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This week, we present responses to the following challenges: Luck. Write the story of someone with extraordinarily good luck or excruciatingly bad luck. What is everyday life like for them? Were they born with this luck, enchanted or does it come from an object? What experiences and emotions result from it? Show the character in action. And general writing.
By Leah Wheeler
Age 15, West Newbury, Vt.
Great.
Somehow, I managed to make a fool of myself today.
In fact, I do that every day. Every. Single. Day.
I’ve been cursed with never-ending bad luck,
ever since the day I was born.
And of course, it shows no mercy.
Especially in public.
Today, I tripped on the stairs at school,
face-planted in gym class,
fell asleep during an important Geometry lecture,
gave an extremely awkward speech,
and embarrassed myself at my mom’s work.
And this has been going on for as long as I can remember.
If only it could stop. If only… but no.
I’ll be cursed with bad luck for the rest of my life.
What is the name of this “bad luck” you say?
It is shyness and social anxiety —
things that curse many introverts around the world.
We constantly doubt ourselves,
think that people don’t like us,
and worry that everyone around us is judging us.
And, in most cases, it’s hard to make friends.
It’s not easy being an introvert,
though I guess it could be worse.
Prompt: General
By Saia Patel
Age 17, Hanover
The wind reaches out
with its wrinkled, weathered tendrils.
It pulls, like a child
holding on to his helium balloon,
crying when he lets it go
and it soars above the clouds.
A lonely drop falls toward the Earth,
into the firm hold
of a rusted red wheelbarrow
by the white chickens
and the cows grazing in the field.
By Emma Marsh
Age 13, Piermont
It was a partly cloudy day — a Thursday to be specific. We had just arrived the day before in Boothbay Harbor, Maine. Everyone had already walked back to the hotel, after breakfast at the inn. It was just my dad and I walking back. As we were walking, we decided we wanted to go ahead and sit there for a while watching and listening to the ocean. We sat in blue and white wooden chairs. We heard the sailboats drifting out to sea. The lighthouse was just barely visible in the distance on a small island. The sounds of the waves splashing against the rocks and the squeaking of the seagulls were audible. It occurred to me how lucky I was to be in such a magical place.
My dad decided he wanted to go for a short walk on the pier. We watched boats drifting into the bay, watched seagulls fighting to get the fish in the water. We took a few pictures together, and then we headed to our special spot where we looked for sea glass. The spot where we found sea glass was a small little beach underneath the pier.
I reached the ground that had sand and pebbles. I slipped off my shoes and put my feet in the sand. It was cold — not so cold that I wanted to put my shoes back on, but just the right temperature. I walked over to the water and just barely dipped my toe in. The water was freezing. I jumped out, and by that time my dad had made his way down to me. The waves were brushing up against the sand.
I walked over to the water and saw something shining in it. Buried in the damp sand, mixed in with a pile of mushy, orange seaweed, was a blue piece of sea glass. I put my hand into the sand and grabbed the piece of sea glass. I brushed it off with my blue tank top. It shined in the sun. The edges were smooth, not as sharp as regular glass. Ever since I was young I thought the ocean made the pretty glass. My grandfather told me that sailors out at sea often threw their old bottles in the water. Having the broken glass rub up against the sand makes the edges smooth.
The beauty of the sea glass was breathtaking. The cobalt-blue color of the glass, with its transparent wax feeling, was a feeling on my fingers like nothing before. Some of it was glossy; other parts were covered by what looked like a smooth layer of cornstarch. I showed my dad.
I held the sea glass up to the ocean. The color was almost an exact replica of the ocean in the far distance.
That piece of sea glass was really special to me. I kept it, and to this day I still own it. It is kept in a small box titled Boothbay Harbor.