot made contact with his head. Then he fell over.
The man smiled with satisfaction, “Sleep tight.” He leaned down, picked Anemos up, and walked out of the cave. The moment the man walked out of the cave he was joined by another man.
“So Windig, you were successful?” the new man asked.
“Yes, I was Fotia, and how went your kidnap?”“Perfect. The man put up a bit of a fight, but I won in the end.”“You always do. Do you know if the others were successful also?”“Yes, they were and they’re getting ready right now.” “Good, by the time we’re done with them they won’t even remember what we did.” Fotia chuckled. “Except, of course, when we let them remember.”
Laughing wildly the two men disappeared in a flash of light. November 2008 Scabbards
by Sarah Shorey, age 14
Imperious. That was the word to describe him. Or maybe, arrogant. No, both, at the same time. I had seen him before, on the street. He held his head high, never looking anyone in the eye, as if he was too good to look at them. He was tall, mustachioed, and his name was Mr. Stale. At present, he was standing outside of a small house, from which a steady stream of people were coming and going every few minutes. I was about a block away, walking towards him, and it appeared that Mr. Stale was doling out… scabbards! Yes, he had a multitude of them stacked on a small cart behind him, and every time someone went into the house, he would hand them a scabbard. I frowned in puzzlement, and quickened my pace. As I drew near, I noticed two things: The first was that there was a small sign, mounted on two poles, between Mr. Stale and me. It read: Merciful Sister’s House for the Poor and Homeless. The second thing I noticed was that, on the other side of the sign, Mr. Stale’s scabbards had something sticking out of them! I took a few quickened steps, almost running. It looked as if inside the scabbards was bread! Long, flat bread. Now I was really baffled. Why would someone put bread inside a scabbard? And for goodness sake, how? Then another question came to my attention. Why were there so many people going to and from poor house?I had stopped walking, but now started to walk over to Mr. Stale. I could see that every time someone came over to him, he would gnash his teeth in anger, then almost throw a scabbard at the person who had asked. I had had dealings with Mr. Stale before, and I knew that, while he was imperious and arrogant normally, he was worse when he was mad.“Excuse me,” I asked tentatively as I approached. I thought he might recognize me, but as he turned, he showed no glimmer of recognition. Mr. Stale just looked at me with disdain and said nothing. “If you don’t mind me asking,” (I assumed he didn’t mind - he appeared to be completely ignoring me.) “Um, why are you handing out scabbards with bread in them?”He rounded on me, his fury obvious. “You stupid boy, is this not what people do after such a travesty?” His outburst had startled me. I knew I was sealing my fate, but I asked one more question.“Um, sir,” I said, mustering my courage “what travesty?” The man almost feinted right then and there. I thought I might have to fetch the doctor for fear he could not breathe his face was such a shade of purple. “The holocaust,” he spat. I could tell Mr. Stale was trying to control his voice in this public place. “All of Tenth Street, burned to the ground. Twelve families without homes. What do you THINK I’m doing here?” He was loosing whatever control he had left; the last words had been shouted.All of Tenth Street burned? I had been out of town until very recently, and had not heard of this. That was a great tragedy. I was shocked into silence, looking down at the ground for a moment. Then a well of questions sprang up inside my head. But when I looked up, seeing Mr. Stales face, I decided to get the answers from someone else. I moved along, thinking about the fire, and the sadness of it. “Also,” I thought to myself “heaven help the next person to ask for one of his scabbards!”At home, I read an article about the fire in the newspaper. Only then did I realize that Mr. Stale had never really answered my first question. It was nagging at me, but I would probably never get an answer - why the scabbards? December 2008 The Big Adventure Begins!
by Nathaniel Shorey, age 16
Lump looked at his future with disdain. In the long run, his future was staying on a steamboat that was used for commercial tourism around the British isles. In the short run, he was about to be burned for fuel. Not too bad if you considered the alternative… Well okay, if he had an alternative he might want to consider it. Lump looked around the small storage container he was in, which is no small feat for a piece of coal. He saw the same things he’d always seen: the furnace, the other coal, the pegged rack used for hanging the crew’s wet coats. A salty draft permeated the sludge-filled room as one of the crew came to shovel some more of his brethren into the furnace. Picking up a shovel the man, whose name happened to be Kyle, plodded over. He plunged the shovel into the heart of the pile and lifted. Lump winced as the shovel grazed his left side. “That was too close,” he whispered.It had been two weeks since his near death experience. He had now managed to slip down into the very front of his container, where it was almost impossible to get him with a shovel. They had docked to refuel and the container was lifted on to the deck so it might be refilled.Kyle had had a very bad day, week, month – for most of his life. Recently, he had proposed to his girlfriend. He had bought a nice diamond ring. He had set everything up perfectly. He had planned a nice dinner, (which went fine), and then a walk down the beach as the sunset. Then he’d propose. But when the moment came, he had tripped over a piece of driftwood and accidentally flung the ring out to sea.Kyle walked on to the deck of the ship. This was the end of his job too. The city was shutting down the boat. He looked at the coal bin he had used so many times. Noticing a dark lump, he walked over to it. “Just a piece of coal,” he said as he picked it up. Fingering the rock he murmured, “I didn’t like the job anyway,” and flung the coal out to sea.Lump screamed as the wind whistled past his head. September 2008The Frightening Noise
by Mikaela Bolton, age 9
Laurie was sleeping in a pitch black room. She heard something at her window. “SCREECH.” Something scratched her window from outside. She put her feet down on the rug of the floor. Slowly, she began to grope with her hands, trying to find her flashlight on her bedside table. It was not there! If only she could get to her sister’s room. She slowly found her way to the stairs and began to clamber her way up. She finally reached her sister’s room and she could see nothing! Laurie had never been so frightened. As her hand reached the door knob it started to molder onto the floor. The door blew open with a whistling noise. Her flashlight was right at her feet! She grabbed it and turned it on.
Abby, her sister, was beginning a feat of chicanery by swapping the contents of their piggybanks. Laurie had to concede she was more angry than frightened now. She shouted, “GET OUT OF MY PIGGYBANK!”
Up she sat. There her flashlight stood, on her night table as always. Laurie was in her bed. What a horrible dream. Her mother came in and laughed with her as they thought of such a silly dream.
Biodrone
by Nathaniel Shorey, age 16
I watched as Biodrone, aka: one of my sworn enemies, lifted the wanna-be super villain “Eevl-er” by the front of his shirt. (I know, the guy can’t even pronounce his own name right.) But he was a threat, and I was commissioned to stop him. But - no! Biodrone has to step in and stop him himself. “Please no!” I snapped out of my self pondering and watched as Biodrone smashed his fist into the side of “Eevl-er’s” head. “Hey” I yelled. “What did you do that for? I just needed to capture him, not knock him senseless!”“Shut up Aireo! HQ thought that maybe you might… not be the right man for the job, let’s say.”“I’m the perfect man for this job. It was go in - get the wanna be villain - and get out. No prob.”“Yeah… Everyone knows that you’ve been off your game ever since the New Orleans incident.”“That wasn’t entirely my fault. The guy had one of those berserker guns! I got hit. It wasn’t my fault Drone!” “Let me quote myself – Shut up Aireo! I’m taking this guy back to HQ. There’s a ten grand reward on this one. Oh, and you can always come to me for advise on how to get on the Hero Council, or the cover of Hero’s Illustrated. I always like to help the little rookies like you. See ya’!”I watched as Drone soared towards HQ with my captive. I heard a soft padding. Looking around I saw my sidekick the Electric Kitty or “EK” as us heroes like to call him. He’s actually a cat and he doesn’t have any powers at all… he can just talk. “Don’t listen to him Aireo. The hurricane wasn’t your fault and you are still a great hero… just not in your prime.” “Yeah I know…” “You want to go back to HQ?” “No, I think I’ll head off into the sunset and ditch this Hero League. You with me?” “Right behind you, Captain. I hear that the Villain League has a new opening. We could join and maybe get one of those berserker guns!” “Yes… I see where you’re going with this. Then we can pay our friend Biodrone a visit!” October 2008 The Daydreamer
by Hannah Sittig-Boyd, age 11
“Mom, I’m bored,” complained my little brother Kyle. “Oh zip it, Kyle,” I said. I couldn’t help being mean; I was bored too, very bored.
“I know and I am sorry but we will be there soon,” Mom said for the 40th time.
Who am I? I am Emma Mullagen I’m 10 years old, my mom my dad, my brother and I, are going to Texas to see our cousins, we live in North Dakota. We have a buffalo farm. The hands there, (all twenty-four of them) said that we should take a vacation, see some family. So, here we are on the road to Texas.
Dad turned on the radio, there was some boxing thing on and Kyle asked Dad to turn it up. All they were saying was: “Hit him on the left – No, the right…” Boring!!
“Hit to the left. Hit to the right…” It faded and then got louder, as I started to punch the fat guy “Boom! Boom! Boom!” I hit over and over again.
“EMMA, EMMA!” the crowd cheered, as I ducked out of the way and then punched the dude. He was down! They brought another guy on and I started to punch him. The crowd started to sing the We Will Rock You song. I was about to get him down when—
“Ow! Mom, Emma hit me!” “What?” I said. I looked over at Kyle; he was looking at me as if I were an alien.
“What?” he said, mocking me. “You were all like punching the air and then you punched me!!”
“Emma…. Were you daydreaming again?” my mom asked.
“Honey you can daydream, but please don’t punch people!” Dad said shaking his head.
“Sorry. Sorry Kyle.”
“That’s fine,” said Kyle with a sigh.
I sighed and looked out the window. I saw some cows and horses but nothing else. “Are we there yet?” I complained.
“Oh zip it, Emma!” Kyle said with a sing-song voice. “Almost,” said Mom
“Yes!” I said.
We were in a town now and there was a music store. In the window there was a drum set and Kyle asked if he could have it. Dad said no.
There was a song on the radio. The music was loud, but I was the one singing, so I didn’t care. The crowd was on their feet, cheering me on. I was singing very well I think. The crowd loved me and they started to sing with me. I was about to stop and give autographs but then— “Emma!! Would you stop? Or, let me guess you where daydreaming. Am I right?” Kyle practically yelled. “What was I doing this time?” I asked.
“You were singing, very badly too!”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Honey, why don’t you do something with Kyle? But the daydreaming has to stop.
“Okay, Mom.”
But on the way back home I pretty much did the same thing. I guess I can’t stop!
July, 2008Ship
by Chris Bolton, age 10
Off goes the ship;
Sailors get a grip.
Up comes the tide;
The ship gets a ride.
Off goes the ship;
Pirates get a grip.
Up comes the tide;
Pirates get a ride.
Now the ships collide,
Too late to choose a side!
Swords clash,
Cannonballs splash,
Pirates swing,
Bullets sting.
Up in the riggings tall
A man spots the feared waterfall !!
They go over the end of the earth
Everyman wishing he was safe in his berth.
Them
by
Sarah Shorey, age 14
I think of all the people I’ve met
And all the people I’ve condemned,
Of all the good friends I forget,
Trying to act like them.
I think of all the things I’ve done,
All the places I have been,
Of all the things that came undone,
Trying to live like them.
I think of how I’ve changed myself,
Hoping to be one of the “gems”.
In the end I wasn’t good enough,
At trying to seem like them.
I think of all the happiness,
Of the things I can amend,
Of all the people I can bless,
Trying not to be like them.
Poem
by Mikaela Bolton, age 9
Wrinkled face,
Floppy ears,
She keeps pace
With my years.
Golden yellow,
Always seems to smile,
She is never too mellow,
Happy all the while.
She’s my best friend,
Loves me too --
‘Til the end-
My dog will do!
The Shivering Worm
by
Emmanuel Sutka, age 13
My tongue is warm
my feet are cold,
now this worm must
shiver and moan.
I shiver and quake
and moan and groan
but it did no good, so I went home.
When I got to my home
I went to my bed
but the covers were too short,
and the pillow - flat bread.
I tossed and I turned
but it did me no good.
I finally slept with my nose under a hood.
The Creative Writing Jumpstart Class of Berkley
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