I'm enrolled in a class at Gotham Writing Classes and it's been a good experience. Every week, we've received writing assignments. Here are a few of them which I'm a little proud of.
#1
The girl's fingers barely reach above the tray table, but they find the edges of the machine's monitor. Its beeping, rhythmic tone fills the quiet room. She gets on her tippy toes for a glimpse of it over the table's lip, but the image is lost when she grows tired and lowers her heels.
The girl pushes a chair over to the table. She must see the mysterious machine, discern its meaning and decipher its riddles. With little effort, she climbs atop the chair, her hours at the jungle gym paying dividends. The machine is small and square and there are a lot of funny lines and squiggles running around on it. The girl traces the ghost of squiggly line that travels across the monitor with her finger as a foot taps to the cadence of the machine noises.
She scrunches up her face, aging her angelic features. There are words and numbers on the machine and she wishes she could read, but she's still only just learning her letters. Instead, she stares at it, hoping to pry some meaning from its pictures and sounds. However, the only thing she sees is her reflection. She blinks one eye and then the next, her action mirrored by the dimmed and warped version of herself in the black plastic. She touches her black pearl hair and the twin copies her. Her father has started cutting her hair since her mother became tired and even though it is choppy and uneven, she likes it because it is rather interesting.
He is outside the white room now, talking to the man in the white jacket and silly green pants. He smiles at her when he catches her looking, shakes the man's hand, then joins her.
"How'd you get up there?" he says and she reaches up for his open arms.
He sets her back down and takes her hand, his large fingers swallowing hers. Together, they stand at the side of the bed, standing vigil over the sleeping form.
"Let's give mommy a kiss."
She bends down and presses her lips to her mother's cheek, but it feels hollow and incomplete without the reciprocal goofy bear hug. As they leave, hand-in-hand, the girl looks at her father, the uncertainty plain on her face.
"It's okay, sweetie," he says. "She knew you were there."
Sam liked the park, especially in the summer. In the summer, he could run through the tickly grass and play under the shade of the green, leafy trees with Roscoe.
It was cold in the fall—not cold enough for snow, which Sam rather liked, but cold enough that the playground sand was cool to the touch. He molded the sand into the square block that would be the castle's walls. He blew warm breath into his hands, then tried carving turrets with his fingers but soon gave up because they would crumble and he had to start all over again.
Sam looked over at his mother, who was busy talking to another lady on the park bench. He had asked her about Roscoe and she said that he was gone, and that was that. He asked why, but she grew annoyed when he did. He missed Roscoe. He was a good dog.
"You look sad." It was a child's voice.
He looked around and saw no one.
"Why are you sad?"
He looked up this time and saw the girl. "Hi," he said.
She was about his age and she was hanging upside down from the bars over the sand pit. Her legs curled around one of the metal bars, bent at the knees. Her long red hair flowed downward, dangling several feet off the ground. In one fluid motion, she pulled herself right-side-up, hung on the bar for a moment, and then dropped down, producing a rippling mini-sandstorm in the process.
Sam gawked in wonder.
"I'm Alex," she said.
"How did you do that?"
"My parents are in the circus," she replied. "They're acrobats."
"Wow."
"Cool castle."
It didn't look much like a castle anymore. He had shifted it when he got up and there was a fine dusting over it that obscured its features. He squatted down to examine it.
"Can I help?"
He smiled. "Okay."
They were still hard at work when his mother called to him. He and Alex had built a big castle—larger than any he would've been able to build himself. Sam asked her if she wanted to come play at his house and she said yes.
"Can Alex come over?" he asked his mother, who was talking on the phone.
"Sure," she said distractedly. "Who's Alex?"
"My new friend." Alex stood dutifully next to him and smiled.
"Oh. Okay. We'll have to talk to her mother. Where is she?"
"I dunno." He turned to Alex. "Where's—"
His mother put the phone away and said, "No, where's your friend?"
"This is Alex."
"Who?"
His mother was acting so strangely. Sam pushed Alex forward. "Her."
His mother furrowed her brow, then huffed, turned around, and started walking. "I don't have time for your silly little games, Samuel. We're late as it is. Hurry up, now."
Sam watched his mother's retreating form, truly befuddled. Alex grinned mischievously, winked and took off after his mother.
"Let's go," she cried. "We're gonna be late!"
#3
Hattie the mouse sniffed at the metal contraption outside the mouse hole. Even though she knew what it was meant for, it was—in its own way—quite beautiful.
"You're wasting your time," Larry said, lying on his side. He gave his furry and ample belly a satisfied pat. "There are easier ways, you know."
Hattie scurried nimbly around the trap, examining its machinations with careful precision. "All you think about is food…Oh, what's this? Interesting. You see how this small round disc gets connected to this…"
"Waste. Of. Time." He burped. "Do you have any idea what kind of spread the lady has out there? There's a plate toppling with Gouda, Cheddar, Swiss…" Larry wrinkled his nose at the memory of its scent. "And Monterrey Jack. Oh, you have to try the Monterrey Jack. It's sublime."
"…and this coil here. I think it's supposed to spring open. Truly amazing. Yes, yes." Hattie ran back into the hole and came back with half a pair of reading glasses, broken off at the bridge. She set it down and pushed it into place with her snout. "You really should take a look at this," she said to Larry.
"In big cubes! Practically the size of my head and they just left it out. I should go get some more. It's my duty as a rat." He rolled onto his stomach. "You coming?"
"Maybe later. Oh!" she said, perking her ears, then dashed back into the hole again and reemerged with a long matchstick.
"What are you doing?"
"This…" Hattie bit down on one end of the matchstick, maneuvered it into position, and used it to press the shiny metal plate in the contraption's center. A metal arm swung down ferociously, snapping the matchstick into three pieces and popping the device off the ground several inches. Hattie stood by, enthralled.
"You're insane," Larry said.
She climbed onto the harmless metal platform and took her prize.
"You coming or what?"
"No, thanks." Hattie pressed her nose to the sliver of American cheese, inhaled, and sighed contently.
"Just insane." Larry shook his head and ambled his way back towards the living room for second helpings.
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