Avoir Le Retour...
I'm new to this guild, and I'm working on this novel. Please comment!
(fictionpress.com url: (Middle): Chapter I)
The following is a novel based on the lives of various teens, over the course of three years. This overviews Several students of the same age, as they progress, positively, and negatively through middle school. This novel is based on real events, and fictional events, all of which define reality.
(Middle)
Part I: The Sixth Grade
Chapter I:
No sooner had I gathered myself up for a shower, than had I slipped my clothes on and walked into the kitchen. My dad was asleep on the couch, and my mom had left a note on the table: “Don’t wake your dad. There’s milk in the back of the fridge. Your sister puked everywhere this morning. She’s not going to school. Catch the bus.” I smirked, I guess just to smirk. No one else was around, so I wasn’t offending anyone. I dug into the back of the fridge as to look for the indicated milk, and with effort, finally grasped it. I got a bag of flakes out of the pantry, and poured some silently into a bowl.
I wasn’t a part of some dysfunctional family. There was no major drama taking place at home everyday. I didn’t need counseling. But with September, comes school, and with school, comes routinely walking to the bus stop everyday, having a few laughs, maybe falling asleep in class, maybe not. But really, who gave a damn anyways? Was I the only one who cared? Was there anyone else who didn’t want to go by a stupid routine 24/7? Was this life now? Was this middle school- the familiar thing that I had gone through all my life? My bowl of flakes left me no answer, so I finished and walked out the door. My sister, Sarah, had pulled this puke trick many times before, and for the past two times had gotten caught faking it. So, since I was sure my mom wasn’t going to believe it without seeing it, I was sure she had seen it. My skin was parched as soon as I walked outside. The unfamiliar Southern Florida air, mixed in with fresh salt and sand, was torture. I tried to peel some of the dead skin off of my arm, but pain stopped me before I could do any good. I used to live in Baltimore, but my Grandmother died, and, with this my mom became really depressed, I thought, almost to the point of killing herself. She never requested it, but, my dad, being a good Samaritan of sorts, quit his job as a technician at a major electricity plant, and moved down to Florida. He told me, secretly, though I wasn’t sure if it was true or not, that we moved specifically to Florida, because my dad knew a man whom had served in the Marines with him, that could find him a job. And he did. Two days after we moved in, my dad said he had to go to an interview, which I was certain really meant a couple of beers and a Football game. I had met the ex Marine the day we moved in, because, of course, he was there to help. He and Dad seemed like the best of friends, and I was pretty sure that an interview was pointless.
Though my mom had a serious break down before we left Baltimore, she was now more of herself. My dad had to work on Labor Day, so today, September 8th 2009, Tuesday, my first day back to school, my dad was on holiday. His new occupation was research at a somewhat new hospital. I didn’t know what about, but I found it ironic that Mr. Marine was working there.
The walk to the bus stop was about half a mile, and completely uphill. The hills in Waldstate were much steeper than I thought they would be. Really, I had never thought Florida even had hills. When I finally reached the bus stop, I just began to think about who I might meet me there. There could be people of all ages, since this was a complete city-school bus system, so I honestly didn’t know what to expect. After about twenty minutes of standing at the bus stop, I was beginning to get the feeling that no one was going to show up. I was right. About five minutes later, the bus finally showed, and I stepped on. The bus driver smiled, but sort of just looked at me for an instant. “You’re new. You got a name, son ”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Alex Morgan.” “Okay, Mr. Morgan, I’m going to need you to fill this card out.” I looked at it and almost asked what it was for. I took the card, and nodded, and slowly walked towards the back of the bus. I noticed an empty seat about six seats from the back of the bus, so I sat in it. I looked at the card. I began to fill it out.
New Student Information:
Name: Alex Morgan
Parent(s) or legal guardian(s): Les and Jennifer Morgan
Home Phone number: (321) 555-2471
School and Grade: Luther Addams Middle School
Address: 933 Corte Drive
Other form(s) of contact (I.e. email address, alternate phone number): None.
After I finished filling out the information card, I looked out the window. The Hills were increasing with every inch the bus moved. I took time to glance at my schedule, though I was already aware of who and where my teachers were:
Luther Addams Middle School Morgan, Alex - Daily Schedule of Classes and Events:
(Grade: 6)
(7:40-7:45 - Locker Access)
7:45-8:45 - Cultural Studies - (S. Vales) (8:45-8:50 - Locker Access)
8:50-10:00 - Core Mathematics and Algebra - (M. Alvin)
10:00-11:00 - Language and Literature Skills (J. Salter)
11:00-11:40 - Lunch (11:40-11:45 - Locker Access)
11:45-12:55 - Physical Science - (S. Vales)
(12:55-1:15 - Free Period)
1:15-2:15 - (Elective Period 1): Theatre 2:15-3:15 - (Elective Period 2): Forum and Debate
It seemed like I had a lot more packed into one day than I did in Baltimore, but there wasn’t really much of a difference. At least I had electives now. I had never really gotten the chance to know what it feels like to choose your own classes. As I looked out my window, I realized how tired I was. While the bus driver made frequent stops, I decided to lay my head down on the seat in front of me.
It actually stung as the sound reached my ears. “This kid’s on me! Oh my God! Gun! Sh--” At first, I wasn’t quite sure of what was happening, but before I could contemplate it, I heard gun shots, and for an instant thought it was happening in the bus I was riding. People in my bus, and over the radio were screaming, I thought I even heard crying. I started screaming, yet more of yelling, mainly because of confusion. “3, are you there? 3?” my bus driver tried to make contact to the driver who had supposedly been attacked. More gun shots. More screams. The bus driver who had been attacked seemed to be trying to say something on the radio, because we continued to hear countless gun shots. Though there were many screaming, crying, and scared children in the background, you could only hear a faint wale of the dying driver from bus 3. And then crying. The man was actually crying now. “Please.. Oh my g-, please.. s**t! s**t! Please! PLEASE! PLEAASSEE”
More gun shots. More screaming. By this time, our bus driver, who was obviously in shock, had stopped the bus on the side of a road, and was calling the police on his cell phone. For the first time in ten minutes, there was a brief silence, at least from the other bus. Then, another voice came onto the radio. “Jim Lace. J-Jim Lace. I’m. Jim. ******** you all! ******** you all! What did I do?! Why did you cause this you stupid pieces of s**t! All of you! ALL OF YOU!” Then, without any pause, one more gunshot rang over the radio, and there was silence.
(fictionpress.com url: (Middle): Chapter I)
The following is a novel based on the lives of various teens, over the course of three years. This overviews Several students of the same age, as they progress, positively, and negatively through middle school. This novel is based on real events, and fictional events, all of which define reality.
(Middle)
Part I: The Sixth Grade
Chapter I:
No sooner had I gathered myself up for a shower, than had I slipped my clothes on and walked into the kitchen. My dad was asleep on the couch, and my mom had left a note on the table: “Don’t wake your dad. There’s milk in the back of the fridge. Your sister puked everywhere this morning. She’s not going to school. Catch the bus.” I smirked, I guess just to smirk. No one else was around, so I wasn’t offending anyone. I dug into the back of the fridge as to look for the indicated milk, and with effort, finally grasped it. I got a bag of flakes out of the pantry, and poured some silently into a bowl.
I wasn’t a part of some dysfunctional family. There was no major drama taking place at home everyday. I didn’t need counseling. But with September, comes school, and with school, comes routinely walking to the bus stop everyday, having a few laughs, maybe falling asleep in class, maybe not. But really, who gave a damn anyways? Was I the only one who cared? Was there anyone else who didn’t want to go by a stupid routine 24/7? Was this life now? Was this middle school- the familiar thing that I had gone through all my life? My bowl of flakes left me no answer, so I finished and walked out the door. My sister, Sarah, had pulled this puke trick many times before, and for the past two times had gotten caught faking it. So, since I was sure my mom wasn’t going to believe it without seeing it, I was sure she had seen it. My skin was parched as soon as I walked outside. The unfamiliar Southern Florida air, mixed in with fresh salt and sand, was torture. I tried to peel some of the dead skin off of my arm, but pain stopped me before I could do any good. I used to live in Baltimore, but my Grandmother died, and, with this my mom became really depressed, I thought, almost to the point of killing herself. She never requested it, but, my dad, being a good Samaritan of sorts, quit his job as a technician at a major electricity plant, and moved down to Florida. He told me, secretly, though I wasn’t sure if it was true or not, that we moved specifically to Florida, because my dad knew a man whom had served in the Marines with him, that could find him a job. And he did. Two days after we moved in, my dad said he had to go to an interview, which I was certain really meant a couple of beers and a Football game. I had met the ex Marine the day we moved in, because, of course, he was there to help. He and Dad seemed like the best of friends, and I was pretty sure that an interview was pointless.
Though my mom had a serious break down before we left Baltimore, she was now more of herself. My dad had to work on Labor Day, so today, September 8th 2009, Tuesday, my first day back to school, my dad was on holiday. His new occupation was research at a somewhat new hospital. I didn’t know what about, but I found it ironic that Mr. Marine was working there.
The walk to the bus stop was about half a mile, and completely uphill. The hills in Waldstate were much steeper than I thought they would be. Really, I had never thought Florida even had hills. When I finally reached the bus stop, I just began to think about who I might meet me there. There could be people of all ages, since this was a complete city-school bus system, so I honestly didn’t know what to expect. After about twenty minutes of standing at the bus stop, I was beginning to get the feeling that no one was going to show up. I was right. About five minutes later, the bus finally showed, and I stepped on. The bus driver smiled, but sort of just looked at me for an instant. “You’re new. You got a name, son ”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Alex Morgan.” “Okay, Mr. Morgan, I’m going to need you to fill this card out.” I looked at it and almost asked what it was for. I took the card, and nodded, and slowly walked towards the back of the bus. I noticed an empty seat about six seats from the back of the bus, so I sat in it. I looked at the card. I began to fill it out.
New Student Information:
Name: Alex Morgan
Parent(s) or legal guardian(s): Les and Jennifer Morgan
Home Phone number: (321) 555-2471
School and Grade: Luther Addams Middle School
Address: 933 Corte Drive
Other form(s) of contact (I.e. email address, alternate phone number): None.
After I finished filling out the information card, I looked out the window. The Hills were increasing with every inch the bus moved. I took time to glance at my schedule, though I was already aware of who and where my teachers were:
Luther Addams Middle School Morgan, Alex - Daily Schedule of Classes and Events:
(Grade: 6)
(7:40-7:45 - Locker Access)
7:45-8:45 - Cultural Studies - (S. Vales) (8:45-8:50 - Locker Access)
8:50-10:00 - Core Mathematics and Algebra - (M. Alvin)
10:00-11:00 - Language and Literature Skills (J. Salter)
11:00-11:40 - Lunch (11:40-11:45 - Locker Access)
11:45-12:55 - Physical Science - (S. Vales)
(12:55-1:15 - Free Period)
1:15-2:15 - (Elective Period 1): Theatre 2:15-3:15 - (Elective Period 2): Forum and Debate
It seemed like I had a lot more packed into one day than I did in Baltimore, but there wasn’t really much of a difference. At least I had electives now. I had never really gotten the chance to know what it feels like to choose your own classes. As I looked out my window, I realized how tired I was. While the bus driver made frequent stops, I decided to lay my head down on the seat in front of me.
It actually stung as the sound reached my ears. “This kid’s on me! Oh my God! Gun! Sh--” At first, I wasn’t quite sure of what was happening, but before I could contemplate it, I heard gun shots, and for an instant thought it was happening in the bus I was riding. People in my bus, and over the radio were screaming, I thought I even heard crying. I started screaming, yet more of yelling, mainly because of confusion. “3, are you there? 3?” my bus driver tried to make contact to the driver who had supposedly been attacked. More gun shots. More screams. The bus driver who had been attacked seemed to be trying to say something on the radio, because we continued to hear countless gun shots. Though there were many screaming, crying, and scared children in the background, you could only hear a faint wale of the dying driver from bus 3. And then crying. The man was actually crying now. “Please.. Oh my g-, please.. s**t! s**t! Please! PLEASE! PLEAASSEE”
More gun shots. More screaming. By this time, our bus driver, who was obviously in shock, had stopped the bus on the side of a road, and was calling the police on his cell phone. For the first time in ten minutes, there was a brief silence, at least from the other bus. Then, another voice came onto the radio. “Jim Lace. J-Jim Lace. I’m. Jim. ******** you all! ******** you all! What did I do?! Why did you cause this you stupid pieces of s**t! All of you! ALL OF YOU!” Then, without any pause, one more gunshot rang over the radio, and there was silence.
...Les Adieux
