The Blood Red Pendant part 1 of many

Clary and her mother were leaving church a little late on a breezy sunday afternoon. They had stayed late to talk to preacher Jackson about summer jobs that he had available at the church. The building they used was quite the sight. It was more like a mansion with many parts still left unseen. The building had been built in civil war times with the intension of hiding weapons, so there were many tricks such as hidden rooms and things of the like. Clary would get to be somthing like a janitor for the summer. It wasn't the most glorious job, she knew, but she needed the money. And it wouldn't be to bad, because she wouldn't be alone. The preachers nephew, Garrett, would be working with her. He was a year older than her, eighteen, and this was his last summer before leaving for college. She had been given a picture of him today. The preacher was very proud of his nephew for being excepted to Princeton, and enjoyed showing of his grad photos. She now pulled it out of her pocket and looked more closely at it. His hair was a thick, creamy hazlenut, complemented by the most beautiful brown eyes. He was tanned and strong muscled from hours of work spent in the sun. He looked very much like a boy who had been forced to be a man long before his time. A man who shouldered many responsabilities.

Trapped

Walls suround me on all four sides. The air is getting thinner, and harder to breathe. My throat is dry, the light grows dimmer. Sometimes this is where I fing myself. In a place where I am trapped, with nothing to do but dream about what could be, only to wake up and find that it's not. Disapointment looms in the air, and lonliness, utter lonliness finds me and leaves me numb, in an ugly world without promise.

"Has every teenager felt this way?" -Hannah Johnson

Helpful Hints

"Sometimes I can have so much to put down, and not enough time to write it. When that happens i tend to write a lot faster, but than when i go back to read my work, it always turns out really dry. My advice is to always take it slow and add as much detail as possable." -Hannah Johnson

Untitled part 2

I knew i would be late if i didn't hurry, but I had to sketch the forrest this morning. I had lived here my whole life, fifteen years, and never had i stumbled upon a morning so pure as this. I would be sixteen soon, and when that happened, i would be judged as a man. If people knew that I sketched? Huge step in the opposite direction. But i coudn't stop. It was easy, my hand seemed to move on it's own, and it never missed a single detail.

"Easy as breathing". I mumbled under my breath. Now I was late for sure. I tucked the skatch pad under my pillow. As i headed toward the door, I grabbed my satchel and belt that rested in my desk drawer, ans slipped on my shoes that very much resembled moccasins. I found them pointless. The leather was so thin, you could easily ware through them in a couple weeks. Plus they took forever to make, so what was the use? I would much rather go barefoot. Then i swiftly left the tiny house. I walked along a trail that had been carved from years of use. A well trodden path. Out of the courner of my eye, I could see all the other houses, each identical to mine.

I felt the earth through my moccasins. Every tree root, every pebble, everything. The smell of corn tortillas and maple filled my nose ad i continued a long the path. The leaves on the trees played and danced together as the wind moved through them. I inhaled deeply taking it all in at once, then I smiled truely happy. This lifestyle wasn't modern I knew, but somehow, still satisfying.

Helpful Hints

"I have discovered that when doing particularly long writings, I tend to always start my sentences with the same word. When writing, be very cautious of that. It helps to try to come up with alternative words that mean the same thing." -Hannah Johnson

The Wonderment of Thought

night was beautiful
the darkness inviting
all the warmth gone
my thoughts still colliding


The stars served as beacons
always pointing the way
0n to civilization
where my destiny lay


forward i hiked
through a forest quite shaded
my strenth never lacking
weakness i hated


the hair on my arms
rose and stood high
as i found myself looking
into a strangers eye

his hand held a knife
his eyes full of pity
so maybe my life
didn't lie in the city

perhaps it would end
on this cold winter night
but if there was one thing i knew
i wasn't going without a fight

as i stood waiting
a thought came to mind
that i was a gentleman
patient and kind

how could i end
the life of a man
even if the knife
he still held in his hand
was intended for me?

Untitled Part 1

"This story is about a tribe of poeple who are born without names. In there life as warriors, they have to do somthing to earn there names. In this tribe, the main character is supposed to be a representation of the devil. I havn't gotten far at all but tell me what you think." -Hannah Johnson

Darkness hung in the air, it was closing in on him. This time was diffrent from the last though. He knew that this time, he couldn't make it leave. No, this time it would stay and be eternal. He didn't care though, for he knew the darkness, and he welcomed it. Even though it wasn't how he thought it would happen, he had found his name, and for that he was glad. He had found his own path, and he's followed it, not knowing it would lead to the outer darkness between realitys, and that he would wander off the path and be lost in it forever.


I woke to the sound of a songbird. It's sweet sound set of a chorus of other sounds similar to the first, and soon there was a whole choir of songbirds there to bid me goodmorning. Sunshine streaked through my window in light, blinding rays that warmed all the places that the former nights chill still had dominion over. I sighed and rolled over, and for just a brief moment, thought about absolutely nothing. I was in a sort of blissful state with the sun turning the inside of my eyelids red. This could not last long i knew. Uriel (tribe leader) would be waiting for me. I pulled of my threadbare blanket, and hoisted myself of my cot. A shiver raced down my spine as my feet touched bare earth. I looked around the tiny room. It was clean at the moment, but it had a naturally cluttered look to it. The walls and floors were made of mud, and the roof was made of leaves. As the songbirds fled, the sound of monkeys came to take there place. I glanced out the window, which, in reality was nothing more than a hole cut in the mud. The forest outside was beautiful at this time. The trees grew tall and large, so seeing the sky was a rarity. Overnight, water had dewed up on all the lushly green plants, making the forest sparkle.

"Please share comments and suggestions for titles if you can think of any!"