Super Teachers

        There are several breeds of heroes that are said to dwell within our society. Some may think of these people as firefighters, or policemen. But there is a group of individuals that stand much braver and more heroic then the rest, and these people are teachers. Policemen may get into gun fights, but teachers get into verbal arguments! Firefighters run into burning buildings fuelled by the dead, but teachers walk into noisy classrooms! So what if policemen have to work shifts early into the morning, teachers have to get two months off at summer just to recuperate! And as for teachers wages? They should be making six figures for all the stress their job entitles. Between working from seven till four at the latest, some teachers even have to teach for three blocks of the day. It's a wonder how they can withstand such dismal work hours throughout the year, they're simply super heroes! For no mere mortal could handle getting so much time off. Teachers need to make a stand, they're simply not be rewarded enough for their workload. All teachers need to conform together and try something they've never even considered doing. Something they need to use as a final stand, for taking the high road only gets you so far. Effective immediately all teachers need to go on strike!

Broken

Normally, he goes clean-shaven into the world,

 but today he was

broken.

                   Financially ruined, the man had to sell his house.

     He said goodbye to the twice-cut yards and hundred-year old oaks.  

                                                                   

                             He now looked for a new place to call his own.

                      
   C r a c k e d  sidewalks with ridges of stiff grass, lined the gloomy neighborhood.

      The yards [were] all proscribed by stiff picket fences. 

                          

                                                                   The neighbors, seemingly

                                                                                                         criminals.                         Had their jackets                                                                                                                                [gleaming] with *studs..*


Onward-----> he drove on a Saturday liquid with sunshine, oh how it mocked him.


narrow lanes adrift with yellow leaves greeted him left and right.

His car eased up against the side of a dusty curb, hopelessly he observed a ten-foot wire fence, paper [clogged] the fence like dri f  t  e d snow; the fence [enclosed] a playground....

this was no place to raise his children.

Bravely the man did up the metal buttons on his jacket, he then stepped outside of his                 battered vehicle.

The blue glow of television sets [lit] up the windows of the houses he so..

regretfully inspected.

 Out of a house three men and a girl [advanced] on him [pistols] in hand.

                                                          He attempted to SCREAM, but it was too late.........

Shocked and sweaty the man awoke from his slumber. 

He had fallen asleep at the wheel of his...    car.

He is overtaken by sudden GUILT, he has left no message for his wife. 

So intent is he upon his return home, he dangerously ignores a sight of pure horror,

concealed in the shadows of a side street, something crept nose out and [followed] him home.

                                                   

                                  

Regret

       I grasped the blindingly white dixie cup with displeasure. Within its contents sat a liquid resembling something like that of kitten blood. Lazily the drink rested, as if it were a fat lady after a long power walk. I drew the cup nearer to my nostrils and bravely took a whiff. A pungent smell awaited me, it was: mouldy, old, dry and offensive. Oh boy. Making the mistake of my life I took a swig of the beverage. It tasted as if I were spending a Friday night with my grandmother doing sudoko and putting puzzles together. God I despise her. The beverages personality then coincidentally took shape. The punch was boring and lazy, never in its life had it picked up a football. Harnessing all of my senses I began to hear something off in the distance. It was my mother nagging at me to take out the garbage. Did this drink have an upside? Then it got worse. My skin began to crawl as if spiders were meandering on me freely. The drink defeated me, it was an ogre with a hammer. I collapsed the cup within my grasp swiftly, it crumpled like my dignity. Throwing the cup in the garbage I breathed out a sigh of relief, the agony was over.

I am Legend

       I am the pinnacle of awesomeness, the saviour of societies and the destroyer of evil. I once failed at something so I killed myself. Pokémon? I caught them all yesterday. Adolph Hitler’s last sight was my beaming smile. On occasion I take my dog out for dinner.

In Soviet Russia I drive the car, it doesn’t drive me. I won the Masters with a hockey stick, and went bar down five times, my new name is Golf-Cart. My cat uses the toilet and I use the litter box. When I was a janitor I solved impossibly complex mathematical equations after school hours. And yes that is Good Will Hunting, its based on yours truly. I steal things.

Oprah Winfrey is in my fan club. The sky was once purple, because I said it was. Whitney Houston died because she couldn’t handle my power. At chess. I speak eighty-four languages, including alien, but none of which are English. Chuck Norris is my goldfish. I’m the only guy who has had an affair with Tiger Woods.


I am a hero. Guess who saves Superman? The Hulk is green, but I am greener. My excess gas smells like roses. I do not like roses. Saving the universe is my day job, and people often refer to me as God. Crosswalks terrify me. I am older than time and wiser then all. I have accomplished everything fathomable, yet I have not been to University.

The Little Letter

Connor Schenkey
752 Maple Street
Okanagan Falls, British Columbia,
V0H 1R0

March 8, 2011

Mr. Kleats
Central High School
123 Main Street
Sportstown, British Columbia
V2A1W3

Dear Mr. Kleats:

My name is Connor Schenkey; I have a son named Jerome who plays on your soccer team. Me and several other parents have gotten together in regards to your coaching. We feel there are some aspects to your methods and behaviors that need to be tweaked. We have brainstormed some suggestions for you to go over.


Punctuality is a key component to any of life’s commitments. It has become quite obvious you have lacked the ability to show up on time. This is not to point fingers, as you may very well have prior commitments and or a job. But for the benefit of the team a solution needs to be found. I believe a simple solution would be to move practices to a later time. This way everyone including yourself; can accomplish whatever they need to do prior to practice.

Another key component to life is organization. I think everyone can agree that your practices have been a little disorganized. That’s not to say they haven’t been fun or effective. I understand you haven’t been coaching long and I’m certainly not one to offer advice on soccer tactics. But I would volunteer myself to help you set up drills and other various games at practice. All you need is a hand to help make these practices run more smoothly.

One of the most sought after aspects in life is success. Everyone enjoys winning, you clearly portrait one who loves it. There is nothing wrong with teaching our children to try their best and to play to win. But I think you need to tone down your desire to win just a tad. You see our children are only eight years old, and are playing house level soccer. Due to this there shouldn’t be as large as an emphasis on winning. Some members of the team aren’t even getting to play. At this age everyone should be getting equal playing time and simply having fun. All you need to do is change your attitude. Instead of shouting at what your players are doing wrong, try telling them what they’re doing right.

I hope this letter hasn’t come across as harsh. Everyone on the team enjoys you and respects you. All I’ve done is discussed how to make this year more of a success for everyone. I look forward to hearing back from you and appreciate your time.

Sincerely, Connor Schenkey

A Small Dilemma

Connor Schenkey
753 Maple Street
Okanagan Falls
V0H 1R0

February 14, 2011

To: John Smith
Mayor
City Hall 568 Main Street
Small Village, B.C.


Dear Mr. Smith:

The importance of this decision cannot be taken lightly. With that being said the past decisions made by Gunter cannot be justified. Though he has become quite the reputable individual within our community his true face needs to be revealed. Our peoples need to see the true side of this villain. For too long has he concealed himself within the shadows of our community. Immediate action is necessary, here’s my proposal as to why we need to rid ourselves of this monstrosity.

Gunter has assisted in the slaughter of more people that live in this very village. Under no circumstance can what he’s done be repaid. He has evaded the hammer of justice for far too long. Gunter rightfully deserves to be tried on the basis of his actions. In our village we believe in a system called justice. If we let this man's history simply fade away, we will be ignoring the foundation our village was built upon.

Another pending disaster is the possibility of Gunter re-offending. Who’s to say this man is not capable of being involved in future crimes? For the safety of our children we cannot let this man live on. Gunter is a dormant criminal and it’s only a matter of time until he kills again. A man so heartless and sinister has no place among us.

Can a man of such a dark past really be trusted? One wonders what else Gunter might have done? A being who keeps these horrors to himself is all but clearly not trust worthy. My mind endlessly ponders what else this man might have done. For the safety of our peoples and for the good of justice Gunter Grass's true side needs to be revealed.

-Sincerely, Connor Schenkey

The Paragraph As Good As Gold

George looked up from shoeing the horse to see the outline of Curley's wife in the doorway of the barn. They were alone. George felt the air on his face cold as ice. He searched for something to say but remained silent as a mouse. The two exchanged awkward glances then parted ways. George walked out of the barn faster then a speeding bullet. He thought about her eyes as blue as the ocean. Her skin as soft as silk. Even just the thought of her made George jump for joy. George wanted nothing more then to be her knight in shining armour. George walked on into the night. He walked into the cornfield, the stalks were as tall as trees. They swayed in the breeze as the wind howled like wolves. Then he heard a yell it sounded like a roar of a lion. George ran towards the direction of the noise. He galloped like a horse. Finding his way back to the barn. George saw Lennie who was laying motionless; flat as a board. Blood was streaming from Lennies throat it was red like a rose. George stood speechless in the night air. He turned to see Curley's wife standing back in the doorway. They were alone again, but this time she had a blood stained axe.