The Sketch

The Sheppard


He is the the firm rock beneath my feet, quietly holding me up like a stone pillar holds up a roof. He is the vast sky above my head, giving me hope of things to come, reason to press forward. He is the pitbull barking at cunning solicitors on my porch, warning me of thier presence and thier intent. He is man's best friend with his innocent puppy dog eyes and big floppy ears disigned to dry my sorrowfull tears. He is the open journal anctiously waiting for pen to hit paper. He calls to me arms open wide, the comforter, the protector. He waits for my call like a neglected boyfriend, never straying far from the telephone. His greatest desire is to bring to pass my eternal life. His love like that of a father leading his family through his sacrifice and his example. The breath of fresh mountain air after lifeless days in an underground cave. The original painting changing the world of art simply through its existance, it's beauty, it's perfection.

The Impulse

Cami - What happened to us?

Dan - What do you mean?

Cami - I mean a week ago there wasn’t enough time in the world to talk about everything that we wanted to. Now you can hardly find a civil word to say to me.

Dan - You haven’t been a chatter-box lately either. I guess things just change.

Cami - Well what changed? Was it me? Did I do something?

Dan – I don’t know. Does it matter?

Cami – Heck yes it matters! ...To me at least.

Dan – Whatever just let it go.

Cami – I can’t just let it go. You are my best friend you matter to much to me to just “Let it go” Tell me what's going on!

Dan – I talked to Mandy, OK? I know.

Cami – Oh. I see.

Dan – Why didn’t you tell me?

Cami – I was scared okay?

Dan – You somehow mustered up the bravery to tell Mandy and Lou.

Cami – It was different with you.

Dan – Why? Don’t you think that I wanted to say goodbye?

Cami – Of course I knew you would.

Dan – You realize you still haven’t told me why you were scared...

Cami – I couldn’t tell you because you were the only one who could keep me from going.

Dan – I don’t understand. What do you mean?

Cami – You are the only person who could possibly convince me to stay.

Dan – How is that?

Cami – You mean a lot to me and you can be really persuasive…

Dan – I couldn’t persuade my mom to give me lunch money. You know that, as well as I do.

Cami – Dan, I care about you. You are the closest thing to family that I have. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew if you wanted me to stay I wouldn’t have been able to tell you no.

Short Story; Page 1

Chapter One

I cling to my sister as the shaking dies down. She is soaking my shirt with her frightened tears. A tear of two of my own have mixed with hers. Her fingernails digging into my skin remind me just how scary all this must be for her. I whisper to Becky that it will all be okay. The house has ceased it’s trembling. I think we are clear to move. I rise, still holding sweet little girl. Thankfully she isn’t too heavy; she just turned three a couple weeks ago. I carry her over to the counter which seems to be intact.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

Of course I know she is very hurt but I can’t put a band-aid on those wounds.

I help Becky down from the counter, assured that she isn't hurt, and grab her hand. We have to get out of here before they find us. I sling my now full backpack over my shoulder. We hurry for the back door and I shut it as quietly as I can. I pick her up and run for all I'm worth. We have to get out of here. I cant let us be seen. I refuse to fail them again.

Intro

    Reading has always been one of my passions, as I am sure it always will be. Throughout my years of reading I have dicovered beauty in the written word. Not just the beauty in the flow of the words or of the ideas but of the way those words and ideas make me feel. This beauty has lead me to my desire to become a writer.
    What is a writer? A writer is someone who takes words and molds them into a peice of artwork that can express feeling in a way that others can understand. With college ruled paper thier as canvas and ink as thier paint, a writer can illistrate an intricate masterpiece using only black and white. That is something I admire, as well as something that I aim to emulate
    My writing previous to this has been limited to English assignments and my journal. So I have addressed a fairly narrow adience in the past; my teachers and myself. So, I have much to learn. And maybe, just maybe, if i work hard in this class I will start learning how to write like an artist. To write beautiful things, like the things that I love to read.