Robert Brown. A very normal name for a very abnormal teenager. Unlike most, I am a person of many talents: magician, gourmet cook, athlete, superhero. You name it. I do it all. And, before you ask, no, I was not bitten by a radioactive spider. That’s ridiculous. I bit a radioactive spider. I thought I would get superpowers, but I just got sick for a couple of weeks. Anyways, I got my powers after I saved my five-year-old sister from a house fire. Our dryer overheated and created a fire that engulfed our entire house. There was a lot of confusion, but when I went outside, I could only find my mother, the only other person living in the house. I rushed back inside to find my little sister. I barely managed to get her out safely, but I was whacked on the head by a falling part of the ceiling. I was knocked out cold. I woke up in a hospital with my family at my bedside. My mother was crying her eyes out when she saw me awake. The doctor told me that it was a miracle that I didn’t get burned or die from the falling beam or smoke inhalation, and he also said that I would be fine.

After I was discharged from the hospital, I went to my uncle’s home because my house had burned down. I rested for a while and then ironed my clothes for a survival service that my family would attend the following day. I accidentally touched the iron, but I didn’t feel any pain. I wasn’t sure what to think had happened, so I decided to take a risk and touch the iron again. I wasn’t burned. I had no idea what was going on until my hand suddenly burst into flames. I probably would have screamed if I was anyone but my crazy self; instead, I thought the flames were beautiful. They shined and danced on my fingertips. It was mesmerizing. Then, I got over it and totally freaked out. I couldn’t get rid of the fire and was worried that I would cause my uncle’s house to burn down. My mother knocked on the door at the same time this happened. She wanted to check on me. I panicked. I tried blowing out my hand, but it didn’t work. I poured water over my hand, but it was useless. I tried to think of ways to get rid of my mother. I told her that I was fine, but she insisted on coming in the room. I eventually told her that I wasn’t dressed, and she left. After that, the fire finally died down. I felt relieved.

I started toying with my power about a week after I realized that I had it; I had to let the shock of having a power subside for a bit. I got the hang of starting and stopping a fire on my hands after a couple of weeks. I eventually learned how to shoot fire from my hands. It wasn’t much at the time, but by then I felt I was ready to use my powers in the real world. I helped stop local robberies and small non-life-threatening acts of crime in the beginning. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight, but then more dangerous criminals appeared. I didn’t want to stand by and do nothing knowing I could have helped. A someone took a picture of me with fire coming out of my hand. Luckily my face couldn’t be seen, but now the public knew I was there. People call me Ember. I plan for my identity to remain a secret. Hopefully, nothing will undo that.

Wasting time

Doing nothing

Talking to myself

Alone

I was struck

By a ray of sunlight

It was bright

Too bright

I closed the maroon curtains

Of my window

In my room 

To block out

The blinding light

I typed on my computer

"sounds of the ocean"

I wanted to get there

This is as close as I would get 

To peace

I turned up the volume 

And fell asleep

It was a scorching hot Sunday. The entire neighborhood stayed inside due to the extreme heat except for one boy: Johnny Brown. He’s one of my classmates at Lakeside Middle School, and he is always happy and excessively energetic. I watched him for a little bit as he played with his rainbow-colored soccer ball. He was not bad for a 7th grader, but I didn’t understand why he would go outside by himself as the sun was releasing its burning rage upon us all. I went to my room so I could finish my homework before I went back to school on the dreaded day of the week that is Monday. My mother came up to my room minutes later and said, “Why don’t you go out and play with Johnny, Tim?” “It’s too hot and I need to finish my homework,” I responded. “You never go outside, Tim. You need sunlight. Go play for half an hour, and you can finish your homework when you come back. I’ll help you.” And so, I went outside.

The second I took my first step out I felt like I was being baked like a cookie at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for ten minutes. By the second I closed the door, I heard someone holler, “TIIIIIMMYYYY!”. Johnny had a mischievous grin on his face, and he kicked the ball my way at incredibly high speeds, but I wasn’t prepared for it. I was petrified. Luckily, he accidentally curved the ball and it flew just to the side of my house. In that instance, I was safe. In the next, not so much. The ball hit our neighbor’s tree, and we heard glass shatter seconds later. There was an eerie silence for a minute. Johnny and I looked at each other and knew our playtime had ended.

Our neighbor’s wife, Sarah, died in a car crash four years ago while she was driving from her workplace She was only 40 years old and was really nice to everyone she knew, especially us kids. She would give candy to our parents to give to us every time they had a community meeting. It took a toll on the whole neighborhood when we lost such a kindhearted soul. Most of us attended her funeral. It was such a gloomy day; there were heavy rain and storm clouds throughout the day. Her husband, Ryan, was usually a cheerful person, almost as much as Johnny. His eyes looked as if he had cried out as many tears as the raindrops pouring from the clouds. He just stared at Sarah’s casket that day, barely able to say a word. He looked to be filled with regret as if he could’ve done something the day of her death to prevent her accident.

The neighborhood community created a memorial in honor of Sarah’s death on an oak tree on Ryan’s front yard. People surrounded the tree with letters, cards, posters, pictures, candles, and lots of flowers. Most people brought buttercups, since they were Sarah’s favorite flowers. Ryan found a picture of her among the hundreds that were brought to him that he took a particular liking to. He had it framed and hung it on the tree. He also planted buttercups around the tree for Sarah. Now, if someone so much as walked past Ryan’s tree on the sidewalk, he would go outside and yell at them on the best of days. It has been said that he has chased some of the other neighborhood kids down the street with his car for playing outside his house. We had broken the framing of Ryan’s favorite picture of Sarah. God knows what would happen to us.

Ryan’s heavy footsteps disrupted the silence. “You damn kids!” he yelled furiously. “Do you think my wife’s death is one of your little games?!” He picked up Johnny’s soccer ball and chucked it at him as he proceeded to approach us. Each step he took made me tremble as if he were a giant causing tremors as he walked. I couldn’t see Johnny behind me, but I imagined that he felt it too. Ryan stopped two feet away from me, outraged. My heart pounded so quickly I thought it would come out of my chest. I couldn’t believe what he did next. Sprinting as fast as he could, Ryan ran back to the tree, dug the picture of Sarah from the shards of glass, held it to his chest, and wept. I cautiously went to the tree to comfort him. Johnny went home to tell his mother what had happened and get a first aid kit for Ryan; Ryan cut his hands as he pulled out the picture. I was speechless when I sat next to him. “Why did this have to happen?” he cried. “She didn’t deserve this!” he shouted toward the sky. He didn’t receive a response.

Mrs. Brown patched up Ryan and offered to pay for the frame. He said that he would take care of it. Ryan sulked back inside his house and ever so slowly closed his door as if he would never come back out again. Johnny was severely reprimanded by his mother after Ryan had gone back. I went home like nothing had happened. Mrs. Brown told my mother what occurred the day after. I finally had the time to do my homework, but Ryan’s breakdown allowed me to realize that school wouldn’t be the greatest challenge I would face in life.

A man’s best friend

Is what I seek

My life depends on

Delicious canine blood

I may wiggle my way

Through your dog’s skin

With my curvy body

If you are unexpecting

But all I want

Is to make your friend’s intestines

My home

And a little

Of that dark, mouthwatering blood

To produce my baby

Hookworms.

I latch on quickly, and silently

When you don’t know I’m there

We are at peace

But once my presence is made known

You declare war.

Humans

You are too selfish

My diligent efforts to survive

Go unrecognized by you all

What you make your pet

Is the missing half of

An intricate relationship

That I wish to create

All I want is

For your best friend

To be my best friend too.

Tommy Brown, a six-year-old student at Parker Elementary, returned from school on Friday afternoon beat from a hard day's work. He came home ready to watch cartoons all afternoon, but, unfortunately, life didn't work the way Tommy wanted it to. He walked into his living room only to find a French female spy. The spy kept looking at her watch as if she was on a time limit, but would not acknowledge Tommy. She appeared to be searching for the source of a ticking sound. Tommy could only assume it was a bomb. He desperately hoped for the spy to find the bomb as quickly as possible. He closely followed her and the ticking noise grew louder and louder. Tommy got his hopes up, but, unfortunately, the sound soon faded away. Tommy could no longer endure the wait. Suddenly, the spy along with the noise disappeared. Tommy could only see black. "No more video games for you, young man," Tommy's mother said to Tommy's older brother.She held the power cord to Tommy's Brother's console in her hand. Finally, Tommy could watch his cartoons as he pleased. 

The loss of love

strikes the heart.

In rough times, 

I become lost.

What can I do?

Where can I go from here?

I must find solace, 

but that too 

is nowhere to be found.

Eventually, I find myself

in darkness and isolation

waiting for a light to shine through.

I may not know where I will be headed,

but I know that I will find comfort 

down the road ahead of me.

I may have little to carry me

through the journey that I will embark on,

but I have hope.

I open the door

and am welcomed by the fragrance

of fresh onions.

As I walk through the narrow hallway

I find the vast living room.

The flowing curtains

and bright light that shines through the window

relieve my stress after a long day at school.

The room in which I rest,

so comfortable and untidy as can be,

is where I spend the majority of my days.

In this space,

I can express myself as I wish.

I can be free.