Columbine Part 2

Author's Note: This is the second part of the trilogy "Columbine." Scroll down to read the first part and look for the end!
 

“Rachel,” I shouted up the stairs, the morning of April 20^th “hurry up, we’re gonna be late!” I stood at the foot of the stairs, in awe, as my sister chassé-d down the staircase, her black skirt flowing behind her.

Rachel, as catching me staring at her, replied, “Um… too much black?”

I chuckled, “Anything but… I mean, you look, um...”

“Ugly?” Rachel said, just the tiniest bit of concern in her voice.

“Gorgeous,” I breathed.

Rachel commented, “Well, thanks. Now didn’t you just say that we were going to be late?”

“Geez. Don’t have to be a ‘smart-alec’ about it.” I responded.

“What? Didn’t you just say that we were going to be late?” Rachel cried.

 I said, annoyed, “Yeah, but it doesn’t give you any more of a reason to be mean to me.”

“I’ll be out in the car.” Rachel sighed, heading out the door.

As she left, I pounded my fists on the wall, screaming, “why does she have to be so darn annoying!” I threw my backpack over my shoulder and slammed the front door behind me, approaching my sister, waiting for me in the front seat of the car.

“Rachel— it’s my turn to sit in the front.” I growled.

Rachel whispered, on the verge of tears “alright. I’ll move.”

My mom cut in, retorting, “You guys better figure this out soon; school starts in four minutes.”

“Shut up mom,” I said, closing the car door behind me, “just drive.” My mother just pursed her lips, turning on the radio to fill the silence between us.

“Mom,” Rachel pleaded, “could you please put on some country?”

“Craig- you think you could change it for me?” My mom responded, eyes focused on the road. I had just slumped in my seat staring out in the distance as my mom pulled in to the school’s parking lot.

“Craig.” My mother glared at me.

“What is up with you today?” Rachel questioned, “You are being such a brat, I don’t even know who you are anymore,” she cried.

I swerved to face Rachel. “I’m sick of you, Rachel!” I shouted, “I’m sick of your stupid country music, I’m sick of your poems, I’m sick of your kindness, I’m sick of you!”

Rachel’s eyes just searched through mine for a moment, before abandoning me in the car. These were the last words I would ever say to Rachel, though I had not known it then.

           

Unwritten

 Author's Note: This piece has sort of two parts. The first is a poem, and the second is reflecting on my poem... I just couldn't separate them, though, but I hope you enjoy!

Climbing up the limbs of the tree,

Sitting on top of the world beneath me.

Bringing a journal to take notes on my life,

And yet it lays unwritten.

I swing upside-down and glance at a twirl,

To discover a new and whole different world.

Could this possibly be what to explain?
I'd rather be left unwritten.

Leaping through the leaves seeming effortlessly,

Although there are so many flaws in me.

Throwing my journal to the ground,

Forever choosing to lay unwritten.

 If you are writing my story,

Isn't my past holding me back?

From who I can be?

From my future?

Because,

Isn't the future made to be left open?

For you?

For me?
Our pasts' are resisting us and pulling us.

Away from possibilities.

Away from life.

Which is why I am left,

Unwritten.

Author's Note: It has been recently requested that I had write a happy piece... very, very, difficult! Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

There is a single ray of sunshine,

That seeps through the gray of  clouds.

It swirls down to the earth,

And dances on the moist ground.

God's spotlight,

That sets the stage for me.

As I turn, facing the world,

I let my hair free and kick off my shoes.

I breathe and feel the mud seeping through my toes.

And then,

I dance.

Leaping and twirling through life,

My hair whipping the wind.

My heart beating uncontrollably,

Yet not noticing.

As happiness and hope overcome me.

I felt the elation surge through me,

As I collapsed in a sea of grass.

My golden hair caressing my face,

I smile.

Columbine Part 1

            Author’s Note: This is a historical fiction piece based upon the events of the Columbine High School shooting, 1999. A main character in this piece is Rachel Scott; Rachel was the first victim of this massacre. This piece is in the point of view of Rachel’s brother, Craig.

Laughing echoed the hallways as I strolled down the corridor, surrounded by my friends.  As I turned the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. There, lay the sight of the century, soon to be turned into the laughing stock of the school. There, slowly approaching me was my sister Rachel. Not only was it my sister though, it was my sister talking to *Cristina Barnes.*  Cristina Barnes! I walked anxiously to Rachel and hissed,

“What do you think you’re doing?”

My sister replied plain as day, “Reaching the unreached.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“You heard me. I’m reaching the unreached.”

“But, what does that mean?” I replied, annoyed.

Rachel said calmly, “No one seems to talk to Cristina. I am choosing to be that one.”

“But why?” I cried.

“Why not? You don’t have the compassion to care.” Rachel snapped.

I turned my back on Rachel, facing my highly amused friends as I told them that Rachel was just being dumb.

“I have a theory.” I failed to hear Rachel mumble as I walked away.

            “Craig! Craig!” The sound filled my ears as I sauntered to lunch. Turning on my heel, I saw *Mrs. Labokowski* calling me. “Craig—I forgot to give Rachel her essay back today; you think you can give it to her for me?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Labokowski.” I retorted.

“Great. Your sister did such a good job on her essay, she is such an inspiring and aspiring young author.” Mr. Labokowski rambled.
I sighed, “I’ll be sure to get it to her.”

“Thanks, Craig.” Mrs. Labokowski exclaimed, a smile elongated across her face.

“Anytime.”

As I slouched down the hall, my eyes skimmed Rachel’s essay, landing on this paragraph;

¹Compassion is the greatest form of love humans have to offer. According to Webster’s Dictionary, compassion means a feeling of sympathy for another’s misfortune. My definition of compassion is forgiving, loving, helping, leading, and showing mercy for others. I have this theory that—“

“—Craig!” A voice interrupted.  I snapped my up my head to find my friend, Isaiah Sholes, calling me from the doors of the cafeteria.

“Craig—you sittin’ by us today?” Isaiah questioned.

“You bet’cha!” I shouted as I raced into the cafeteria. The smell of undercooked chicken patties lingered in the air as I followed Isaiah to our table. The essay lay crumpled up in my back pocket, waiting to find me.

 

*Name has been changed*

1- Cited from www.rachelschallange.org

Author's Note: This is just the first part of a most likely 3 part story... hope you liked it and look for the continuation!

What Used to be Me

When you doubted me,

I wept in sorrow and discouragement.

Yet only building up my hope,

To prove you wrong.

Confidence shining through,

The hidden side.

Showing what really is,

Me.

When you just watched,

The world turning, changing around you.

Not caring the least as I lead the world out,

Now you are lost.

I am the only one to show you the way,

But I cannot after, you.

So you left,

Me.

When my world came crashing down,

Only ruins were left at my feet.

Tumbling away into the dark,

The nothingness.

All that was felt was pain,

Just coming back for more.

Destroying what used to be,

Me.

 And although I have saved others from their lives,

No one is repairing mine.

No one can undo what has been done,

And lost.

Just read.

Her lush, lemon scent lingered in the room even after I watched her fade away.  Sorrow clawed at my heart, yet no tears came to me. Guilt surged through me, yet there lies no regret. Fury stabbed my soul, yet there were no wounds.  Staring out into the distance, but searching inside, I wondered. Why did she leave? Why that moment? What did I do to deserve this? I waited for the truth to escape me, for the answers to arise. But there was none. I didn't even notice the single tear that was sliding down my cheek.

The Fantasy

You are my prince.

Fulfilling my fantasies,

Comforting my dreams,

Coming to save me.

 From here.

I am the princess.

Bound to you by love,

No escaping the truth,

Together, ruling.

The world.

She is the queen.

Compassionate around,

Finding fairness  in all,

The queen.

Innocent.

This,

Is the fantasy.

She is the witch.

Locking me up,

Sending me to misery's days,

In her, seeing.

Pure evil.

I am the peasant.

Blamed for all,

Shamed for life,

Escaping the grasps.

Of  foe.

You are my enemy.

Pushing me down,

Letting stone walls rise,

To keep me.

From my dreams.