Emma's Blog Post

The Legend of Kitsune – Emma Harding

In a time long ago in a place far away lived a little girl named Rika Yume. She lived in a small, but
comfortable house at the edge of the forest with her father, mother, and older brother. The forest was
the mother of many mysteries, giving birth to many local folklores passed around. There have been
many stories born from it. One such, was the legend of Kitsune. Rika’s older brother always told her
stories about the Kitsune, much to their parents’ chagrin. One night, as her father was turning out the
light in her room he said...“Rika, you don’t believe all that Kitsune stuff your brother is telling you, doyou?” Rika turned to her father, and simply said, “Don’t you?”

The following day, Rika decided to look for the Kitsune herself. Sneaking out while her family was
running errands, she made her way into the mysterious woods. The forest seemed so beautiful. She was surrounded by enchanting greenery and the melodic sounds of birds everywhere. The sun gently shone through the leaves as Rika traveled deeper into the lush wood. Lost in the breath-taking scenery Rika suddenly heard a twig snap. As she whirled around startled, another realization suddenly hit her. She was lost. She looked around, desperately trying to see if anything looked familiar. Every path looked the same. “Will I ever get back home? Will I ever see my family again,” she began sniffling to herself? Suddenly tired, she sat down, buried her head in her knees and sobbed quietly.

The bushes rustled around her. But Rika didn’t even look up. All she wanted was to get out of this scary forest and go home. She felt something softly touch her hand. Thinking it was a bug, she recoiled it quickly, but then saw what it was. It was a rose. A beautiful velvet rose, boasting a strong white outline, and luscious silk-red petals. It was a rose unlike any she had seen before. Rika looked up and to her astonishment there sitting right in front of her, was the mythical Kitsune. It had captivating coal like black eyes, cherry red cheeks, small tufted ears, red paws matching its cheeks, and the brightest snow-white fur coat she had ever seen. Glancing at its tail in continued wonderment Rika saw it was ringed in an array of colors. First red, then orange, yellow, green, blue, periwinkle, indigo, purple, and pink. “Wow,” was all Rika could say to herself as she continued to stare!

The Kitsune sat up and walked slowly towards her. Rika stood transfixed. The Kitsune gently nudged her arm and turned in one direction. Rika stood up; the Kitsune started to walk along a chosen path. Rika it wanted her to follow, cautiously did so. From time to time the Kitsune would glance over its shoulder to make sure Rika was still following. After what now seemed like a short walk the Kitsune stopped at the edge of the forest. Rika stepped up beside it and there in front of her was her home. The Kitsune had led her home. She gasped in delight as she could hear her parents and brother calling her for her. Rika started to run towards their voices then stopped and turned towards the Kitsune. She knelt in front of it as the mythical creature sat down. “Thank you,” whispered Rika, cupping its face in her hands, and giving it a gentle headbutt.

The Kitsune nuzzled her cheek. She smiled and ran back to her family with open arms. Her father
scooped her up. “Where were you,” he asked? “In the forest,” replied Rika. “Why were you out there?” “More importantly, how did you get back?”asked her dad. Rika looked at her brother and smiled. “It guided me.” “Who?” asked her brother She looked towards the forest as her family followed her gaze. “The Kitsune. The Kitsune guided me home!” The family stared at the Kitsune flabbergasted. It stared back. It barked a seemingly happy bark, then turned and quickly dashed back into the forest. It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. And so the story of the Kitsune was no longer folklore to the Yume family. It was now part of history. The Yume family history.

Luke's Blog Post

My eyes fluttered open to the shrieking sound filling my room. Adrenaline shot through my body as I raced to my feet. My once-perfect bed sheets now lay sprawled across the floor. I flew into the hallway to find my parents already halfway to my room. 

“Mom-” I began to yell, but my sentence was cut short. The house was shaking now, and with a crash, the ground below me ceased to exist. My footing was lost and I plummeted to whatever would find me below.

Pain shot through my body the second I touched the ground, however the adrenaline stimulated me to rise to my feet. I hit the ground running, barely acknowledging the rubble behind me, which had once existed as a stairwell. My legs carried me to the front door, where my hand twisted the knob, opening me up to the outdoors. It was anarchy. Cars sped rampantly down the streets, paying no mind to the signs which had once controlled them. Fire rained from the open pure blue sky. The trees, which had once embodied this homestyle neighborhood, were in a blaze. I had stopped in my tracks to gaze upon this scene. Suddenly, a feeling washed over me, as the realization of the whereabouts of my parents hit me. I began to turn around, as to backtrack, when my eye was caught, and my attention turned. Up in the air, at the height of a low-flying plane was what appeared to be an aircraft, although the only evidence leading to this being an aircraft was its capability to fly. The similarities ended there, as this structure lacked wings, and was shaped into almost a triangle. --And it was not the only one. Maybe a dozen flew throughout the sky, spewing the fire rain where they went. Almost instantaneously, my eyes locked into a fragment approaching me from the aircraft. With only a second to react, I threw myself to the other end of the porch. The fire rain hit the ground next to me, bursting the porch into flames. My vision began to blur, and I was overcome with fatigue. I tried to get up but my legs wouldn’t let me. The adrenaline was gone. And then everything was black...

Trevon's Blog Post

This is what you would call “based on a true story.” I had just gotten off work at Burger King, my summer job. My friends Ayden and Levi got off at the same time and since it was a fairly nice day, we wanted to enjoy the uncommon weather. As we wondered how to enjoy it, I suddenly realized that we should play some basketball at a local park. We all thought it was a great idea and we headed to the courts. When we got there, we realized that because we worked the early shift, most people were still asleep when we got off, so we decided to play amongst ourselves instead. It was a close game, but Levi won by a mere two points. The day was still young when the game ended so, we decided to walk to another court, and hope people would be there. Fortunately for us, there was a group of teenagers present playing basketball. They didn’t seem to be very good players, so we thought it would be an easy game to win. THIS WAS ABSOLUTELY NOT THE CASE! We got our butts literally handed to us because we took the game too lightly. The opposing team decided to “retire” after beating us, so they could hold onto their 1-0 against us. We ended up leaving on a loss, but we surely didn’t let it get to us. We decided from now on, we would be on a “revenge tour” and would win all our next games. There is NO way we will lose next time… right?

Brielle's Blog Post

The Black Man

By: Brielle Watson-Wood 

The black man

A product of divinity 

Strung through the thrones of the rose bushes to be pricked and plucked

thrown back to the starting line because as soon as you get to the finish line 

prospering the next level the game operator resets the game and sends you right back to the starting line 

Because it was written in code: never let the black man prosper

Never let him win 

add drugs as a mini game in the process maybe sex or alcohol

No matter what never let him win 

let him see the finish line but never pass it 

Send police at his feet 

Lock him up if he makes it to close because that means he’s smart 

And we don’t want that 

No no no we don’t want that

he’s not supposed to win it’s written in the code

Asiyah's Blog Post

I was on my bed singing along to the song that played on my radio while doing my homework. “Ain't no mountain high enough, Ain't no valley low enough, Ain't no riv- hey what the heck are you doing!?!” I yelled turning to my annoying little sister Tammy, who had turned my radio off.

“Your boyfriend's outside,” she said with her everlasting attitude. “Boyfriend?” I asked looking at her crazy. “Yeah, boyfriend - don’t be playing dumb now, acting like I don’t be seeing you and the boy from down the street all hugged up on each other. Mama know you got a boyfriend?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes at her, got up, walked to the window and there he was, Khalil Shabazz, but everybody on the block called him Junior even though he wasn’t a junior. I think it's because he looks so much like his daddy. We met a year ago when my Mama, Tammy, and I moved on the block. Now here he was in front of my house, sitting on the hood of a shiny red 1965 Ford Mustang convertible, fiddling with his fingers. 

“Wow.” I gaped at the beauty of the car. I opened up the window and screamed “Khalil Shabazz!” He looked up at me smiling. “Wassup, Laura?’’ he asked, laughing at my shocked face.

“You like?” he said, running his hand over the hood. “What white person car you stole?” I asked, not believing what I was seeing. Sucking his teeth, he said “Now you know I bought this with my hard earned money. Now come down here and look at this beauty up close.” He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was down the steps and out the house in no time.

“It’s even more pretty up close,” I said, mesmerized. Khalil just laughed. “How can you afford this?” I asked looking in his eyes. “You know I been working at my dad’s job full time ever since I decided to take a gap year. Also, it's an older model, so it’s cheaper,” he explained. “But you know what I can finally do this.” He said with a smirk. “What?” I asked with a smile on my face. “Take you out on a date.” He said. My eyes widened in shock. He walked to the car door leaning over and pulled out a bouquet of flowers. 

“I’ve known since a year ago I wanted to take you out. But what stopped me from asking then was the thought of taking the prettiest girl ever on a date in the back of my dad’s truck.” He said handing me the flowers. “So what do you say now about this Friday?” He asked with a nervous smile. I kissed his cheek “I will see you Friday.” I said turning around and walking to the door. I opened it and walked inside. I waved one more time before closing the door. Pressing my back on the door I smelled my flowers, and had a permanent smile on my face.

“I knew you had a boyfriend!” Tammy yelled. “Quiet!” I yelled back as I ran up the steps and flopped on my bed. I turned the radio on again, put the volume on blast and laid there and imagined all the fun I was going to have on Friday night.

Zuza's Blog Post

‘Of Times Forgotten and Remembered’ - Zuza Jevremovic

Not too long ago, in a time which, but for the gap of a single generation, would still have been present, there dwelt in the woods an old marten. He was known to the local children as Briscoe, and in his boredom he would declare it his birthday and invite them to his cabin for a drink. Often it was Meles who went, for he knew the old beast could work wonders. He had lost the front axle of his old wagon once, and been unable to locate it despite his olfactory abilities. But when he visited Briscoe that evening, the marten had taken a timeworn chest from the back room and removed from within the lost axle. In his later years, Meles recounted the tale to his cubs, who listened enraptured. “I don’t suppose he’s around anymore, though,” muttered his son when the story had finished. “One wouldn’t think,” Meles replied. But it was hard to know with Briscoe.

In an age far more distant in history, tethered to the present by Mammals’ oral tradition, a badger named Brokkos roamed the countryside. Whether he was the substance of legends or legends were the substance of him was knowledge lost to beast, but hero or not, he managed to survive in memory, which was more than could be said for most of his contemporaries. And even if this memory persisted mainly among badgers, it spread itself as stories were told and the name of Brokkos was bestowed occasionally upon cubs. A fate like Brokkos’ was yearned for by all beasts, and so one day a young badger bearing his name carved a word on a tree and hoped someone might see it.

Far, far back, when the world was sundered into isolated fragments and each land was wary of its neighbors, a gharial waltzed into the public eye with a smile for all and a head full of questions. When asked whence he came, he said only from the world; he belonged at once to no realm and to all of them. Some claimed he had been sent over the great ocean from a mysterious land across the globe; others said he had risen from a vast maze of caverns depths below ground. And then there were some who insisted he had descended from the very stars themselves, for it was, eventually, thither he returned. Dawn had met him in the early years, before his public emergence, and she said he had spoken, in those days, of a salamander and a coelacanth. Perhaps, then, one of them knew whence he’d come.

And then there was a time even earlier, a time before Brokkos and Gavialis, before stories written and oral, before history and civilization. There existed no records of it, but it surely must have happened, having shaped the future so. In the days of the Primitives, someone- or multiple someones, all thinking individually- asked questions that had never been asked before. They were not questions of food or predators, of family or dwelling place, but more questions of “Who am I?” and “Why is the world the way it is?” The latter, so all-encompassing, was left to engage posterity until the end of the time, but for the former, the answer must have at some point been decided to be ‘Beast’. And yet, the precise meaning of this answer was often pondered by future generations, which wondered what defined that word and whether anyone had ever actually known in the past (for things had been simpler in the early days). 

But perhaps there exists something in the minds of beasts, of Amniotes and Amphibians alike, something like a kiwi’s wing or a whale’s hip, hidden beneath the surface and forgotten for what it once was. Something to remind all of who they used to be and who they still inherently are. And perhaps sometimes this thing blinks in the darkness and wakes briefly from hibernation, so that one may understand, if only for a moment, what it means to be Beast.

Clair's Blog Post

DREAM - Clair Cardea

walk down the corridor...

run your hand along the granite wall.

admire the flickering lights attracting insects.

your footsteps echo throughout the empty hallway.

you notice the hall getting longer and longer.

suddenly, a bright light blinds you.

your eyes squeeze shut.

you open them again, batting your eyelids.

you've come upon a field of millions of daisies.

you step back 

being greeted by a cliffs edge.

you fall for an eternity.

another bright light shines onto your face.

you rub your eyes and open them.

sunlight illuminates through your silky curtains.

you look around, no daisies, no corridor--

but realize it was nothing but a dream.