Dear Mr. Uber-Goth,

I don’t pretend to understand the intricacies within the mind of any literary genius, but I’ve got to let it out...your endless pessimism is bringing me down.

It’s hard to understand and agree with this quote, unless you’ve experienced a great loss. My friend, Paige Winters, died in a plane crash and it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with in my entire life.

Her death truly has changed everything.

Why does each day repeat in the same way? You constantly rise, in the morning only to fall asleep, forever, without warning. The day after day routine, was just a blink of an eye, between beginning and end. Now you are alone, not a single friend.

Maddie is 14 years old. She attends Shawnee Mission Northwest. Here’s a glimpse into her world:

What inspires you?

The sky gleamed a radiant blend of colors which reflected on the glassy ocean. The aroma of varieties of flowers fresh from the fields lingered in the air.

Today is one of those days, where everyone stops to take a minute and appreciate what we have, rather than what we want. We worry about the tiny little things in life that don’t matter, instead of the things that can change our life. Today is one of those days.

The mountain trail is steep, and even I am having a hard time staying upright. The ridge I’m on is rocky and desolate, and I am the only thing moving. My chest is heaving as I struggle over the treacherous granite.

The place many memories were made, where laughs echo throughout the woods. Splashes into the water below can still be heard and felt on a hot summer’s day. The rope that hangs, worn and weathered from young hands, gripping it tightly.

I love watching cows. They remind me of my blankets on cold nights, when all is freezing, and I need something to snuggle up with. Each cow is unique, like a snowflake. Sometimes it’s hard to find the difference, but if you look close enough the picture becomes clear.

A cool breeze shuffled my hair, causing deep chestnut strands to tangle in my eye lashes. As my purse swung loosely at my hip, I slowly lifted my hand to shield my defenseless eyes against the brilliant sun. I exhaled deeply, letting the awe and amazement settle in the pit of my stomach.

What is the point of pep rallies? Is anyone actually, genuinely enthusiastic? I find it much easier to believe that, seeing as we’re teenagers, we’re all just faking it, in an ironic sort of way.

***

As a grade school student I would read comic books. I was no expert in the field nor any sort of serious collector but never the less I enjoyed reading them. I liked all sorts of heroes, Marvel or D.C., but my favorite was The Shadow. I liked almost every comic book hero.

The wind and rain, two things I love most. They go hand in hand, the wind and rain. First, the wind blows through and tells the world to be quiet and listen; then the rain comes and washes away horrible things.

what inspires you?
I like the phrasing of “musings” as opposed to “inspirations” because I feel that it gives me a bit more room for artistic license as

Uncle Felix grew up in a small town called Shinzhu, located on the north side of Taiwan. His family was not able to afford extra clothing or toys or even to pay for his education. Uncle Felix learned to take what life gave him, and to always look on the bright side of things.

For months, I’ve been waiting for this day. Not only is it the first day of

summer, but it’s also the day I will get to see some of my favorite bands. I

imagined May thirty-first a million different ways, and hoped most for a nice,

I hastily picked my feet up out of the snow to uncover a pair of warm brown boots that had been hidden under layers of white fluff just moments ago. The cold wind pierces my bare cheeks as I charge forward, breathing heavily to reveal a cloud of warm carbon dioxide.

Kids can’t win.   

The light tapping of rain, loud at first, but slowly becoming weaker and weaker, grabs me; takes hold. I open the squeaky front door and peek a single foot outside. The vivid green grass begs for me to be a companion while it slowly moves in the ever-slightest of winds. So I walk...

I am a perfectionist. Even a simple task will take me a long time to complete. I often overdo things and when something is not faultless, I will hate it. I never turn in a project that isn’t exactly the way I want it.

I was once told that we must take adventures to know where we truly belong, meaning that we have to search to find the perfect place for ourselves. I do not necessarily agree or disagree with this statement.

Place: noun, defined as a portion of space available or designated for or being used by someone; i.e. one’s spot at the table, or if you think like me, one’s place in this world.

It was a scorchingly hot summer day in June when I walked up toward the house from the barn, heading toward the old cedar tree near the house. The tree had bird feeders hanging on it, and probably I was going to check the feeders to see how much seed they had in them.

Breathing in. The lungs expand, chest tight. The air catches in my throat. Breathing out. The air slithers out, my eyes going, facing the paper. It is blank, void of anything but a red line and blue lines. My mind is already at work. What is it going to be?